“I think not,” said Father Brien quickly, and for the first time there was an edge to his voice. “Sorcha is a child; such injuries are not fit for a girl’s eyes, and it shames you to suggest this. It is man’s work, and I will do it.”

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you both.” He meant this all right; and might just have enough strength to try. “Let the girl do it, or leave me to rot. I can go no lower, surely.”

“I doubt if you could manage to do what you say, however much you might want to,” I said. “But I’ll tend your wounds, on one condition.”

“Condition?” the Briton snapped. “What condition?”

“I’ll do everything that needs doing,” I told him firmly. “But only if you cooperate. You must listen when I talk to you, and do as I bid, for I have the power to heal you.”

He laughed at me. It was not a pleasant sound.

“Arrogant little witch, aren’t you? I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather be left to the decay and the fever. Still, the end result might be the same, anyway. What do you think, old man?”

“I don’t like it, and neither would your brothers, Sorcha. You should leave this to me.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” I asked simply. And since he had no answer to this, he fell silent.

“Out,” said the boy, knowing a victory when he saw it, and Father Brien went, reluctantly submitting to the inevitable.

“I’ll be just outside, Sorcha,” he said in our tongue, of which it seemed the boy had no understanding, “and this time don’t wait so long to call. What you see will distress you, and I can offer no help for that. Treat him as you would a sick animal, and try not to take the guilt for what was done on yourself, child.”

“I’ll be all right,” I said, for the spirit of the Forest Lady was still on me and my sense of purpose strong.

I will not dwell on what came next. To strip before me and submit to my ministrations was painful for him, both in body and spirit. To witness his injuries, to comprehend the vile nature of man’s imagination, was an experience that burned as deep into my heart as the instruments of torture had into his body. He would never be whole again, or know that heedless joy in his manhood that I had seen in my brothers as they wrestled together for sport, or flirted with a likely lass. That another man could do this to him was unthinkable. As I worked, I told him the rest of the tale of Isha, for that took both our minds beyond the dreadful task; and Linn sat anxiously by the bed, licking delicately at the Briton’s tightly clenched fist. Still he cringed from my touch, but having agreed to the bargain, he was stoical under the pain, and only cried out once.