"No, that won't do," I said, fingering them gingerly. "The wound needs to be disinfected first, then bandaged with a clean cloth, if there are no sterile bandages."
Eyebrows rose all around. "Disinfected?" said the small man, carefully.
"Yes, indeed," I said firmly, thinking him a bit simple-minded, in spite of his educated accent. "All dirt must be removed from the wound and it must be treated with a compound to discourage germs and promote healing."
"Such as?"
"Such as iodine," I said. Seeing no comprehension on the faces before me, I tried again. "Merthiolate? Dilute carbolic?" I suggested. "Or perhaps even just alcohol?" Looks of relief. At last I had found a word they appeared to recognize. Murtagh thrust the leather flask into my hands. I sighed with impatience. I knew the Highlands were primitive, but this was nearly unbelievable.
"Look," I said, as patiently as I could. "Why don't you just take him down into the town? It can't be far, and I'm sure there's a doctor there who could see to him."
The woman gawped at me. "What town?"
The big man called Dougal was ignoring this discussion, peering cautiously into the darkness around the curtain's edge. He let it fall back into place and stepped quietly to the door. The men fell quiet as he vanished into the night.
In a moment he was back, bringing the bald man and the cold, sharp scent of dark pines with him. He shook his head in answer to the men's questioning looks.
"Nay, nothing close. We'll go at once, while it's safe."
Catching sight of me, he stopped for a moment, thinking. Suddenly he nodded at me, decision made.
"She'll come with us," he said. He rummaged in the pile of cloths on the table and came up with a tattered rag; it looked like a neckcloth that had seen better days.
The mustached man seemed disinclined to have me along, wherever they were going. "Why do ye no just leave her here?" Dougal cast him an impatient glance, but left it to Murtagh to explain. "Wherever the redcoats are now, they'll be here by dawn, which is no so far off, considering. If this woman's an English spy, we canna risk leaving her here to tell them which way we've gone. And if she should not be on good terms wi' them"—he looked dubiously at me—"we certainly canna leave a lone woman here in her shift," He brightened a bit, fingering the fabric of my skirt. "She might be worth a bit in the way of ransom, at that; little as she has on, it's fine stuff."
"Besides," Dougal added, interrupting, "she may be useful on the way; she seems to know a bit about doctoring. But we've no time for that now. I'm afraid ye'll have to go without bein' 'disinfected', Jamie," he said, clapping the younger man on the back. "Can ye ride one-handed?"
"Aye."
"Good lad. Here," he said, tossing the greasy rag at me.
"Bind up his wound, quickly. We'll be leaving directly. Do you two get the horses," he said, turning to weasel-face and the fat one called Rupert.
I turned the rag around distastefully,
"I can't use this," I complained. "It's filthy."
Without seeing him move, I found the big man gripping my shoulder, his dark eyes an inch from mine. "Do it," he said.
Freeing me with a push, he strode to the door and disappeared after his two henchmen. Feeling more than a little shaken, I turned to the task of bandaging the bullet wound as best I could. The thought of using the grimy neckrag was something my medical training wouldn't let me contemplate. I tried to bury my confusion and terror in the task of trying to find something more suitable, and, after a quick and futile search through the pile of rags, finally settled on strips of rayon torn from the hem of my slip. While hardly sterile, it was by far the cleanest material at hand.
The linen of my patient's shirt was old and worn, but still surprisingly tough. With a bit of a struggle, I ripped the rest of the sleeve open and used it to improvise a sling. I stepped back to survey the results of my impromptu field dressing, and backed straight into the big man, who had come in quietly to watch.
He looked approvingly at my handiwork. "Good job, lass. Come on, we're ready."
Dougal handed a coin to the woman and hustled me out of the cottage, followed more slowly by Jamie, still a bit white-faced. Unfolded from the low stool, my patient proved to be quite tall; he stood several inches over Dougal, himself a tall man.
The black-bearded Rupert and Murtagh were holding six horses outside, muttering soft Gaelic endearments to them in the dark. It was a moonless night, but the starlight caught the metal bits of the harness in flashes of quicksilver. I looked up and almost gasped in wonder; the night sky was thick with a glory of stars such as I had never seen. Glancing round at the surrounding forest, I understood. With no nearby city to veil the sky with light, the stars here held undisputed dominion over the night.