in the rough walls and rain began dripping through the hole in the roof made to let the smoke from the fire escape. They needed a fire tonight, both for warmth and should he have to cauterize the wound.
Thank God he had his flint and steel. He hadn’t taken the time at Cwn Bron to remove the pouch he always wore at his waist when he traveled. He grabbed some leaves from the branches and got them alight. He used a few of the sticks to build a fire, then ran out into the rain, seeking larger pieces of wood under the trees. He could get water from the stream nearby.
Gathering up a few more sticks, he made his way through the bracken, ferns and underbrush toward the stream. This time he spotted a broken pot on the bank. Fortunately there was enough of it left to hold water, so with his free hand he filled it and then hurried back to the hut. Crouching, he fed the wood into the fire, then put the broken pot near the flames to warm the contents.
Only then did he glance at Tamsin, to discover she was watching him, her brown eyes huge in her pale face, one hand clutching the arrow in her leg.
He rose and approached her cautiously. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to tend to that,” he said, nodding at the arrow.
“I’m sorry you ever came to Castle DeLac,” she retorted, her teeth clenched. “Take me home!”
“I can’t. It’s raining and it’s going to be dark soon.”
“I don’t care if it’s pouring. Take me back!”
“As soon as the water’s heated, I’m going to have to wash your wound.”
“You’re no physician.”
“No, but I’ve dealt with such injuries before, my own and other’s. The sooner it’s tended to—”
“Take me home!” she commanded, but now there was a tremor in her voice. “You must take me back. I have to marry Blane.” She moved as if she was trying to stand, then gasped, her face growing even more pale.
“Sit,” he commanded, “or you’ll bleed more.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t say anything, her lips a thin line of anger and pain, but at least she didn’t try to move again.
He reached for the warm water. “It’s good you’re wearing a heavy gown,” he said as he knelt down and got a good look at the spot where the arrow had pierced her garments. “I’m going to break the shaft so I can pull the fabric of your clothes away from the wound. Stay still. It won’t be easy. Fletchers use the hardest wood for strength.”
“I know that,” she snapped.
“I suspect there isn’t much you don’t know,” he replied. He held the shaft against her leg with one hand and gripped the other end of the shaft near the feathers with the other. “How many days until Christmas?”
“What?”
“How many days until Christmas. That’s got to be a busy time for you.”
“I don’t—”
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