"I don't recall saying I wanted one." Ilysa held up an old cloak to examine it for moth holes. "Should I take an extra cloak? They say the wind is strong on the north end of the island."
"Ilysa - " Duncan stopped abruptly.
Years of fighting had made her brother's instincts sharp and his reflexes quick. Before Ilysa could draw a breath to ask what was wrong, Duncan had run out into the castle courtyard and pulled his claymore from the scabbard on his back.
Through the open door, Ilysa heard shouting and raced out after him.
"What is it?" Duncan called up to one of the guards on the wall.
"Three riders are galloping hard for the gate," the man shouted. "One looks injured."
Please, God, don't let it be Connor. He had gone for a last hunt with his cousins before his departure for Trotternish. Usually, Duncan would be with them, but he had stayed behind to be with his bride. And to lecture Ilysa.
Ilysa followed in Duncan's wake as he ran through the warriors who were flooding into the courtyard. Through the open gate, she saw the three horsemen riding hell-bent for the castle. Her stomach dropped when she recognized Connor as the injured rider, flanked by his two cousins. He was slumped forward, looking as if he was barely holding on. The rest of his guard was several yards behind them.
As the three riders drew up to the narrow bridge that connected the castle to the main island, Duncan ran across it and blocked her view. Ilysa wanted to scream in frustration as she alternately rose on her toes and leaned to the side, trying to see.
"Clear the way!" Duncan shouted as he came back across the bridge.
The world fell away as Ilysa saw Connor enter the castle between his cousins, Ian and Alex, who were half carrying him. His black hair hung over his face, and the front of his tunic was drenched in blood.
"Run and fetch my medicines," Ilysa told the serving woman next to her before she ran after the others into the keep. As she entered the hall, she called out to another woman, "Bring blankets from my brother's bedchamber."
With one sweep of his arm, Duncan sent cups and platters clattering to the floor, clearing the high table just before Ian and Alex lifted Connor onto it and laid him down.
"O shluagh!" Ilysa said, calling on the faeries for help, when she saw the arrows sticking out of Connor's chest and thigh. How many times will our enemies try to kill him?
When Connor tried to sit up, Duncan held him down with a firm hand.
"I'm no badly hurt," Connor objected, but his face was gray.
"We rode hard for fear that he'd bleed to death before we reached the castle," Alex said as he sliced Connor's tunic open with his dirk to expose the wound.
"The arrows came from rocks above us," Ian said. "We were in the middle of an open field where we were easy targets, so we couldn't stop to take care of his wounds."
"We'll take the arrow out of his chest first, then the one in his leg," Ilysa said after she examined both wounds. She held her breath as she rested her fingertips on Connor's wrist. "'Tis fortunate that ye have the heart of a lion, Connor MacDonald."
Connor started to laugh, then winced. "Just get the damned things out of me. They hurt like hell."
"Someone bring us whiskey," Duncan shouted. "The rest of ye, out!"
When the whiskey arrived, Duncan cradled Connor's head and poured it down his throat.
Ilysa noticed the blood running down Ian's arm, but his injury could wait. Connor's could not. Still, this was not as serious as that other time, shortly after the four of them had returned from France. She shuddered as she recalled Ian carrying Connor's broken body into the seer's tiny cottage. Connor had been more dead than alive. With God's help, she and Tearlag had snatched him back from death's door.
"Cutting the arrow out will be a wee bit messy," Alex said as he wiped his long dirk on his tunic. "I'll do that, Ilysa, and ye can do the sewing."
"I think we'll need all of ye to hold him down," Ilysa said, knowing the men would take that better than telling them a delicate hand was needed with the blade. "If Connor moves, it will make things worse."
While the men poured more whiskey into Connor, she made a poultice.