Читать книгу Falling for Her Captor - Elisabeth Hobbes - Страница 13

Chapter Six

Above all else there was the smell: an intensely sweet stench of blood and rotting meat. Then there was the heat: the wolf’s breath, wet and overpowering on his face. A small part of Hugh’s mind was amazed that it had registered such an irrelevant detail at such a time, as though his mind was storing up memories while it still had the chance. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, almost obliterating the shouts of alarm and the whinnying of horses that seemed to come from a great distance. The wolf snarled and snapped viciously at his face, its weight pinning him down. Claws scratched at his torso through the thin shirt and he felt searing pain.

Hugh covered his face with his left arm, the leather sleeve of his greatcoat offering some protection. With his right hand he swiped out blindly with the dagger. The animal’s fur was too thick to penetrate and the blade had little more effect than a feather. Enraged, the wolf shook its head with a force that knocked the dagger from the man’s grasp. Hugh dug his heels into the ground and twisted his body, his hand reaching desperately towards where the dagger lay but falling short. The creature lunged down at him again with a snarl, its grey muzzle wrinkled and teeth bared. Hugh felt a dull pain rip across his chest and he bellowed with shock and anger.

The pain was not yet intense; he knew that would come later—if he survived the attack. He was dimly aware of wetness down the side of his neck, which he knew instinctively must be his blood. At the scent of the blood the beast raised its head and gave a deep, triumphant howl. Waves of panic coursed through Hugh’s body. He abandoned his hunt for the dagger and pushed his hands against the animal’s chest with the strength he had left. His arms felt heavy and he could barely make his fingers work as they brushed through the wiry fur. The edges of the world became a grey blur. A thought passed through his mind: What a stupid way to die.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself for a final assault.

No pain came. Instead he felt heaviness as the animal slumped onto him. It twitched frantically, then lay still. A moment passed as Hugh’s brain caught up with the sensations he was feeling. He opened his eyes and craned his neck. The wolf was lying across his body, a crossbow bolt protruding from one eye. Spittle and blood dripped from its open jaws. He raised himself up onto his right elbow but it gave way immediately and he felt the first true pulse of agony course through his body.

Hugh collapsed back onto the dirt, his head spinning, and turned to look in the direction the bolt had come from. Instead of Duncan or Jack, as he was expecting, Aline stood white-faced, with the crossbow reloaded and now aimed menacingly at his heart.

This was the final straw, and a wordless exclamation of disbelief burst from Hugh’s aching lungs. He closed his eyes, blood loss and pain making him light-headed and hysteria in danger of consuming him. In a moment of clarity he was struck by the absurdity of the situation. His own men were next to useless in a crisis and a woman, his prisoner, who for some reason had saved his life, was now threatening to end it.

* * *

Despite Sir Hugh’s order Aline had stayed outside the cart. She had watched transfixed with horror as the wolf attacked.

Jack had still been frozen to the spot, his earlier whimpers replaced by a keening cry of, ‘No...no...no...no...no!’

Hugh’s shriek of pain had broken the trance they’d both been under. At the same time as Jack picked up his boning knife Aline had snatched the crossbow from where it had been lying. Breathing slowly to steady her nerve, she’d taken careful aim and fired. With trembling fingers she’d slid another bolt into place and wound back the string, but there had been no need. Her aim had been true and the beast lay dead.

Now she stood stiffly, holding the weapon at arm’s length, uncertain what to do. A noise behind her made her jump. She turned her head, though she kept the bow aimed at the man on the ground. Duncan had returned at the commotion and stood red-faced and panting at the edge of the clearing, his short sword drawn. Jack stood with his knife outstretched, still holding his rabbit, trembling and close to tears.

Aline stared at the Captain, who now lay laughing uncontrollably under the body of the wolf. For a moment she considered the likely outcome if she did shoot him. She walked slowly towards him, still holding the crossbow at chest height. Sir Hugh’s face changed as she stood over him, doubt and possibly fear in his eyes, his hysteria over as quickly as it had arisen. His chest rose and fell heavily, the muscles straining with exertion.

‘What will you do now, my lady?’ he asked, his voice hoarse and slurred. ‘What purpose would it serve to kill me? Even if my men don’t execute you immediately, how long do you think you would last on your own in the wilds?’

Aline looked deep into the eyes of the man who had captured and humiliated her. With her sweetest smile she aimed her bow and pulled the trigger.

The bolt thrummed close to the Captain’s head and stuck in the ground by his ear. Aline had the satisfaction of seeing him jerk in alarm. She lowered the bow and held out a hand; he took it, grunting as she helped him up.

No sooner was he on his feet than his legs buckled underneath him and he slumped forwards with a groan. Aline caught him in her arms. but could barely support his weight. She let the crossbow fall and awkwardly lowered the man to the ground. She cradled his head in her lap as Jack and Duncan rushed forwards to haul the body of the wolf away to the edge of the clearing.

‘Get some torches lit,’ Sir Hugh ordered weakly, ‘and bring one over here. I need to see how bad this is.’

A warm stickiness was starting to soak through Aline’s bodice. She tensed, alarmed at how clammy her dress felt. Sir Hugh had been such a short time in her arms before he fell. The man’s injury must be serious if the blood was soaking through his clothing so quickly!

Duncan brought a torch and cautiously peeled back the Captain’s coat and tunic, both now crimson and sticky. Duncan swore, Jack made retching sounds, and Aline blanched as the flickering light revealed the terrible state he was in.

There were scratches covering his torso, but these were nothing in comparison to those on his chest. Where the wolf had razed him with its claws the wound was shallow, but long. It stretched from his shoulder to finish just over his heart, three ragged gashes in all. The Captain pressed his good hand tightly down to try and slow the blood oozing out. From the controlled sound of his breathing Aline could tell he was fighting hard to remain alert, but she knew he could pass out at any moment.

‘Get one of those bottles of whisky quickly and start a fire, Jack,’ Duncan rasped. ‘I’m going to have to cauterise that before he dies from the loss of blood.’

Sir Hugh let out a deep, wordless moan of protest and closed his eyes.

‘What can I do to help?’ Aline asked.

‘Hold him. Comfort him as best as you can, my lady,’ Duncan said kindly. ‘I don’t know if you understand what is going to happen here, but I have to seal the wound. Be warned: when the knife touches he’ll be in terrible pain—more than he is in now. You’ll have to be ready. Can you do that?’

Aline nodded dumbly. Sir Hugh began to shake, whether from the knowledge of what he faced or from loss of blood Aline was uncertain. She reached down and smoothed his matted hair back from his face with a trembling hand, then stroked his face gently. She made vague shushing sounds, as though she was comforting an injured animal or a child.

Jack ran across with the bottle of whisky and a leather strap from the carthorse’s halter and wrapped it around a thick twig. Duncan picked up the fallen dagger and poured some of the liquor over the blade, then took it to the fire. He balanced it in the flames, his face solemn as he prepared for his task. When he was satisfied the blade was hot enough he nodded to Jack, who held the bottle for Sir Hugh to drink from, then tipped more of the liquid over the injured shoulder and chest.

Sir Hugh swore as the sharp spirit flowed over his injury. Again Jack gave him the bottle, and Hugh took a couple of deep gulps. As an afterthought Jack took a swig, passed it to Duncan, and then to Aline, who took a hesitant drink, glad to feel the sharp warmth in her stomach.

Duncan carried the dagger over and knelt astride his captain. He nodded his head and Jack pushed the leather-wrapped wood between Sir Hugh’s teeth, then leaned across his legs to restrain him. Aline laced her fingers through Sir Hugh’s, noting with alarm how cold they felt. She moved his hand away from the wound and gave a reassuring squeeze, which he answered almost imperceptibly with one of his own.

‘Ready, lad—my lady?’ Duncan asked. ‘I’m going to count to three, then I’ll do it. One...two...’

Without waiting for the third count Duncan pressed the knife against the largest laceration on the Captain’s chest. He held it for a couple of seconds, then quickly removed it. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, assaulting Aline’s senses. Sir Hugh bit down on the wood but could not prevent himself from letting out a groan, more animal than human, deep in his throat as his skin blistered.

His hand gave a spasm and his fingers squeezed Aline’s so tightly she cried out. His body jerked, then fell still as he collapsed into a deep faint. Bile rose in Aline’s throat and she let out an anguished sob, while Jack leaned away and vomited loudly. Duncan removed the wood from the unconscious man’s mouth and inspected his handiwork, then smiled grimly at a job well done.

‘You both did well. Two more to go,’ he told them. ‘I need to reheat the blade. Too cool and it won’t seal the edges.’

‘You can’t do that again!’ Aline blurted out. ‘He’ll never survive another shock like that!’

‘I don’t have a choice,’ Duncan told her gently. ‘If I don’t then the blood loss will end him anyway. How else can I close the wounds?’

Aline looked down at the unconscious man, his face pale and drawn, knowing the old man was right. Then from nowhere a memory surfaced of a visiting doctor from across the seas. He had amazed the whole court when he’d sewn together a deep cut in the leg of her grandfather’s favourite horse.

She looked up with bright eyes and asked, ‘Do you have a needle?’

She explained her idea to Duncan, who spat out a loud protest. Aline’s angry retort was cut short by the slight movement of the head in her lap. Sir Hugh gave a guttural sigh and opened his eyes to see his soldier and his prisoner staring at each other angrily.

‘Is it over?’ he whispered huskily through cracked lips.

‘Hardly started,’ Duncan raged. ‘This madwoman wants to sew you together like—like a tapestry!’

Again Aline explained her plan, ignoring the snorts from the old soldier behind her. Sir Hugh lay silently as she spoke, all the while looking up at Aline.

‘Please, let me try?’ she asked.

Sir Hugh held her gaze for what felt like hours before nodding slowly.

‘I’m going to need warm water and clean cloths,’ Aline ordered.

Jack hastened to fill the pot and set it onto the fire. Duncan walked to the cart and pulled a leather roll out of a box, grumbling all the while under his breath, then returned bearing a selection of needles and tools.

Leaving Sir Hugh lying alone, Aline retrieved her old dress from the cart. As rapidly as she could she cut it into strips with the dagger, unpicking the thread that decorated the bodice. She returned to where Duncan and Jack had positioned her patient. They had moved him against the cartwheel and sat either side, supporting his weight. With a lurching heart Aline saw that the only way she could reach the wound was to kneel astride the reclining man.

She gathered her skirts and moved as carefully as she could into position. She reached a timid hand to his smooth chest, feeling for the torn flesh.

Sir Hugh managed to smile weakly despite the pain. ‘There are some advantages to being mauled, I see.’

‘You flatter yourself, Captain,’ Aline said in a voice lighter than she felt. ‘I prefer my companions to be less bloodstained!’

The man’s face darkened as he obviously recalled when he had said something similar and he looked away.

Aline’s slim fingers probed the area where the skin was torn. She noted with relief that the blood no longer flowed so quickly. She had sounded more confident than she felt when describing the procedure; now, faced with actually doing it, she was beginning to lose her nerve.

‘This is going to need a lot of stitches and it needs to be well cleaned. Are you sure you want me to do this?’ she asked cautiously.

Sir Hugh nodded, his eyes half-closed. Aline took a deep breath and began.

She dipped the strips of dress into the hot water, ignoring the sting in her hands. She cleaned what blood she could from round the wound, ignoring the wincing this caused. Jack passed the whisky bottle to Aline, who drank deeply, then held it to Hugh’s lips. Her hair fell across her face and she paused, twisted it into a roll and secured it with a strip of skirt. Knowing she could put the moment off no longer, she took a deep breath and pushed the needle through Hugh’s skin. He jerked and let out a growl, but did not pass out again.

The needle was blunter than Aline would have preferred, and sewing the wound took what seemed like hours. It turned out that skin proved a lot tougher to pierce than tapestry cloth.

The sky was almost pitch-black by the time she was finished. Hugh had remained still after the first few stitches and contented himself with groaning or swearing depending on the depth of the stitch. Now Aline knotted the final thread with a sigh of relief. The Captain had lost a lot of blood, but with luck he would survive if he kept the wound clean. She used the remaining strips of dress to wrap the wound as best as she could, winding it across Sir Hugh’s chest and behind his shoulder.

Duncan brought a pile of blankets from the cart and rolled two up for a pillow, then covered Sir Hugh’s legs with another, fussing around him until the Captain waved him away irritably. Duncan patted Aline on the shoulder and gave her a smile of approval, then moved off to tend the fire. Jack went to the cart and returned with another bottle of whisky.

The four sat together, passing it between them, any hostility gone for now. They talked over events until they had pieced them together. Though Sir Hugh was exhausted, and weak from the loss of blood and his exertions, he had revived sufficiently to join in the conversation.

Aline was unused to drink that strong, but the warmth spreading through her body was far too comforting for her to care, and she soon found her head spinning. Jack made a further, slightly wobbly trip to the cart and returned with another bottle. He warned her in a slurred voice it was his own brew and would be ‘very, very much too strong for a woman.’

Her pride stung, Aline snatched it from his hand. Tilting her head back, she drank defiantly, conscious of Sir Hugh’s soft laugh as it caused her to cough abruptly and made her eyes water.

* * *

The night wore on and peace descended on the camp. Everyone became preoccupied with their own thoughts as the drink took effect. Duncan sat cross-legged with his back to the cartwheel next to Hugh, singing the same song over and over—something about cheeses and a maiden, though he seemed to know only half the words and was humming the rest. Jack lay on his back a little way off, hiccupping and ranting to the stars about how he should have followed his father into the ironmongery trade.