her tears away. “It is deep and I do not know if stitches will hold it together.” Her eyes sprung wide.
“What is it, Mother?” Cavan asked anxiously.
“Your wife, Honora. She is very good with a needle.”
“Where is she?” Cavan asked.
“The sewing room,” his mother said.
Cavan took the stairs two at a time and shoved the sewing room door open with such force that it crashed into the wall.
Honora jumped out of her seat, her stitching falling to the floor, and stared at him.
“I have need of you,” Cavan said.
“Need?” she barely whispered.
“Lachlan has been injured and needs stitches. Mother says you are good with a needle.” He grabbed her hand.
“I have only stitched garments, never people,” she objected.
“There is a first time for everything.”
Honora hurried alongside him, then stopped abruptly. “My needle and threads, I will need them.”
“Hurry,” he urged, and released her hand.
Cavan waited with little patience, and when she reappeared, snatched her by the hand and rushed her down the stairs and into the hall.
“Stitch him,” he ordered when they stopped at the table where Lachlan lay sprawled.
Cavan feared she would protest and run in fright from the sight of the blood, but surprisingly, she remained calm, examining his brother’s wounded leg while people talked around her.
“I think it will take many stitches to hold the flesh,” Addie said.
Cavan watched as his wife reached out, placed a comforting hand on his mother’s bloody one and calmed her with reassuring words.
“We can do this. We can mend his leg.”
In no time the two women worked together, mostly in silence, his mother following his wife’s instructions without hesitation. Cavan watched in amazement as Honora’s fingers deftly stitched Lachlan’s leg as if it were a delicate piece of embroidery. Her stitches were precise and evenly woven, and he was glad that Lachlan had remained unconscious since it took many stitches to close the wound.
“The stitches must be kept dry and the bandages clean,” Honora said with a glance at Addie. “I recall my mother stitching a wound for a neighbor’s lad and she was insistent about both. And Lachlan must remain in bed for a few days so the wound can begin to heal and the stitches can take hold.”
“He’ll stay put,” Cavan and Artair said in unison, bringing a smile to all in the hall.
“Fever could set in,” Addie said as they bandaged Lachlan’s leg.
“No need to worry about that unless it happens,” Honora cautioned. “We can only do what we can at this moment.”
Cavan admired the way his wife handled his mother’s concerns, forcing her to concentrate on the moment and not worry too far ahead. He had learned the wisdom of paying heed to the moment at hand while captured. If he’d thought in the future even only an hour or two, he would have lived in anticipation of the beatings he knew would come and linger in the thought of never seeing his homeland or family again. Instead he had lived for each moment, each day growing strong in mind andpurpose, and was thus ready when the opportunity came to claim his freedom.
He and Artair carried Lachlan to their father’s solar, where a bed had been prepared for him. It would make it easier for the women to tend him, since it was closer to the kitchen and the herbs and brews he would need to help in his recovery.
Lachlan finally regained consciousness after he was settled, though only for a moment, and after his mother fed him a special brew, he slipped into a comfortable slumber.
Cavan had no intention of leaving his brother’s side, though he was exhausted from battle, and his wife seemed to understand his concern.
“I have had the servants prepare a bath for you,” Honora said, her voice low in consideration for the sleeping Lachlan. “Go bathe, then sleep, and after you are rested you can come relieve your mother and me, for your brother will need looking after throughout the
“What is it, Mother?” Cavan asked anxiously.
“Your wife, Honora. She is very good with a needle.”
“Where is she?” Cavan asked.
“The sewing room,” his mother said.
Cavan took the stairs two at a time and shoved the sewing room door open with such force that it crashed into the wall.
Honora jumped out of her seat, her stitching falling to the floor, and stared at him.
“I have need of you,” Cavan said.
“Need?” she barely whispered.
“Lachlan has been injured and needs stitches. Mother says you are good with a needle.” He grabbed her hand.
“I have only stitched garments, never people,” she objected.
“There is a first time for everything.”
Honora hurried alongside him, then stopped abruptly. “My needle and threads, I will need them.”
“Hurry,” he urged, and released her hand.
Cavan waited with little patience, and when she reappeared, snatched her by the hand and rushed her down the stairs and into the hall.
“Stitch him,” he ordered when they stopped at the table where Lachlan lay sprawled.
Cavan feared she would protest and run in fright from the sight of the blood, but surprisingly, she remained calm, examining his brother’s wounded leg while people talked around her.
“I think it will take many stitches to hold the flesh,” Addie said.
Cavan watched as his wife reached out, placed a comforting hand on his mother’s bloody one and calmed her with reassuring words.
“We can do this. We can mend his leg.”
In no time the two women worked together, mostly in silence, his mother following his wife’s instructions without hesitation. Cavan watched in amazement as Honora’s fingers deftly stitched Lachlan’s leg as if it were a delicate piece of embroidery. Her stitches were precise and evenly woven, and he was glad that Lachlan had remained unconscious since it took many stitches to close the wound.
“The stitches must be kept dry and the bandages clean,” Honora said with a glance at Addie. “I recall my mother stitching a wound for a neighbor’s lad and she was insistent about both. And Lachlan must remain in bed for a few days so the wound can begin to heal and the stitches can take hold.”
“He’ll stay put,” Cavan and Artair said in unison, bringing a smile to all in the hall.
“Fever could set in,” Addie said as they bandaged Lachlan’s leg.
“No need to worry about that unless it happens,” Honora cautioned. “We can only do what we can at this moment.”
Cavan admired the way his wife handled his mother’s concerns, forcing her to concentrate on the moment and not worry too far ahead. He had learned the wisdom of paying heed to the moment at hand while captured. If he’d thought in the future even only an hour or two, he would have lived in anticipation of the beatings he knew would come and linger in the thought of never seeing his homeland or family again. Instead he had lived for each moment, each day growing strong in mind andpurpose, and was thus ready when the opportunity came to claim his freedom.
He and Artair carried Lachlan to their father’s solar, where a bed had been prepared for him. It would make it easier for the women to tend him, since it was closer to the kitchen and the herbs and brews he would need to help in his recovery.
Lachlan finally regained consciousness after he was settled, though only for a moment, and after his mother fed him a special brew, he slipped into a comfortable slumber.
Cavan had no intention of leaving his brother’s side, though he was exhausted from battle, and his wife seemed to understand his concern.
“I have had the servants prepare a bath for you,” Honora said, her voice low in consideration for the sleeping Lachlan. “Go bathe, then sleep, and after you are rested you can come relieve your mother and me, for your brother will need looking after throughout the
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