She leaned over and adjusted the pil ows behind Rory’s back, careful not to jolt him. The plaid slipped from her shoulder, and she bit her lower lip. His warm breath heated the sensitive skin of her breasts through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Her nipples tightened in response. Please let his eyes be closed, she silently prayed.
“’Tis no’ fair to tease a dyin’ man, lass,” he said, his lips so close the material of her T-shirt rippled.
“That’s good to hear,” Iain said, coming into the room with a mug in one hand and a bucket in the other. “And yer askin’ fer ale—another good sign.”
“Bloody hel , lass, you could have warned me you planned on gettin’ rough,” Rory growled when she placed the linens, as gently as she could, beneath his wounded side. 24
She grimaced and reached for the pitcher of alcohol on the bedside table. “Fergus and Iain, I’l need you to hold him down for me.” Ali sighed when the three men glared at her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a choice. I have to make sure there’s no infection before closing the wound, and the only way to do that is to pour the alcohol on it. I won’t lie to you,” she told Rory. “It’s going to burn.”
Fergus and Iain tightened their hold on her patient as she careful y poured the amber liquid into the gaping wound. Ali clenched her teeth when Rory let out a string of exple
tives. Once she felt confident it was thoroughly cleansed, she returned the pitcher to the bedside table. “You can let him go. I’m finished.”
For the last hour Ali had kept herself busy tearing the linens into strips while they plied Rory with alcohol. She turned to look at her patient, trying not to smile in response to his crooked grin. The man had the constitution of a horse. At this rate, they were going to have to hit him over the head to knock him out. The alcohol hadn’t done any good. She pressed her palm to the side of his face, relieved there was stil no sign of fever. Tension knotted the back of her neck, and Ali rol ed her shoulders in an attempt to ease the taut muscles. She knew the cause. She had been trying not to think about it, but she had no choice, something had to be done to stop the bleed
ing. She had been optimistic when the bleeding had sub
sided, but now a tel tale circle of claret red appeared on the snowy white linen. He couldn’t afford to lose any more blood.
“Lass, why doona’ I bring you a wee drop of ale?” Mrs. Mac offered.
“Thank you, but I better not.” She checked Rory’s pulse, noting its steady rhythm. LORD OF THE ISLES
25
“Wil you be wantin’ to wrap the wound now?” Iain asked.
“No,” Ali said, unable to meet the younger man’s gaze.
“But—” Iain started to protest.
“Ah, would you be stitchin’ it then, lass?” Fergus inter
rupted him.
Ali shook her head. Clearing her throat, she said, “No, the wound is too wide, too deep. But he’s lost too much blood and I can’t let it go on any longer.”
She felt Rory’s gaze bore into her. “What is it yer plan
nin’ on doin’?”
“I don’t have a choice; the wound has to be cauterized.”
Ali’s stomach lurched at the thought of what she had to do.
“I’l have to seal the wound together. Burn it.”
“I ken what you meant, lass,” he commented dryly.
“Nay!” Iain shouted.
“Aye, lad.” Fergus nodded. “The lass is right. I’ve seen it done before.” He turned to Ali. “Do you think you can manage, because I ken I canna’ do it.”
“Yes, but not if he’s awake,” she admitted. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of him suffering, and her being the cause.
“Do it now,” Rory ordered.
Ali’s head jerked up. “I told you, I can’t, not while you’re awake. Just drink that damn stuff.”
“It won’t work, Aileanna,” he said. Her name rol ed off his tongue, his tone soothing. Heat unfurled in her bel y as though he caressed her.
“He speaks the truth, lass,” the older man said, sympa
thy in his eyes.
“Get my sword, Fergus.”
Ali’s gaze flew to Rory. “No . . . no,” she repeated when Fergus tried to press the weapon into her hand. “For God’s sake, I can’t. And certainly not with this. I can barely lift it,”
she protested.
