Page 62 of Beguiled

The edges of his vision greyed. Oblivion called him back to his rest.

The next time he opened his eyes, he knew where he was. The curving plasterwork petals of the ceiling rose told him this was Murdo’s bedchamber.

“You’re awake.”

He turned towards the voice, wincing at the slamming pain in his head that accompanied the sudden movement.

Murdo sat beside him. He looked utterly wrecked, grey circles under his bloodshot eyes, his hair standing up on end where he’d run his hands through it.

“Murdo—” David’s voice came out dry and cracked, and he wondered suddenly how the rest of him was faring. He moved as though to begin sitting up, to check himself. Murdo immediately leaned forward, placing one large, warm hand on his chest.

“Easy, there.”

It was then that another thought—another person—occurred to him.

“Elizabeth?” he breathed.

“Gone,” Murdo replied. “Kinnell was seized by the King’s soldiers after you were felled by that horse. She ran away and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Thank God,” David whispered. It hadn’t been for nothing, at least.

“I don’t know why you’re thanking God,” Murdo replied, his jaw set and grim. “You managed to nearly kill yourself, you idiot.”

“How bad?” David croaked. He strained his neck off the pillow to look down at himself, only to fall back from the sudden intense pain in his head.

“Jesus Christ!” he hissed.

“Careful! Your head was clipped by the horse’s hoof, and there’s a fracture—though you’re lucky your skull wasn’t entirely caved in.”

“No wonder it hurts,” David mumbled.

“That’s not all, I’m afraid,” Murdo said. “Your right leg was broken in two places. Luckily, you were out cold when it was being set.”

David felt a surge of fear. A bad break could be difficult to heal. He might even lose his leg. He lifted his head again, panic keeping him going through the pain this time, pain that eased when Murdo jumped up and braced his arm behind David to support his head and neck.

David looked down his body, at the unexpected bulk under the bedcovers.

“Show me,” he demanded desperately, his voice near breaking.

Murdo leaned forward, using his free hand to pull the covers back. “It’s not so bad,” he murmured. “Just splinted and bandaged. You need to rest and let it heal.”

David barely heard him. He was too busy staring at his leg. Not that you could tell that itwasa leg. The whole length of it was bandaged and trussed up in what looked like a stiff wood-and-leather harness. He was immobilised. Unable to bend knee or ankle, the whole limb firmly held in position for healing.

“How long will it need to be like this?”

“At least three months, perhaps longer.”

David gasped. “Threemonths—”

“It could be six. The physician says the bones need to knit properly before you can risk placing weight on it.”

“I can’tmanagelike this for six months—or even three!”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Murdo replied. “It’s a bad break, and if you’re not careful, you’ll get an infection in it—and then you’ll be looking at amputation.”

David made an incoherent noise, part protest, part despair, and turned his head into Murdo’s shoulder, gulping in Murdo’s familiar scent for a long, weak moment as he absorbed the reality of his situation.

Murdo shifted his body so that they sat side by side, though with Murdo’s strong arm still supporting David’s back. He stroked the apple of David’s shoulder with his thumb, murmuring, “Come on. It’ll be all right.”