Ruthless by Sophia Johnson Page A

cold voice quieted the horrified murmurs of
everyone gathered around.
    "Dinna waste time on him. It is more likely
you can save the other hunter."
    'Twas Feradoch who spoke.
    Two men were lifting a second man from the
back of a horse. He clutched his bloody, right arm across his
chest. His face was pale. Someone had knotted a cloth just above
his elbow. She helped Grunda to rise then grabbed the herb basket
for her.
    "Take him to the warrior's tower," Muriele
said to the men helping him walk. "We will stitch him there."
    They hurried ahead, calling out for someone
to bring hot water. When they approached the tower, the guard at
the door held up his hand, denying them entrance.
    "Move, ye ignorant churl! Would ye rather the
man died on yer doorstep from loss of blood? Ye can move him after
we stop the bleeding." Grunda shoved the man who was so startled he
moved out of the way.
    A table close to the entrance seemed a
perfect spot. Muriele took her arm and swiped everything onto the
floor, not paying heed to the men's grumbling.
    As Grunda prepared what they would need,
Muriele cut away the man's leather shirtsleeve. While men fed him
wine, Muriele studied the damage. The large gash went from elbow to
wrist on the top of his arm. She knotted a clean rag above the one
already there and twisted it with a small piece of wood.
    "Hold this tight. Dinna let it go," she
ordered a man standing at her elbow. Taking a thick clean pad from
Grunda, she pressed with all her might on the ripped skin while
Grunda cut away the blood-soaked cloth tied too close to the wound
for them to stitch. Blood quickly soaked through the pad then
slowed.
    As she worked, she asked questions. They were
the castle's main hunters who provided game from the forest.
    "How could ye make such a mistake as to get
between the wind and the boar? Did ye not see signs of one close
by?" Muriele scolded. Likely, they had been too deep in their cups
last eve and became careless. She didn't catch the answer because
she was too busy to care.
    Once the bleeding stopped, they worked
quickly. Several men surrounded the table, lending their hands to
hold the injured man steady. It took far longer to repair the arm
than it had Magnus' leg.
    When Grunda no longer needed her, she backed
away and hurried back to the stream. The clothes she had strewn on
the bushes were gone! She panicked until she noted a neat bundle
beneath the willow tree at the stream's edge. She looked around for
someone to thank but everyone had gone.
    Until then, she'd had no idea it was well
past the noon hour. Everyone was probably eating in the great hall.
After she returned the clothing to Magnus' bedchamber, she'd visit
Cook as he had ordered. She might be able to get something to eat
then.
    Hurrying, she made her way across the castle
yards to the front bailey. She slipped inside the keep and hurried
up the stairway, her soft shoes barely making a whisper of sound.
She was just steps away from Magnus' bedchamber door when her nape
prickled. The next thing she knew, a large hand flashed around her
head and clamped over her mouth.
    Muriele fought like a wild barn cat. The
carefully folded laundry flew out of her arms when she grabbed at
the thick fingers pinching her face. She couldn't get her mouth
open to bite, but she used her feet to kick back hard as she could.
It didn't seem to faze the man. He grabbed the hem of her skirts,
yanked them to her waist and shoved his right leg between hers.
    Slamming her against the wall, he pinned her
there with the weight of his upper body then fumbled with his
tunic. Grunting like a hog taking a mud bath, she felt him tussling
to pull the clothing from between them. Hot and heavy, his shaft
pressed against her nether cheeks. When he tilted his hips back to
position himself, she used all her strength to shove against the
wall and pitched sideways.
    He released her mouth and scrambled to grab
hold of her. She let out a scream loud enough to startle the dead
awake.