Page 5 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

Lily stood still at the threshold, her breath caught in her chest.

From the door to the far wall, rows of makeshift beds lined the stone hall, each one occupied. The wounded lay with their eyes closed, groaning or shifting weakly beneath the thin blankets.

The scent of blood, sweat, old metal, and boiled herbs hung thick in the air, the stifled groans from some of the men providing a disquieting background. A handful of maids moved quietly between the beds, placing wet towels on foreheads or handing over tin cups of water.

Lily shuddered. She’d never trodden a battlefield, but this was far closer than she would have liked. Behind her, she heard Alasdair’s voice.

“As I said, these people need yer help.”

She didn’t respond. Her gaze followed a tall, lean man walking down the center row.

He wore a dark apron, spectacles slipping halfway down his long nose, and white streaked the sides of his otherwise dark hair.

His gait was slow, and his eyes scanned each cot with a detached, unwavering calm.

He stopped by a soldier who was coughing blood and turned his chin up to the ceiling.

“That way, the blood stays in yer belly, where it belongs,” Lily heard him say.

She blinked and turned to Alasdair. “Who is that?”

“That’s Dr. Moseley, the clan’s physician.” Then, he leaned in slightly and whispered, “But between me and ye, I think he’s just as useful as a brick. Most of the ones he touches end up dead. Or worse.”

“Then why do ye let him keep working?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He winced. “Because nay one else kens what to do.”

At that moment, a young maid hurried past them, carrying something long and wrapped in cloth. Lily caught the glint of metal, then saw it.

A saw.

“What in God’s name is that for?” she asked sharply.

The maid paused and turned to her. “Oh… ‘Tis for poor Timothy. The gangrene got his foot, and Dr. Moseley says he’s amputating it today.”

Lily stepped forward quickly, the sound of her boots echoing as she made her way to the bed. The man lay there, his skin pale and glistening. His ankle was bandaged thickly, and a faint groan escaped his lips. He was barely older than her.

Good Lord.

Dr. Moseley, who stood on the other side of the bed, raised the saw to inspect it, then caught her shadow and looked up.

“Should ye nae be handing out towels with the maids?” he asked with a snort.

“Careful how ye speak to her,” Alasdair barked from the doorway.

Dr. Moseley started. “Me Laird? I didnae ken ye were back.”

Lily faced him again. “Now, what exactly are ye about to do?”

“As ye can see, lass, I am about to cut this lad’s foot off,” Dr. Moseley said flatly. “The infection’s sunken deep, and if I daenae amputate his foot, he will die.”

The boy whimpered suddenly. “Please,” he said. “Me wife’s with child. She cannae work, and I need to care for the child. Nay one will hire a man without a foot.”

Dr. Moseley grumbled. “Timothy, I told ye, if I daenae amputate it, ye willnae even live to see the birth of yer child.”

Lily stepped closer to the cot. “May I examine it?”

Dr. Moseley rolled his eyes. “I have already?—”

“Aye,” Timothy interrupted. “Please.”

Lily knelt beside him and unwrapped the bandages gently. The smell hit her first, thick and pungent. There was, in fact, an infection, but she could see it was localized. A deep wound, perhaps, but it hadn’t spread far.

“If I clean the infected layer carefully,” she said, “and apply the right mixture, ye willnae need to lose the foot.”

Timothy’s eyes widened. “So… it can be saved?”

She nodded. “If done well, aye.”

Dr. Moseley scoffed. “And just who do ye think ye are?”

Lily rose. “Someone with real experience.”

She let a beat of silence pass before continuing. “Ye ken as well as I do that ‘tis possible to save it. Ye’re just too lazy to try.”

“Lazy?” Dr. Moseley snapped. “In case ye havenae noticed, I have almost a hundred men in here waiting for me. I daenae have time to baby one foot.”

“I would very much like to work with ye, Dr. Moseley,” Lily said calmly. “But if ye are going to continue amputating limbs without trying, I will have to ask ye to stand aside.”

Dr. Moseley turned toward Alasdair, who was still standing in the doorway. “Do ye hear this, me Laird? Are ye just going to let her disrespect me?”

Alasdair crossed his arms. “She’s yer mistress, Moseley. She has the final say.”

Dr. Moseley gawked.

Before Lily could speak, Sorcha stepped out from behind Alasdair. “Oh? Ye havenae heard of her?”

Dr. Moseley blinked. “Heard of her?”

“This is the woman with the gifted hands. The one folks whisper about in villages across the Highlands. She’s a true healer, Dr. Moseley. Revered.” Lily swallowed as Sorcha stepped closer. “So nay. She’s nae only as good as ye; she might even be better.”

Dr. Moseley’s face reddened, and he yanked off his apron, his jaw tight. “If it pleases me Laird… ye may all do without me services.”

Alasdair gave him the faintest shrug. “It does.”

Dr. Moseley stormed off without another word, and a hush fell over the hall. Lily turned to see Alasdair and Sorcha exchanging smug glances. Then came a soft chuckle, followed by laughter.

She narrowed her eyes and yelled, “Oi!”

They both turned quickly.

“In case ye havenae noticed, there are still people ailing!”

Their laughter died down, and she noticed a hint of guilt cross both their faces.

Lily turned back to Timothy. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

She crouched by his side again, gently peeling back the edges of the old bandage to reveal the wound once more. A low hiss escaped her lips at the sight. The skin around the gash was red and angry, and pus crusted around the corners, but it wasn’t too severe. She was certain of that.

“I need to wash it out first,” she told him softly. “Then I’ll clean off the infected layer. But I must warn ye, Timothy… it is going to hurt.”

Timothy ground his teeth and nodded. “Go ahead. If it means keeping me foot, I’ll take the pain any day.”

Lily gave him a small smile, then stood up and grabbed a fresh white apron from the wall nearby.

Sorcha, who had been hovering nearby, leaned in. “Is there anything I can do?”

Lily took another look around the room. Several soldiers were groaning, and a few of them coughed heavily into rags. Two across the hall were trying to push themselves up on their cots, and she noticed the sheen of sweat on their brows.

‘Tis likely fever .

Her eyes settled on another soldier who was clutching his stomach, clearly in pain.

“There’s a handful of men over there in need of—” She paused, trying to think. “They’ll be needing some willow bark tonic for the fever and maybe poultices for the ones with burns.”

Sorcha nodded eagerly. “Aye, I can handle that.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed on her. “Ye can?”

“Are ye joking? I’ve been telling Dr. Moseley that I can help for weeks, but he wouldnae let me touch a thing. All he did was treat me like I was daft.”

“So ye ken what to do, then?” Lily asked.

Sorcha straightened. “I tended to the wounded. Learned everything from dear Matron Wethers, bless her soul. Cannon took her clean out.”

Lily paused, giving her a firm nod. “Right, then. Off ye go. Thank ye.”

As Sorcha rushed off, Lily turned back to Timothy, placing a calming hand on his arm before shifting to look for help. She spotted a maid arranging linens at the far end of the hall and called to her.

“Ye there… what is yer name?”

The young maid looked startled but hurried over. “Daisy, me Lady.”

“Good. Daisy, I need hot water. The hotter the better. And all the whisky ye can find in this castle.”

Daisy blinked, then nodded. “Aye, me Lady.”

“Oh—” Lily called after her as she turned.

Daisy spun back, wide-eyed. “Aye, me Lady?”

“Please,” Lily said, softening, “call me Lily.”

Daisy hesitated. “I am afraid I cannae do that, me Lady.”

Lily wanted to argue, but time wasn’t on their side. She sighed. “Fine. But bring me as many clean bandages as ye can as well.”

“Very well, me Lady,” Daisy said, before rushing out of the hall.

With the girl gone, Lily leaned toward Timothy. “We will get ye back to full health in nay time.”

Timothy let out a raspy laugh, his hands gripping the bed frame. “Me wife will be thrilled. I still cannae believe I get to keep me foot. She will say I owe her another baby.”

Lily chuckled. “Is that right?”

He nodded. “Aye… Is it true what Sorcha said? That ye’re the woman with the gifted hands?”

Lily snorted. “Oh, ye must ken… I daenae pay attention to rumors.”

She glanced around again, seeking another cloth or towel. All the maids were running about now, moving with newfound energy and purpose. Her eyes settled on the only person standing still.

Alasdair.

He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching everything unfold. Lily raised a hand and waved him over. He raised an eyebrow in question, but then pushed off the wall and walked over to her.

“What is it now?”

“I need those towels,” she said, pointing to a small bundle in the far corner. “Can ye fetch them?”

He stared at her with sheer amusement. A few of the nearby maids also paused their work at her words. It was almost as if everything around her went still.

“Are ye going to do it or nae?” she prompted.

For some reason, her words broke the spell. Everyone returned to their work.

Alasdair, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes, the surprise on his face rather evident. “Did ye just ask me to fetch ye towels?”

Lily arched an eyebrow. “Everyone else is busy. Ye’ve got hands, do ye nae?”

He stared at her a moment longer, then smirked and turned without another word. A few heartbeats later, he returned with the bundle of towels folded under one arm.

“Once,” he said as he held them out. “Ye only get to do this once.”

She took them with a grin. “Then we must make it count, do ye nae think?”

His eyes held hers for a moment too long before he turned away again.

Lily let the warmth of the moment linger briefly before returning to her work.

There were lives to save. Lives that needed all the attention she could give them. For now, she would like to focus on them.

Whatever was between her and Alasdair could come much later.