In a flash, Cole was heading in his direction.
A big Scotsman with a big club had managed to catch Addax on the back of the neck. As Cole reached Addax, he was just in time to see the Scotsman hit Addax again on the head. In a flash, Cole swung his broadsword in the direction of the Scotsman, expecting to hit him somewhere between the middle of his back and the top of his head. At this point, he wasn’t going for accuracy as much as he was simply going for a death blow, wherever it may fall. The Scotsman, catching a flash of the sword, managed to put up his hand to block the strike, but he only managed to get his hand cut off along with his head.
Both went rolling to the ground.
Cole leapt off his horse and pulled a dazed Addax to his feet, slinging him over Drago’s broad back and leaping on behind him. Digging his spurs in, he headed for Castle Keld.
Truthfully, Cole didn’t even know how badly Addax was injured. He was simply trying to get him away from the heat of the battle so he could recover his wits. But as he slowed Drago, he happened to look down at Addax and he could see blood all over the man’s hands and arms. The blood was coming from somewhere, so he pushed forward and took the path back around to the postern gate.
All he knew was that he had to get his friend to safety, battle be damned.
“Is the water boiling?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“The linens are being steamed and kept clean?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Then bring me more bandages because one of the men came in with a big gash on his head. I’ll need something to stop the bleeding.”
Corisande was interrogating the cook as the woman followed her around the great hall. Already, they’d had several wounded from the skirmish in the village, but certainly nothing that was overwhelming. It seemed as if the Scots were getting the worst of it, so Corisande had about twenty or thirty of her father’s soldiers to tend to.
There were the usual gashes, slashes, and missing fingers. One soldier even had missing toes because a Scotsman had used an ax on his foot. All of the injuries to that point weren’t life threatening providing they received the proper care, which Corisande efficiently provided.
In fact, she’d left the keep shortly after Cole had instructed her to barricade it. She and Gaia and Gratiana, along with several servants, managed to shutter more than half the windows before the progress came to a halt. Corisande watched the fight from her bower window, realizing the Scots weren’t trying to come into the castle at all. They were quite focused on the town itself. Therefore, she made the decision to leave the keep and prepare the great hall to receive any wounded.
The wounded had come early. Gratiana and Gaia had accompanied her to the great hall, but Gaia began to cry the moment the first bloody injury arrived, so Corisande sent her to the kitchens to make sure there was a steady supply of hot water. It was really the only thing Gaia was capable of because she not only hated mundane chores, the sight of blood made her ill. She didn’t want to be around it at all, and about an hour into the battle, the cook reported that Gaia had retreated to her chamber and refused to come out.
Therefore, the burden was left to Corisande.
But she didn’t mind, really. She was in her element tending the sick and wounded. In fact, it was better not to have to worry about Gaia, the sister she was still coming to know. But she had Gratiana’s help and the help of several servants, so the men were well-tended. As the cook left her and headed back to the kitchens to collect some of the boiled bandages, drying out over the heat and flame of the hearth, Corisande made her way over to a young soldier who had received a fairly nasty gash to the head. It covered most of his forehead and ended near his left eye.
The servant tending him was the same servant who tended to the knight’s quarters, the one who had helped her when she’d lanced the infected boil a couple of days ago. The servant took good initiative trying to stop the bleeding on the gash, but the only thing that would really stop it would be stitching it up, which Corisande intended to do. As she came upon the wounded man, she spoke quietly but firmly to the servant tending him.
“They are bringing more bandages,” she said. “Now, we need to lay him perfectly flat and you must hold his head still so he does not move it while I stitch.”
The servant nodded, moving to the opposite side of the young soldier, who was looking at Corisande fearfully. Her father had over a thousand soldiers at Castle Keld and she didn’t know every one of them, but she had seen most. However, she didn’t recognize this slender young man. He looked very young and very scared.
She smiled reassuringly.
“Just a few stitches and you’ll be as good as new,” she told him. “You must lay down. All the way down; that’s right.”
The servant was pulling him back, his head eventually resting on a folded blanket. But the young man was still looking at Corisande with terror in his eyes.
“Are you going to stick a needle in me?” he asked, his voice quivering.
Another servant appeared with a tray containing a jug of the wine and vinegar mixture Corisande favored. There were also a few bandages as well as a needle and catgut, which had been soaked in a salt solution. Corisande had learned everything she knew from her mother, including how to treat the catgut and how to keep her needles and bandages clean by soaking them in the wine and vinegar solution. Her mother believed that people had a better chance of survival if the items touching them had been cleaned of any poison from the previous patient, and Corisande had seen that belief in action.
It worked.
She smiled at the terrified young man.
“I will tell you what I am going to do so that you are not afraid,” she said steadily. “What is your name?”
“Dunne, my lady.”
“You have not been at The Keld long, have you?”
He tried to shake his head a little, held still by the servant. “Nay,” he said. “My mother and father have a farm to the west. I came to Castle Keld to earn money to send to them. Lord Alastor is our liege. My father says he is a fair man. But I’ve never been in a battle before.”
“I see,” Corisande said. “Then you’re really a farmer.”
“I am, my lady.”
“It is noble of you to want to earn money for your family.”
“Will I be sent home because I was hurt?”
Corisande shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. “But I must stitch your gash. I am going to put something on it to cleanse it, and it will sting a little, but I know you are brave. Then I will quickly stitch it up so you will only have the smallest scar. You can tell your mother and father that you were very courageous in battle.”
The young man nodded briefly, unsteadily, and Corisande silently motioned to the servant to hold the young man’s head steady. As the servant clamped down on the young soldier’s head, Corisande quickly swabbed the wound in the wine and vinegar solution. The young man made a pained face but, to his credit, he didn’t cry out.
Quickly, Corisande stitched up the gash. Unfortunately, it was a jagged cut and it took thirteen fine, careful stitches. But when she was done, she swabbed the wound with the solution again and made sure she removed all of the dirt and sweat she could see. By this time, the cook had sent out more clean bandages and she left the male servant to carefully wrap the young soldier’s head.