Gannon immediately put up a hand. “She passed out awhile ago, but she’s breathing. The pain became too much for her.”

“Can’t we give her a potion? Is there a healer in this clan?” Caelen demanded. “I’ll not have her suffer unnecessarily.”

“Be at ease,” Alaric said. “You don’t want to frighten Rionna if she awakens. We’ve convinced her ’tis a minor wound and nothing to worry over. She fears more for you than for herself and ’tis better that way. ’Twill give her something to fight for.”

Caelen went to her bedside, battling pain and the mugginess of fever. His head swam and it felt as though he walked through a bog, but he was determined that he’d remain by her side.

“The dagger is deep, Ewan.”

“Aye. It’s going to bleed more freely once the blade is out. I’ll have to work fast to stop it and stitch the wound.”

“She’s a fighter,” Gannon said gruffly. “This is naught for her.”

Caelen had never seen his commander so pale. He hovered over Rionna, clenching and unclenching his fists as if he had no idea what to do.

“Has there been other bleeding?” Caelen asked fearfully. “She carries a babe.”

Alaric shook his head. “None that I’ve been able to see. She’s complained of no pain in her stomach. Just in her back.”

“Get on the bed with her before you fall over,” Ewan said crossly. “Get to one side so that when you finally pass out, you won’t be in the way.”

A knock sounded at the door and Gannon and Alaric both drew their swords. Gannon hurried to answer, opening it just a crack. Then he opened it wider to admit a gray-haired woman who looked to be as old as Methuselah.

She looked extremely agitated and she wrung her hands in front of her.

“Begging your pardon, Laird McCabe, but I was told you had need of a healer.”

Ewan gazed sharply at the old woman. “Have you skill?”

The woman drew herself up and pinned Ewan with a beady stare. “I was versed in the healing arts long afore you were born, laddie.”

“I need a drought for pain and a poultice to rub on the wound after it’s been stitched.”

She nodded. “Aye, I have those things. Would you be needing a steady hand to do the stitching? I’m old, aye, but my hand hasn’t wavered in all my sixty years.”

“Nay,” Caelen interjected. He turned to Ewan. “You do it. I trust you.”

Ewan nodded then gestured toward the older woman. “Fetch the items I requested.”

She nodded and backed from the room.

“I’ll need help to pull the dagger from her back,” Ewan said with a grimace. “ ’Twill have to be done quickly, and then we have to stop the bleeding. Caelen, lie down. If she awakens, it will soothe her to have you near.”