The Bewitching Twin (4 page)

O
ne day flowed into another, spring took firm hold of the weather, and life rolled by, but not idyllically. The people of Rogan’s clan continued to grow ill while some healed and others suffered relapses. The only thing Aliss had prevented thus far was more deaths.

Occasionally, she would grow melancholy with thoughts of home and her sister, but mostly she worked relentlessly, eating little and sleeping even less, growing ever more frustrated when another person took ill.

The illness struck randomly; she could make no sense of it. And she pushed aside the thought that any day it might attack her.

It was late and Aliss was exhausted. She smiled when she saw the narrow bed by the fireplace. Her limbs ached with weariness and she threw herself down on the lumpy mattress with a grateful sigh.

She nestled her head in the pillow, her eyes drifting shut, ready to surrender to sleep and hoping no one disturbed her at least for a few hours.

“Aliss. Aliss.”

She heard her name in the distance. She should respond; instead she snuggled deeper into sleep.

Someone grabbed her shoulder and shook her until she had no choice but to wake.

“What is it you want?” she grumbled, forcing her eyes open.

“Someone is badly hurt,” Anna said, hovering over her.

Aliss sprang out of bed forcing Anna to jump back. “Who? What happened?”

“James, a mere lad, wounded in battle.”

“Battle?” Aliss shook the sleep from her mind and rushed around gathering items that she might need. “What battle?”

“The marauders struck again. We must hurry. He does not do well.”

Aliss grabbed her basket and followed a teary Anna out the door.

Women kneeled in prayer outside the cottage and the men, dirty and weary from battle, followed her every step with pleading eyes. She could almost hear them begging her to save their fallen comrade.

Aliss entered the cottage, the stench of blood thick in the warm air. Rogan stood off in the corner, stoic in stature and expression. John stood next to him, his eyes heavy with tears yet to be spilled. Crying softly, an older woman kneeled beside the bed and a man stood alongside her, his gnarled fingers resting on her shoulder.

Aliss walked to the bed.

Tears ran down the man’s face. “Please, he is our only grandson.” He raised his twisted fingers. “I cannot fight. He claimed he was a man and would fight in my stead.” He choked on the pain and cleared his voice. “Please save him.”

“I will do what I can.” She wished she could give them more hope, but she had learned that she could not keep death from claiming his victims.

Anna along with John ushered the couple out of the cottage.

Aliss went directly to the lad, and almost cried herself. He was a mere boy, perhaps thirteen years. His face was sweet and lovely, so like an innocent child’s, but he was no child. He had tasted battle; he was a man.

“I am dying,” James cried out in pain.

Aliss took his hand and he gripped it tightly. “Death has yet to claim you,” she said.

“I see him,” he whispered harshly and stretched his neck to stare in the corner. “He waits for me in the shadows.”

“And there he shall remain.”

“Do not let him take me. Please, I beg of you,” he said and tried to pull himself up.

Aliss tried to hold him down but he was frantic to escape death and sprang up in bed. The sudden movement was too much for the fresh wound and the pain struck James fast and furiously. He turned deathly pale and screamed as if he was being ripped asunder. Then in an instant he dropped back on the bed and was quickly plunged into the blessed peace of unconsciousness.

Now was the time to examine him, when he would feel no pain. With urgent fingers, Aliss gently moved the bloody blanket off him. “A stomach wound.”

“The worst kind,” Rogan said behind her.

He stood close to her. She could feel his breath on her neck and hear the helplessness in his voice.

“Leave me with him,” she ordered.

He placed a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezed before leaving her alone with the young lad.

Aliss realized soon enough that there was little hope for saving the boy and yet she felt compelled to fight death as hard as she could.

“Can I help?”

Aliss looked up to see Anna. “Blood does not make you squeamish?”

She shook her head. “Tell me what to do.”

Aliss obliged her and together they worked on young James.

Aliss felt healing was a privilege and she worked hard to give it the respect and attention it deserved. She spoke with learned healers and worked alongside women who through trial and error had learned the way.

One woman in particular had impressed her. She lived alone in the woods, her fair skin wrinkled with time but her mind as sharp as a young lass’s. Gretell was her name and she had taught Aliss things about healing that some might deem heretical.

She had sworn Aliss to secrecy and made her understand that she was not to pass the knowledge to another until she felt certain she could trust the woman with the wisdom.

Aliss called upon that knowledge now to help her save James. Gretell had dissected dead animals and had shown Aliss parts of the inner body. One thing she had taught her was that if no damage was done to the organs then she should stitch the wound and pray.

Her examination had shown her that James’s organs had not been wounded. While he had been slashed open, the sword had done no other damage. If she stitched him up, treated the wound with the salve Gretell had taught her to mix, and prayed no fever set in, then perhaps James would live.

It was a slim chance but one Aliss had to take.

“I am going to stitch him,” Aliss said.

Anna looked puzzled. “He is dying. His innards are exposed. No one survives that.” She pointed to the sword slash that had laid his stomach open. “It is too big to stitch. It will not stay closed and the pain will be too great for him.”

“True enough, but he is unconscious and will feel nothing.” Aliss rinsed her bloody hands in the bowl on the chest next to the bed. “Besides, I will not stand here helpless and watch him die a slow and horribly painful death. If you feel unable to assist me, I understand.”

Anna shook her head. “No, I will help. I have just never heard of a healer doing such a thing before.”

“I do all I can to heal,” Aliss said proudly. “I cannot stand by and simply let someone die without trying to save them, even if the situation appears hopeless.”

“I am glad you have come to heal us.”

“Something I have yet to do.”

“You will,” Anna said with certainty.

“Thank you for your confidence in me. It will help when we work on James.”

The two women worked side by side, Anna following Aliss’s every direction. It was well past dawn when Aliss finally finished and Anna ushered James’s grandparents back into the house.

“He sleeps,” Aliss said to the couple, who could not take their eyes off their grandson.

“He will live?” asked the grandmother.

“I cannot say for sure,” Aliss answered honestly. “Right now sleep, rest, and light nourishment is what he needs to heal completely. There is also swelling, redness, and fever to worry about. I will keep a close watch on him, as will Anna. Hopefully he will be victorious in this battle.”

“He is strong,” his grandmother said optimistically.

“Tell him that often,” Aliss said. “It will give him the courage to fight for his life.”

“How can we thank you?” the grandfather asked.

Aliss looked to their grandson. “I will have my thanks when I see him walking, smiling, and flirting with the young girls of the village.”

The elderly couple smiled, nodded, and turned their attention to their grandson.

Aliss had instructed Anna in James’s care and they divided the time that each would spend with him. Aliss now had other ill people to look after and a slew of other things to do and not enough time to do them all.

Derek had improved then suddenly had had a relapse. Ivan was doing much better. Tara’s two-year-old had improved greatly and was up to mischief already.

Aliss headed back to Rogan’s home. Why did some ailing people improve and others did not? Why were they suffering relapses? How had she managed to prevent deaths since her arrival? The answers were there. She just was not certain where to find them.

Aliss was surprised that she had not seen Rogan the rest of the day. He usually managed to keep company with her throughout part of the day. He kept out of her way, but he was there observing.

At first, she had thought he did not trust her, but she had come to realize that he not only felt a responsibility to his people but he actually cared about them, and they in turn cared for the Wolf. There was camaraderie among them all, a closeness that was palpable, and her curiosity about the clan was quickly turning to admiration.

She had learned that the Wolf clan had inhabited this island not far off the coast of Scotland for many years. Its peoples were a motley mix of various heritages. Shunned, for various reasons, by their clans, they had formed their own. A fierce band of warriors with no allegiance to king or country, they were feared by many and yet Aliss found them a loving and generous people, not at all the barbarians she once thought them.

Normally by late afternoon, she would be feeling the effects of a hectic day, but today she felt empowered instead of tired. The surgery she had performed on James had gone better than she had hoped, right down to the neat little stitches, all fifty of them.

When she last checked on him he was sleeping comfortably, having woken briefly. Anna had made certain to give him the sleeping brew so he would rest. So far, all was well, but it was still too early to tell if he would survive.

Before she did anything else, she needed to make more salve and brew more potions for the ailing. She hurried into the cottage, eager to get started, and came to an abrupt halt when she saw John bent over the table, knife in hand, ready to cut into Rogan’s hand.

“Stop!” she screeched.

“I told him to let you look at it,” John said defensively and backed away from the table.

Aliss walked right up to Rogan. “You have an injury and you do not summon me?”

“You are busy with more important matters,” he said firmly.

“You think that is a good explanation for foolishness?”

John sneaked out the door before the couple could notice his departure.

“You call me a fool?”

Aliss turned to examine his hand and he pulled it away. “You need healing, you go to the healer.”

“My wound is nothing more than a sliver of wood embedded in my finger. It hardly needs a healer to extract it. Besides, you exhaust yourself day and night tending the truly ill.”

“That is why you abducted me. To heal your people.” She was beginning to believe that he spoke the truth about his reason for her abduction. Everyone she had spoken with verified Rogan’s intention to bring a skilled healer home to cure his people.

“
My people,
not me,” he said, standing to tower over her.

Again, he put his clan before himself. However, when it came to healing, she fought with as much gusto as he did for his people. She stood her ground and did not back away, though his size easily intimidated.

“So if you were sick you would not let me heal you.”

“That is different.”

“It is not. Now give me your hand,” she demanded, holding hers out to him.

“You are busy enough without needing to tend me. You have not been home once today and you probably have not eaten all day.”

“I was not hungry,” she said, and poked at his chest. “And who are you to talk. You have not even washed the dirt and stench of battle off you.”

He grabbed her wrist. “I was too busy burying the dead.”

She gasped. “I am so sorry. I did not know you lost men.”

“I did not. I helped bury the enemy.” He released her and dropped back in his seat. “They will hurt us no more.”

She reached for his hand and he did not stop her.

“That is how you got the splinter?”

“The wooden handle broke.” He turned his head and stared at the flames. “I buried a lad younger than James today. I hoped I would not have to bury James.” He turned back to her. “Has he died yet?”

“You expect him to?” she asked.

“I have seen no man survive a gut wound.” He jumped when she touched his swollen finger.

“You should have come to me immediately with this.”

“I had no time to give it thought.”

“There is time now.”

He took hold of her hand when she released his. “We will eat after you are done. You need nourishment.”

She smiled. “You need a bath; then we will eat.”

“Do you tell me I stink?” He grinned.

She held her nose and laughed.

“Tend my finger, healer, so that I may wash and appease your senses.”

It was more than a sliver of wood embedded in his finger, but with gentle prodding Aliss managed to remove it without much difficulty. She cleansed it with a warm potion and patted it dry.

“After you wash, I will put salve on it and bandage it. Tell me immediately if it should discolor or pain you.” She looked at his finger then at him. “You will show me the wound each morning and night.”

“Will I now?”

Her finger gently probed the skin; she was glad to see that the swelling was already subsiding. “Yes, you will.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, slipping an arm around her waist and spreading his legs to tug her closer to him.

Panic gripped her, and with a gentle pushing of her hands, she eased away from him and started sorting the dried herbs on the table.

He stood and walked up behind her, standing close but not touching her. “Why, Aliss?”

“I want to make certain no poison sets in the wound.” He stood too close, his heat seeping into her, titillating her skin, giving her gooseflesh.

“Thank you for caring.”

She turned, quickly bracing her hands on the edge of the table behind her. “I care for all the ill.”

“And who cares for you?”