“I shall fetch it.” Lady Wildwood rushed after the servants.

Angus immediately turned his attention to barking orders at this person and that as they flew by. Iliana envied him his ability to turn his mind from what was coming. She herself felt positively ill at the prospect of what she must do. Moments later, her mother came flying back down the stairs, Ebba, Gertie, Giorsal, Janna, and Elgin on her heels.

Stopping in front of Angus, Lady Wildwood started to hand him the pitcher she had returned with, then paused to down some of the fiery liquid herself. The laird half-smiled and half-grimaced with pain as she began to splutter and cough.

Iliana noticed all of this rather distractedly. Most of her attention was on Gertie as the servant examined the arrow protruding from the Dunbar’s back.

“He’ll bleed,” old woman announced.

“Bleed?” Iliana asked warily.

“Once the arrow is out of the way, he’ll bleed.”

Lady Wildwood had been about to hand the pitcher to Angus again, but paused at those words to gulp some more of the liquid. Giorsal and Ebba began shredding the linen they had both brought into long narrow strips.

“Do you have anything to slow the bleeding?” Iliana asked, slapping her mother’s back when she began hacking again as the whiskey burnt its way down her throat.

Gertie pursed her lips. “Pressure.”

“Pressure?”

She nodded. “Hold the blood in.”

Lady Wildwood groaned and tipped the pitcher to her lips again.

“Mother!” Iliana bit out impatiently, noting the wistful way Angus was watching her mother devour his liquor.

“Sorry, dear,” she gasped, a chagrined look on her face as she handed the half-empty pitcher to Angus.

Grunting, he lifted the pitcher to his lips, downing a goodly portion in one chug before straightening and bracing his arms on his legs. “Do it.”

Wishing she could have a swig of the liquid herself, Iliana gestured to her mother and Elgin. Both moved to press their hands to his shoulders to help hold him in place.

Assured that all was ready, she took a deep breath, brushed her suddenly damp hands down the skirt of her tunic, then grasped the arrow. Silently counting to three, she took another breath, then began to push with all her might, nearly groaning aloud when Angus stiffened and began to bellow.

His roar of pain ended when she stopped pressing on the arrow. One glance at her mother’s tear-streaked face told her that she had not succeeded. While the tip of the arrow had pushed deeper, it had not yet pierced the other side. Eyes blurring with her own tears, Iliana readjusted her stance and immediately began to push again, this time putting all her weight behind it.

Angus cried out as the arrow finally tore through and out, his shout ending on a string of curses that were muttered in a much fainter voice.