Wings of Morning by Kathleen Morgan Read Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t elegant but was well made. She wasn’t likely a crofter’s wife, or even a servant.
    His glance met his mother’s. Mathilda arched a questioning brow. Iain shook his head.
    “I don’t recognize her.”
    “Well, she is rather a mess at present. Mayhap when we get her cleaned up, and she wakens . . .”
    If she wakened, Iain thought grimly, sparing the mysterious woman yet another considering glance. She had a large purpling knot on the left side of her head, her clothing was drenched, and her color wasn’t good at all. Chances were strong the woman might well die before they ever discovered her identity.

    From a place far removed, the woman woke to an irritating buzzing sound. She grimaced, turned away, and was immediately rewarded with a sharp pain in the side of her head. She turned her head quickly in the opposite direction, and the throbbing, that she now realized had always been there, intensified until she thought her skull would burst.
    A moan rose from deep within her and was caught and strangled in the raw, dry depths of her throat. She licked her lips and found them cracked. She swallowed and realized she was parched.
    “W-water . . .”
    The word escaped as a harsh croak, startling her. That didn’t sound like her—or did it? She suddenly realized she didn’t know.
    Indeed, she didn’t know aught, not where she was or what had happened.
    “H-help! Help me!” she gasped.
    She tried to open her eyes but couldn’t. They felt too full, too heavy. Was she blind?
    She moved her legs and found her right ankle immobilized in something stiff and hard.
    Panic seized her. She tried to push to a sitting position, found her strength insufficient for the task, and flopped back like some helpless babe. A scream clawed its way upward, fighting to break free.
    “Wheesht, lass,” a voice came of a sudden from the blackness encompassing her. “It’s all right. Ye’re all right. Ye must just give yer poor body time to heal.”
    From somewhere to her right, she heard something being dipped in water, then rung out. A cool cloth touched her forehead, then was gently stroked down the side of her face. Heavenly, she thought. Och, but it felt heavenly!
    “What . . . what happened?” she whispered. “Am I blind . . . and why does my head throb so?”
    “Och, lass, lass,” the voice, a woman’s voice, came again. “Of course ye’re not blind. It’s just that yer wee face is so bruised and swollen that yer eyes cannot open. And, besides a broken ankle, ye’ve a huge knot on the side of yer head where we think ye must’ve struck hard when yer horse ran away with ye. But in time, the swelling will abate and all will be well again.”
    The woman sounded kind, motherly even. Somehow, that realization brought on a surge of tears. She felt them slip from her eyes and trickle down her cheeks.
    “Now, none of that,” the older woman crooned, wiping away the tears with the damp cloth. “Ye’re safe here, among friends.”
    A hand slid beneath her head, and she felt herself lifted slightly from the bed.
    “Take a sip of this. It’s something our healer prepared for ye to ease yer pain.”
    A cup was pressed to her lips, and a cool liquid flowed into her mouth. She swallowed it down without even tasting it, desperately needing the wetness it provided, if not also the promised pain relief. All too soon, though, the cup was pulled away.
    “M-more,” she cried, reaching out blindly to find and grasp the cup. “I’m s-so thirsty!”
    “Aye, I’d imagine ye are, lass. But give that swallow or two a few minutes to see how it rests in yer stomach. Then I’ll give ye more.”
    As the woman spoke, she ever so carefully lowered her back to rest on the bed. For a while, all was silent. Then the woman spoke again.
    “Yer name, lass. If ye’d but tell us who ye be, we could send for yer family. They’d surely be a comfort to ye at such a time.”
    Her name . . . Aye, that made sense. Her family would come, and