Knight's Legacy (31 page)

Cat went on to describe what Meggie had experienced before her death. “What could have been done to save her life at that point?”

The doctor took a sip of water and frowned. “In some cases a woman can lose about one pint of blood during delivery. But from what you're describing, with the severity of the bleeding, the doctor's options would be few. The body cannot handle the trauma of losing that much blood that quickly. It would be rare for a patient to bleed out like that, similar to what you're describing, but it happens.”

“So, there was nothing that could have been done? Women still die in childbirth in spite of all the medical technology at our fingertips?”

“Oh, yes, and that can be the most difficult thing to accept. The more we learn, the more we realize how helpless we are.” The doctor's pager went off, and he reached down to his waist to read it.

“I've got to go, I'm sorry, it's the ER.”

Cat stood and shook his hand. “That's fine. Thank you for your help. I appreciate the information.”

Cat walked out of the hospital and, for the first time, felt a sense of acceptance about Meggie's death. She understood that there was a strong possibility that even if Meggie had been in a modern hospital, she most likely could not have been saved.

The following week she met with the anesthesiologist Dr. Moore. He was puzzled when she asked him what was usually done for severe hemorrhaging.

“That depends. Would the patient have a reason, personal or religious, for refusing a blood transfusion?”

“No,” she said.

“Then we'd give the blood, of course, but sadly, there can be complications. Sometimes the body rejects it. Sometimes, and I really hate to say it, but the blood supply can be tainted. We test for AIDS, but the test is not 100% accurate. Then there's the possibility of hepatitis.”

“And if a transfusion is not possible?”

“Well, there are nonblood volume expanders, such as dextran, saline, Ringer's solution, or hetastarch. It's a way to build up the patient's strength without blood.”

Cat wrote the names of the treatments in her notebook. “Have you seen this treatment used?”

He nodded. “Often. It's our only option when someone's beliefs don't allow transfusions. Interestingly, we have had good results with that treatment when we've had to use it.”

Cat sat in his office at the hospital and talked to Dr. Moore for another fifteen minutes, then rose to leave. “Thank you so much, you've been a big help.”

“Put in a good word for me with Sierra, and we'll call it even.”

Cat smiled and winked as she shook his hand. “I'll do my best.”

Cat set about acquiring antique bottles to put the drugs in, and a leather satchel to store them. On the twelfth, Sierra set up the meeting at the hospital with the drug salesman. Once Cat came home with antibiotics and drugs for pain, she spent some time with Howard. After he had retired, she went to the kitchen and crushed up the pills with a mortar and pestle.

Sierra came into the kitchen with her hand full of papers, and held them up.

“What is all this, Cat? I found your notes by the computer. And these diagrams? What is this contraption? And who are Marillier and John Harrington?”

Cat smiled and glanced up from her work. “Marillier was one of the first inventors of water closets. The diagram is a prototype, though I don't know if it can be used in a castle. John Harrington was the godson of Queen Elizabeth, and he set about making a ‘necessary', for her in 1596, which was what they called them. He also made one for himself. He was an accomplished inventor, but was so ridiculed by his peers for the device, he never built another one. But the Queen is said to have used hers until her death.”

Sierra chuckled. “You're going to build yourself a toilet?”

Cat shrugged. “I don't know if it's even possible with the tools in the thirteenth century, but don't knock it. It seems a fairly simple design.”

“Didn't like running outside in the cold? I understand. That sounds a bit too primitive for me.”

“I was much more concerned with disease. There are some interesting suggestions on the net. An oil-based compound, or a paraffin wax will kill the insects that can spread nasty bacteria.”

“I suppose you never once had a decent bath when you were there?”

“I beg your pardon! I most certainly did. It was a very large wooden tub.”

“And you lugged buckets of water?”

“Nay, for Roderic's soldiers did it for me, lassie,” Cat said.

“Well, excuse me, Lady of the Manor. By the way, when you use that Medieval speech, it is a bit unnerving.”

Cat grinned. “I know. Why don't you help instead of harassing me. I'm making labels for these bottles.”

Sierra examined them. “Where did you get these? They look as if they came out of an ancient pharmacy.”

“That's because they did. I got them from one of those online auctions, and paid extra for next-day shipping. But they're perfect to transport the drugs. What do you think of calling penicillin ‘healers mold'?”

Sierra picked up one of the labels. “As long as you remember which is which. So many of these pills are white. On which one of these do you want me to put ‘eye of newt' and ‘gnat's eyelashes'?”

“Very funny. Try to help with a little less sarcasm,” Cat said.

Sierra grinned. “Sorry, I've watched one too many episodes of ‘Charmed'.”

“What did you think of the midwife information I downloaded?”

“It looked as if it were put there by an expert. Birthing at home is very popular. I loved it when the hospital finally got with it and started decorating their birthing rooms to look a bit more like home. Childbirth is less stressful to the mother if she doesn't feel she's in such a clinical environment.”

“I also want you to show me how I could mix up a good cough medicine,” Cat said.

“Don't make it too hard. Your classic hot toddy of whiskey, lemon juice, and honey will work.”

“And if I can't find lemons?”

“How about apples? Were they in supply at the castle?”

“Yes! Apple juice is sweet, too, and it would cut the taste of that homemade brew. It's so strong, even the honey can't overpower it.”

“You're doing your best, Cat. But you can't take the present time back with you.”

“I don't plan to. Maybe Sir Raven will veto my taking anything, I don't know, but it won't hurt to try. Do you mind answering some more of my questions about nursing before you go to bed tonight?”

Sierra shook her head. “No, not at all. So, you don't have any idea when this dude will show up again? Doesn't that make you anxious? He scared me so much I was babbling.”

“Not really. I'm ready to return with him. It gets harder every day to watch Dad … “

“Die,” Sierra said. “It's just a word, Cat.”

“I know, but maybe I am not ready to let go of him.”

“You have to. He's ready. He told me he wants it over.” Sierra spoke with a hint of compassion in her tone.

“What he wants over is his own weakness. He can't abide it. Dad's always had to have life on his terms, or none! Never mind what it does to the others who love him.”

“I don't want to hurt your feelings, Cat, but it's not about you. It's about Howard, and what he wants.”

“Oh, well, go ahead, don't pull any punches,” Cat said, eyes narrowing.

“I never do when it concerns my patients. I believe wholeheartedly it's his call.”

Cat shook her head and sighed. “I know. Your right, I'm sorry, and I'm doing my best to accept what he wants in the way of treatment. He's just so stubborn.”

Sierra smiled slowly. “No, he's just an old cowboy. You love him, or you leave him alone, but you're not going to change him.”

“Amen to that,” Cat said.

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man may lay down his life for his friends.

~John 15:13

R
oderic awakened from sleep bone weary. Though he knew it hopeless, he had spurred a search for Catherine.

“The castle held no trace of her, merely her blood in the chamber. The women have washed the stone,” Nigel said.

The thought of her injury gave birth to a new rage in Roderic. Nigel bent down to whisper, his words for Roderic alone.

“The traitor was not found. We cannae go a fathom beyond the border of the castle grounds with the armies encamped so near.”

Though Roderic considered his injuries minor, Glyniss hovered about him, concerned for his head. Vision blurring, he again fought nausea as Nigel went on.

“Ye may have killed him. He was wounded when he ran.”

“Nay, it was not a mortal wound. Tell me where the trail of blood leads.”

“As if he disappeared into the wall. A secret door?”

“Aye. Mackay would have such to provide an escape with so many enemies.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Hold fast now, Nigel. It seems I must sleep.”

A fortnight later Glyniss snapped a curt reply to Edna while they prepared the meal to break last eve's fast. Sir Roderic would not be present to eat it. The English knight, thought to be a bane, had been a blessing to the people, and Glyniss was peevish to see his state. Speaking to no one, he isolated himself in his chamber though the pain in his head had abated. It was not merely the wound.

He was forlorn in spirit and heart. His grief over the disappearance of his wife was no surprise to Glyniss, though she suspected it was a shock to the knight. A man's pride would deny the power of a mere woman to dictate their lives. Yet dictate she did, this mysterious wench who had become Lady Montwain. Glyniss did not fear her. She had tossed their lives about like a caber. One loved her or despised her, but could not ignore her.

Roderic saw that Glyniss was watching him when he awakened. Her presence gave him an odd comfort and he pondered what he had seen the night Catherine was taken from him. The old one would know. The answers he so desperately sought would lie with Sir Raven, the old knight. After saving his life, he had brought Roderic to Alexander. But when Roderic had asked his identity long ago, the old one would only answer “Sir Raven.” After his childhood home had burned, Roderic had clung to him, in despair over the loss of his family. He had begged Sir Raven to stay. The man had comforted him, but was adamant about leaving him with Alexander.

“There, young warrior. Be brave, and learn to stand alone, for I, like the raven, must fly away. But fear not your destiny. I will come to you as the autumn winds, and do as I must to protect you.”

Roderic knew well the debt he bore the old one. His life, his very breath would have been torn from him in the blaze of the fire that destroyed his home. Sir Raven had brought him hope. He brought him to Scotland, and a life far from the murdering Saxons.

Still, Roderic felt a deep and abiding anger. Sir Raven had taken Catherine away in a flash of unearthly light.

Roderic vowed to find her. Sir Raven came to him no less than every two summers. Be it two summers or forty, he would wait, and he would find her.