The Collie
554 Words
The Collie~
Isobel Callan
Glenayre, Aleron
Seth shook his head and left her standing there, bewildered. He scavenged a pistol off a dead man’s belt and gave it a quick checking over. He brought it to her.
“Fire this if anyone comes up while I’m gone.”
Isobel tightened her fingers around the grip. She didn’t know if she could fire the thing or not, but she wouldn’t bother him with that now.
“Lyn! The horses. With me.”
Seth set off running for the woods. Isobel set the pistol on the ground between Calum and Ashlon, carefully pointing it away from them all. She didn’t trust the thing not to fire off on its own accord. Handling a g*n seemed another skill Hawks assumed everyone learned.
She knelt beside Calum, nudged his hand away from the wound, and winced at the raw flesh. She fought down nausea and fumbled for the dagger that had somehow ended up down in glen with her.
“Careful where you wave that,” said Calum. “What are you doing?”
“Bandaging your arm before you pass out.” She sawed a strip off the skirt of her tunic.
“Fold it over and press it down in the wound,” Ashlon said…or didn’t say.
“I know what I’m doing, Captain. Seth told you to stop that.”
“What did he—” Calum grimaced as he tried to get up. “Mind yourself, nene.”
“Here, hold this in place,” she told her overprotective brother. “Lift your arm.”
Calum grunted as she pulled tight and tied off the ends.
“That’s good enough,” he said, shooing her away. “It’ll do until Ranald can tend it.”
“It needs stitching, and soon.” She went to tend Ashlon. “Don’t think at me,” she warned. “It’s distracting.”
Ashlon gave a wry grin but kept his thoughts to himself. She sliced his breeches and examined his broken leg. It needed stabilizing before they moved him. She rummaged around the camp for a splint, trying to ignore the grisly scene around her. She returned with a sturdy stick, stripping off leaves and twigs.
“I’m going to straighten your leg,” she told him. “It’s going to hurt.”
A horse snorted, but she already knew Seth was back. She felt his presence. She pushed the disconcerting sensation aside and concentrated on splinting Ashlon’s leg.
“How did you learn to do that?” Seth leaned over her shoulder.
“Ranald taught us all,” said Calum. “Never expected to see—”
“Hush, Calum. Do you hear that?” Isobel stopped and listened. The faint whimper sounded again.
Seth ran toward the sound. He dropped to his knees and tore away at a bramble bush at the base of the bluff. When he stood, he held Rusty in his arms. Blood streaked his sleeves and the white blaze on the collie’s chest.
“He’s alive,” Seth’s voice cracked. “But he’s broken. I should put him out of his pain.”
“No. Please, no,” Isobel pleaded. “Get us home and let Ranald try to mend him.”
Seth hesitated.
“Captain Lyn, mount up. I’ll lift him up to you.”
Lyn got astride his horse, took the battered collie, and settled him across his lap.
“Calum, can you stay in a saddle?” said Seth.
“I can manage.”
“Ashlon?”
“Give me a hand up, and I can hang on.”
He was at it again. Seth just rolled his eyes and turned to her.
“How can I help?” she asked.
He blinked at her for a moment. He glanced around the b****y campground and back to her. He seemed to assess her anew and gauge her mettle. He shook his head at her yet again. She’d lost count of how many times he’d done that today.
“When I lift Derry over his horse, bind wrists to ankles underneath.” He tossed her a coil of rope. “Make solid knots. Don’t be squeamish about breaking bones.”
Chapter 42
- Writer
