Faith is Fallen (Broken Fantasies Series)

Chapter 4

Author's Note: I am totally excited because I'm getting to post this chapter early because I got home and there was 11 total votes for Faith is Fallen!  Oh my God, you guys are so awesome!  I love you all.

Conall raced into the guest room as quickly as he could without jarring his bundle. His healers raced behind him, trying to catch up as they gathered their supplies and met him upstairs. With bated breath, he lowered her ever so gently to the soft surface, but not without another groan from the poor woman.

"There, there," he said, brushing the hair out of her face. The blood from her back caused the strands to stick and clump together, staining his fingers red in the process. "We will get you well again."

His healer, Raghnaid, looked at him contemptuously, doubtfully. He didn't want to see it, didn't want to hear it. He pushed her hair back again, marveling at her features. An elegance, an otherworldly grace, lay before him. Even with faint red stains marring her skin, she took his breath away.

"She will be okay."

Raghnaid touched his shoulder, drawing his attention. A look of pity filled her eyes. "I'll do what I can, my lord. A few prayers might be in order, though."

Conall nodded, and turned back to trying to sooth the occupant of the bed. He started singing again, drawing a started gasp from Raghnaid, which he ignored.

#

Raghnaid gasped as her lord started to sing to the mortally injured woman bleeding to death on the bed. She held no hope that they would be able to save the woman. She was too far gone, had lost too much blood. Raghnaid touched her skin, the cold, clammy texture telling all she needed to.

Still, her lord would not hear of her giving up, she could see that clear as day. The man was clearly smitten with the woman, and she could see why as she removed her tools from her bag of medicinals. Using a knife from her belt, she gently cut away the clothes from the woman's back, the fabric a smooth texture unlike anything she had ever encountered. Blood stained it, though, leaving it stiff in places and causing it to stick to her back around her injuries, making them worse.

Raghnaid tried her best to be gentle, but still the woman moaned and cried out in pain. Lord McKay gave her a vicious glare, which she promptly ignored. She needed to dedicate all of her focus on her patient. "God's teeth," she said on a gasp. Two long, angry, and deep wounds covered the entirety of the woman's back. The wounds were over an inch wide, and she could see straight down to bone in places. "You poor thing."

She pulled out a needle and thread, and began the work of stitching the girl back together again, what little good it would do.

#

It took over an hour of careful stitching to fully close the wounds on the mystery woman's back. Once done, she bandaged the wounds and placed poultices on them to promote healing. Checking for other wounds, she noticed a chain hanging from the woman's hand. "What's this?"

Lord McKay looked down. "I do not know." He tried prying it from her hand, but her fingers would not budge. "She must be partial to it."

"Indeed, my lord. Now, I'm sure you have better things to be doing at the moment. I will look after your guest."

"Thank you, Raghnaid. You are invaluable. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Thank you, my lord."

He nodded, and left the room, leaving her alone with her patient. It would be a long, sleepless night.

#

Conall came down the stairs exhausted and worried. As he stepped onto the rushes of the Great Hall, he looked back over his shoulder, up to the second floor where she lay, a hope and a prayer away from dying, he admitted to himself for the first time since discovering her.

He turned away and vowed he would pray all night if there was any chance it would aid in her recovery. Then he saw his brother, sitting at the tables and bothering a serving girl.

He glared, all his anxiety and fear for the woman upstairs funneling into the anger that bloomed in him every time he heard rumor of some atrocious act perpetrated by his brother, his own blood. He stormed across the room, his footsteps echoing off the walls, but not even fazing his brother, who continued to grab and manhandle the poor servant.

"Duncan!" he said, his voice booming off the walls as he stood right behind him. "Unhand that girl!"

Duncan flinched, and turned to Conall. "Conall, brother, how goes it?"

Conall breathed heavily through his nose, trying to calm down enough to force words past the obstruction of his anger. "Hear this, brother. If I hear even one rumor, substantiated or not, you are gone. Banished. I've had it. I'll allow no more. Do you understand me?"

"You jest, brother. I've done nothing wrong."

"You've perpetrated a series of behaviors that have left you open for these rumors, brother. I will not have my people abused, not by our enemies, and certainly not by my own blood. This is your final warning. If I hear or see anything, you are gone."

With that parting statement, Conall turned on his heel and headed upstairs to his quarters, determined to spend the night praying. Maybe God would hear his prayers. He had little hope otherwise.