Honor's Bride by Gayle Wilson

Author:Gayle Wilson [Wilson, Gayle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, General
ISBN: 9781459261358
Google: tH4YP1zN72wC
Amazon: B0056H7RQC
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-07-15T07:00:00+00:00

The men were back. They had come in answer to the old woman's summons. Following her direction, they had pulled the cot away from the wall and carried it to the middle of the small room, handling the bed and St. John easily, despite the weight of his still solid muscle. Now they were all gathered around, waiting for further instructions.

The old woman had looked at her strangely when Judith began to make sewing motions. She shook her head, brow wrinkled in puzzlement, but Judith had persisted. There were few things, however, that might be mistaken for the pantomime she was carrying out, and eventually the woman shrugged and produced exactly what Judith had asked for.

The needle was straight and small, rather than the large curved one the English surgeons used. The coarse thread was not the waxed shoemaker's kind she was accustomed to either, but it appeared to be strong enough to do the job. So Judith nodded her approval, smiling her thanks.

Then she curved her forefinger into a crook and pointed at the wall above the fire where the saw and the other implements hung. The woman's eyes followed the direction of Judith's finger, but then she looked back in bewilderment, shaking her head.

Judith then pulled her crooked finger toward herself, mimicking the motion necessary to pull the arteries out of the newly incised stump so that they could be tied off. The woman glanced toward the wall and back. Judith repeated her gesture.

The crone again shook her head, but finally she went into the other room and returned after a few moments carrying a small hook which appeared to be carved from bone.

It was certainly not the surgical hook Judith had requested. It looked like the sort of thing one might use in making lace. But, she decided, since it was small and sharp, there was no reason it wouldn't work just as well.

Carrying the hook and the threaded needle, Judith walked to the side of the cot. The old woman had begun issuing a stream of instructions to her helpers, who were scurrying obediently to carry them out. One brought the steaming cauldron from the fire and put it down on the left side of the cot. The handle of the long knife still protruded from the simmering liquid.

Others stationed themselves around St. John's unconscious body. Two of the men pulled the blankets off and grasped his legs. Another held his right arm. Two more stretched out the injured left, turning it so that the ugly, swollen wound was accessible.

The old woman's eyes met Judith's. The Englishwoman realized that she had been almost holding her breath, silently praying for success. They had come this far. She would not let St. John die now under the shock of the amputation or from blood loss. He would not die, she repeated like a litany.

Suddenly, the healer smiled at her, the movement disturbing the deep wrinkles around her mouth and revealing a set of teeth that looked surprisingly white and intact in her aged face.

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