Free Highland Storm by Ranae Rose

more than an empty tray?” Alexander asked knowingly.
    The woman nodded. “Aye, I’m afraid so.” She cast a curious glance at Isla, who seized a blanket and used it to cover herself better than her thin shift did.
    “Dinnae fash yourself, Mrs Mary,” Alexander said. “I was goin’ to call for ye anyway. My wife has got a broken foot.”
    Isla’s heart swelled a little at hearing Alexander call her his wife. Yes, they’d handfasted, but it hardly seemed real yet. Rather, it was like a dream—one she feared she might awaken from. She wondered when the reality of the situation would settle in. Maybe tomorrow, when she and Alexander would ride to the nearest kirk to be married properly by a priest, as he’d promised her during their ride to Benstrath. She flinched slightly at the thought, imagining what her father would say if he knew she intended to be married by a papist. Probably nothing—he’d just have a quiet apoplexy instead.
      Mrs Mary, as Alexander had called her, bustled across the room with a worried expression on her face, pausing only to shove the platter of snacks into Alexander’s hands.
    “She’s got something of a reputation for mending wounds,” Alexander said, turning to assure Isla over the steaming tray.
    Isla winced as Mrs Mary lifted her left foot from the bed, where it protruded from the blanket she’d covered herself with, but the woman’s touch was gentle as a mother’s.
    “It looks fair swollen,” she said with a frown. “How’d it happen?”
    “Her horse came down on her foot, spooked by thunder,” Alexander explained.
    Mrs Mary tsked to herself as she gingerly felt the top of Isla’s foot. “Well, I can bind it for ye, but it’s only time will heal it.”
    Alexander nodded, and Mrs Mary hurried from the room, exiting into the hallway and clattering down the stairs on her quest for bandages.
    Alexander took one of the cakes from the tray she’d left with them and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he held the platter out towards Isla with his free hand. “Hungry?”
    Isla nodded. “Fair starved, now that ye mention it.” She promptly seized a cake and ate it with a little more grace than Alexander had managed. Its sweet crumbs felt like soft boulders, tumbling pleasantly in the empty canyon of her stomach. By the time Mrs Mary returned, half the cakes were gone, and as much of the tea had been drained. Isla had drunk several cups of it, relishing the way it dissipated the damp chill that had seeped down into her bones over the course of the stormy day.
    “Ready now?” Mrs Mary asked as she pushed the door open again, carrying an armful of white cloth. She settled on the edge of the bed without hesitation and lifted Isla’s foot again. “Hold it for me,” she instructed Alexander, who grasped her ankle gently as Mrs Mary relinquished her hold and picked up a soaked cloth instead. Slowly, carefully, she wiped away the dirt and debris that had accumulated on Isla’s bare foot. While the warm water she’d soaked the cloth in was soothing against Isla’s skin, even the weight of the washcloth made her foot twinge. She gritted her teeth and endured it, eager for the bandages to be on and the ordeal to be over.
    Mrs Mary set the washcloth aside and began to wrap Isla’s foot in strips of pale cloth, tying the ends in a neat bow at her ankle. “Ye shouldnae be able to move it accidentally now,” she said when she’d finished, surveying her work with a critical eye. “Mind ye keep off your feet, though, or you’ll only make it worse.”
    Isla nodded, lying back against a pillow and staring up at the ceiling as she searched for Alexander’s hand with her own. She found it and he gave hers a reassuring squeeze as Mrs Mary turned to him.
    “Och, I almost forgot,” Alexander said. “Your hand.” He lifted her palm aloft, examining the long, narrow cut that ran along the side. “What do ye think, Mrs Mary? Does it need stitchin’?” Isla stomach plummeted.