"Hot strong tea with plenty of sugar in it," I amended.
"And perhaps a wee tot of whisky as well," said Sir Marcus, neatly removing the lid of the teapot as it passed and adding a generous dollop from his decanter. Accepting the steaming cup gratefully, Jamie raised it in mute tribute to Sir Marcus before cautiously bringing the hot liquid to his mouth. His hand shook badly, and I wrapped my own around his fingers to guide the cup.
More servants were bringing in a portable camp bed, a mattress, more blankets, more bandages and hot water, and a large wooden chest containing the household's medical supplies.
"I thought we had best work here before the fire," Lady Annabelle explained in her charming bird-voice. "There's more light, and it's far the warmest place in the house."
At her direction, two of the larger menservants each seized an end of the blanket under Jamie and transferred it smoothly, contents and all, to the camp bed, now set up before the fire, where another servant was industriously poking the night-banked coals and feeding the growing blaze. The maid who had brought in the tea was efficiently lighting the wax tapers in the branched candelabra on the sideboard. Despite her songbird appearance, the Lady Annabelle plainly had the soul of a master-sergeant.
"Yes, now that he's awake, the sooner the better," I said. "Have you a flat board about two feet long," I asked, "a stout strap, and perhaps some small, straight, flat sticks, about so long?" I held my fingers apart, measuring a length of four inches or so. One of the servants disappeared into the shadows, flicking out of sight like a djinn to do my bidding.
The whole house seemed magical, perhaps because of the contrast between the howling cold outside and the luxurious warmth within, or maybe only because of the relief of seeing Jamie safe, after so many hours of fear and worry.
Heavy dark furniture gleamed with polish in the lamp light, silver shone on the sideboard, and a collection of delicate glass and china ornamented the mantelpiece, in bizarre contrast to the bloody, bedraggled figure before it.
No questions were asked. We were Sir Marcus's guests, and Lady Annabelle behaved as though it were an everyday occurrence to have people come and bleed on the carpet at midnight. It occurred to me for the first time that such a visit might have happened before.
"Verra nasty," said Sir Marcus, examining the smashed hand with an expertise born of the battlefield. "And wretched painful, too, I expect. Still, it's no going to kill ye, is it?" He straightened up and addressed me in confidential tones.
"I thought it might be worse than this, given what ye told me. Except the ribs and hand, there's no bones broken, and the rest will heal fine. I'd say maybe ye were lucky, lad."
There was a faint snort from the recumbent figure on the bed.
"I suppose ye could call it luck. They meant to be hanging me in the morning." He moved his head restlessly on the pillow, trying to look up at Sir Marcus. "Did ye know that… sir?" he added, catching sight of Sir Marcus's embroidered waistcoat, with its coat of arms worked in silver stitcher among the pigeons and roses.
MacRannoch waved a hand, dismissing this minor detail.
"Weel, if he meant to be keepin' ye presentable for the hangsman, he went a bit far on your back, then," Sir Marcus remarked, removing the soaked lint and replacing it with a fresh pad.
"Aye. He lost his head a bit when… when he…" Jamie struggled to get the words out, then gave it up as a bad job and turned his face to the fire, eyes closed. "God, I'm tired," he said.
We let him rest until the manservant materialized by my elbow with the splints I had requested. Then I carefully picked up the smashed right hand, bringing it into the candlelight for examination.
It would have to be set, and as soon as possible. The injured muscles were already clawing the fingers inward. I felt hopeless as I saw the full extent of the damage. But if he was ever to have any use of the hand again, it would have to be attempted.
Lady Annabelle had hung back during my examination, watching interestedly. When I set the hand down, she stepped forward and opened the small chest of medical supplies.
"I suppose you'll be wanting the boneset, and perhaps the cherry bark. I don't know…" She eyed Jamie doubtfully. "Leeches, do you think?" Her well-kept hand hovered over a small lidded jar filled with murky liquid.
I shuddered and shook my head. "No, I don't think so; not just now. What I could really use… do you by chance have any sort of opiate?" I sank to my knees beside her to pore over the contents of the box.