Page 43 of Highlander’s Captive

“A child, something about their arm,” Craig said. “The villagers came for help. Can ye do something?”

“I hope so.”

Amy had received advanced training in first aid—she could secure broken limbs, do basic treatment for burns, and stop external bleeding until an ambulance arrived, but she was certainly not a medical professional.

The small crowd consisted of about a dozen people, men and women of all ages. Women wore long dresses of dark wool with white linen caps on their heads, while men were in heavy quilted jackets and woolen trousers. They looked warily at Craig and Amy as they approached. In a cart drawn by a pony sat a girl of ten or so. An older man sat by her side, his arm around the girl’s shoulders. She hugged herself with one arm, her face distorted in a grimace of pain.

Amy hurried to her, while the people looked at her cautiously.

“Hi, sweetie,” Amy said as she stood next to the cart. “My name is Amy, Amy Mac—”

“Amy Cambel.” Craig raised his chin.

Amy Cambel…

How could he just put a yoke like that on her—publicly claiming ownership of her. Amy’s chest and stomach tightened till a sharp pain cut at her gut. Not long ago, she’d been Amy Johnson, and look how that had turned out. She couldn't breathe for a moment, and made a conscious effort to suck in air, then breathe out.

“’Tis my wife,” Craig explained.

Forget Craig. Just concentrate on the little girl who needs help.

She’d deal with Craig later.

“Good day, mistress,” the man hugging the girl said. “Are ye a healer?”

Amy smiled, rubbing one hand against her leg to stop it from shaking. “Well, not quite. But I know how to deal with some injuries. I might be able to help your—”

“Granddaughter,” the man said. “My name is Erskine, we came from the village up River Lochy. We heard rumors that the Comyns are nae here no more and wanted to see for ourselves who we are to pay rent to. And Caoimhe”—he pronounced the girl’s name as Keeva—“fell and hurt her arm. Since the healer is away, we came to ask if the new lord has one.”

Amy nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Caoimhe, why don’t you come inside with me where I can take a look at your arm. It’s a little chilly here for you to undress.”

“Thank ye, mistress,” Caoimhe said.

Amy helped the girl to climb down from the cart. Instead of wearing a jacket, she was wrapped in a couple of adult-sized coats. The three of them and Craig walked towards the great hall where it would be warm by the fireplace and there’d be enough light to examine her.

“I didna want to harm her arm even more by putting it into a sleeve,” Erskine explained.

“Yes, you did right,” Amy said. “Caoimhe, sweetie, why don’t you explain to me what happened?”

“Boys were chasing me,” she said. “I climbed a tree and fell…”

So it could be a broken arm. Broken bones were tricky. If it was a broken bone—and God forbid, in several places—Amy could do little to help the girl. She could put on a splint and make some sort of cast, but she couldn’t guarantee how well it would heal.

“And where does it hurt?”

“The shoulder, mistress. I canna move my arm.”

They arrived and settled near the fireplace, and Amy unwrapped Caoimhe. Even under the girl’s simple dress, Amy could see the odd shape of the shoulder. It wasn’t bleeding, though, which was a good sign. Amy felt along the shoulder and arm to make sure there were no broken bones.

She sighed with relief. “Good news is it’s not broken. It’s dislocated. I’ll put it back in.”

Caoimhe’s eyes widened with fear.

“It’ll hurt just for one moment, honey,” Amy said. “Then the sharp pain will stop, but you’ll be sore for a while, and you’ll need to wear a sling and not move your arm for a couple of weeks. Certainly not climb any more trees.”

Caoimhe tensed and moved away from Amy a little. “Look, sweetie,” Amy said. “You’re a brave girl, aren’t you? A Highland lass climbing trees… I know you’re a little afraid, I’d be in your place. But you’re safe. Your grandfather is here. I’m right here with you. And look at your new lord, Craig Cambel—have you seen a stronger warrior than him? Do you think a man like him will let anything happen to you?”

Caoimhe glanced at Craig, and so did Amy. He stood with his back straight, his posture tense and a barely visible blush on his cheeks. He eyed Amy with astonishment and perplexity. Their eyes locked for a moment, and something passed between them—like agreement, and adoration, and something that felt like a warm kiss on a cold winter evening.