“Not long now,” he said, leaning down to let Willow know.

Shortly after, he spotted the small cottage through the falling snow. He directed the horse to the enclosed shelter that once was home to a horse, but no more. Once close, he dismounted and helped his wife off the horse. He led the horse inside the shelter and saw to his care, smiling when his wife arranged one of their blankets over the horse.

When done, he took her hand and led her to the cottage, eager to see the woman inside.

Slatter opened the door, a smile on his face, ready to call out a greeting and stopped.

The fire was nothing but embers and in the front of the hearth lay a woman with gray hair, the strands having fallen loose from her long braid. Slatter rushed to her and when he turned her over gently, it was to see that blood soaked the front of her garment.

Willow approached to see the woman’s eyes flutter open and see the worry on her face as she looked upon Slatter and struggled to speak.

Slatter shook his head at her. “Don’t try and talk. I’m here now. All will be well.”

From the look on the old woman’s face, Willow didn’t think she believed him.

Slatter looked to Willow. “Please help her. She’s my grandmother.”

Chapter 11

“No, don’t move her yet,” Willow said, stopping her husband from lifting his grandmother in his arms as she hurried to his side.

“The earth floor is cold and so is she,” Slatter argued and Willow laid her hand on his arm to prevent him from moving her.

“If she still bleeds, she could lose more blood as you move her, which will not help her. If we stop the flow of blood before we move her it will serve her well. And while I see to that, you can get a fire going and get the room heated which will also benefit her.”

Slatter was about to argue when he nodded. “Whatever you say, wife, you’re the healer.”

“Her name?” Willow asked softly.

“Sara,” Slatter said almost reverently.

Willow gave his arm a gentle push and he moved and let her see to his grandmother as he got a fire going, though he kept a watchful eye on the two women that meant more to him than he would ever admit.

“Sara,” Willow said, running a gentle hand across the older woman’s brow and worried over the slight warmth she felt there. “I’m Willow and I’m going to help you.”

Sara’s eyes fluttered as she struggled to open them, but failed.

Willow took her hand. “You can squeeze my hand to let me know you hear me.”

She was relieved to feel a slight squeeze. “Your grandson is here. He’ll take your hand in a moment. He’s getting a fire going and you’ll soon be warm and in bed. But first I’m going to see to your wound.”

Another light squeeze to her hand told Willow the woman understood, a good sign.