Mistress Ava’s hand remained steady while she twisted the knife, baring her teeth. “I nearly have it.”

Dear God, please, please make his suffering be over.

And if as an answer to a prayer, the ball popped out, straight into the healer’s fingers, and with it came a gush of red blood. Divana surged forward with a cloth.

“Press as hard as you can,” commanded Mistress Ava, holding up the musket ball. “I’ll wager he’ll want this for a keepsake.”

At the foot of the bed, Sir Ewen released his son’s ankles. “I’ll wager he’ll be shoving that wee bit o’ lead down Corbyn’s throat.”

Divana stretched for another cloth. “At this rate, Sir Kennan is making enemies faster than he’s making allies.”

“Och, I’ll see to the sergeant myself. Once the lad is back on his feet, he’ll be itching to chase after Vane—’tis where his priorities lie, mark me.”

Her arms burned from applying constant pressure, but she wasn’t about to stop. Every time she changed cloths, the blood ran like a mountain burn.

“Would you like me to give you a spell, lass?” asked Lochiel. Holy Moses, the chieftain of Clan Cameron was offering to take a turn?

“No, m’laird, I think the flow is slowing.”

Mistress Ava set a pot on the bedside table. “This is a salve to help heal the wound.”

“Are you not going to stitch it?” asked Divana.

“I’ll bring some leeches in the morning. ’Tis best if we leave it to air.” The healer looked to Lochiel. “Ye ken these wounds. Someone must sit with Sir Kennan to ensure he doesn’t grow fevered.”

“I’m not leaving his side.” Divana threw back her shoulders as she grabbed another cloth and firmly held it in place. She did not make poultices and hold vigil over him on Hyskeir only to lose him now. “Not until this very man wakes and tells me to go.”

Emboldened, she eyed Lochiel, the leader of one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands. Though in truth, she cared less if he was a king. She wasn’t leaving. “And though ye’re his da, and a grand chieftain, and I respect ye for it, not even the likes of ye can tell me to go.”

“Are you certain, lass?” His gray eyes filled with concern rather than contempt. “You need your sleep just like everyone else. I could send in a night guardsman.”

“I’ll have no other tend him.” She pulled away the cloth and checked the wound. Praise be, the bleeding had ebbed some. “Thank ye for your thoughtfulness, sir.”

Lochiel gave a nod. “I should be thanking you, lass. ’Tis understandable why my son thinks highly of you.”