"Are you sure this is the place?" I whisper forcefully, shielded by dark, rather wet leaves of a bush. We're dirty, soaked through and Greer keeps going into dazes. She won't tell me what they contain.
It's been hours like this.
"I'm sure. They're close," she says, finally standing. I look around us, nervously before I stand as well, grasping Greer's medical bag. It's even larger than MacCallan's.
I walk out, sniffling, trying to find them through the downpour of rain. There's nothing for what feels like a lifetime but eventually, there are figures ahead- on foot.
I gasp, seeing MacCallan holding up Knox. They're stumbling...
"Knox!" she shouts, in horror, sprinting forward. MacCallan's head rises in alarm as he looks towards where the cry came from. When his eyes flicker to mine, widening immediately, I let out a sound of relief and feel my feet take off forward as well.
He's safe.
Greer falls to the ground, holding out her hand for the bag. Panting, I give it to her, watching as MacCallan sets Knox down onto the ground. He's already wrapped in Callan's plaid as well but it's soaked through.
She opens his shirt, somehow knowing where to look. "What happened?"
"He was shot, on our way," MacCallan says, hands braced on his knees. "We were ambushed."
"Aye?" she questions, finding a torn bandage wrapped around Knox's body. "Ye removed the bullet?"
He nods. "Aye, but it already looked infected. We must go if we have- any hope to save him."
"Help me get him onto the horse," she says, sternly. "Ye need to ride with him. I'm not strong enough to hold him up if he begins to drop. Are ye hurt too?"
He shakes his head, swallowing. "I'll be fine."
I feel utterly useless as I watch MacCallan set him onto the horse and rise up, settling behind him. I climb onto the other stag, holding out my hand for Greer. She comes up, sitting behind me.
I ride off first, galloping steadily. The ride is over an hour and by the look of it, the men feel much discomfort. Knox has his head pressed to Callan's chest and he's rocking back and forth slowly.
I blink in fear and turn back.
"He's not going to make it," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. I turn back to look at her in shock. She's seen it- it's clear on her face.
Mouth wide, I turn, closing it. "No, no, he'll live."
"Gillian-"
"You said yourself, you said we have the power to alter our lives, to change what happens. There are three people here who can help him. That is what we will do. We will save him."
I grab her hand off of my shoulder and kiss it firmly. "We will. We have to."
Thankfully, when we do arrive back in Inverness, the village is quiet and unmoving. We dismount hastily and I turn to help McCallan. Greer runs inside the home, to fetch someone to help bring him in.
"Knox. Ye must work with me here," MacCallan says, pressing his fingers to his neck. "Christ, he's fading. Gillian, hold him as best ye can while I get down."
I nod, taking hold of Knox's thigh and shoulder. My face contorts painfully when MacCallan's body weight no longer support's him. Thankfully, MacCallan's hands reach for his back and he drags his body off the horse and into his arms.
Two men stop at the door, both dressed in just a shirt and their plaid, and gasp, running out to help them. I follow closely behind as they carry him inside. Greer is already waiting by the table. I see the water boiling beside the fireplace.
They lay him flat on the table and his head swings from side to side, deep in unconsciousness. She steps over him, cutting his shirt open to reveal his chest. It's covered in blood, straight to the bottom part of his stomach where his plaid covers.
I watch the hope die from her eyes.
The utensils shake in her hands.
Knox opens his eyes slowly, blinking to her. "I-It hurts."
She begins to cry, shaking her head and MacCallan moves forward, taking them from her hands. She doesn't even look at him.
"I need alcohol now," MacCallan says to me, gently. I nod, running to the other side of the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. I remove the cap and hand it to him.
His fingers are pressed into the wound, as the blood overflows. "Greer, take his hand," he says. "This will hurt."
She takes Knox's hands tightly and manages to smile, through her tears. "Knox, I need ye to stay awake."
MacCallan pours the alcohol over his chest and Knox's body contracts against the table, thrashing.
"Hold him down!" Callan bellows. I rush forward, as do the men watching, holding his body down. MacCallan utters names, fluid and carefully said to Greer, knowing she knows them. He speaks in Gaelic so I have no way to know what it is.
"I'm done for," Knox says, deliriously.
She turns, rummaging through her cabinets. I understand when she sets down a bottle.
"Gill, I cannot remove pressure. He cannot lose more blood. I need ye to pour half that bottle into his mouth. It's foul but make sure he drinks it."
I nod, grabbing the bottle with shaking hands.
"You're gonna be okay," she says, holding his face. "Drink this."
I press my lips together firmly when I pour it into his mouth as he tries to drink it. The liquid bubbles over his lips as he gargles it, unwilling to swallow.
"Swallow it, Knox," MacCallan exclaims, pressing another clean cloth over his chest. The bleeding hasn't stopped and by the time we've finally gotten him to drink half the bottle, MacCallan's eyes look much like Greer's.
That's when I realize it.
Knox isn't going to live.
I watch as MacCallan grabs Knox's hand slowly, turning it over. He presses his fingers to his wrist. Greer watches him for a moment, eyes wide before she mirrors his actions. Within moments, her face contorts with anguish and she grabs Knox's face.
"No, no, stay with me, Knox. Stay with me."
MacCallan backs up, looking down towards the ground. Tears fill my eyes as Knox tries to reach for her hand but doesn't succeed. It falls onto the wood, harshly as his breath leaves his body.
She stares at him, and the room echoes in harsh, unimaginable sobs that come from deep in her chest. I shake my head, rushing forward towards her.
"I can't do this alone!" she cries to his lifeless form. I touch her shoulder but she curves away from it, wrapping her arms around him.
I close my eyes as the tears overflow, watching her like this. I feel a hand on my shoulder- it's MacCallan's. He gestures for the door with his head, nodding.
Privacy, he says silently.
I take his hand, dazed, and walk for the door slowly, turning back unsurely. The image of her body rested over his, heaving violently, will stay with me for a lifetime.
We step into the other room, together. I turn, wrapping my arms around his shoulders tightly, standing on the tips of my toes. I cry hard despite his grunt.
"I thought you were gone. I thought you were dead."
"I soon will be," he says, quietly. I pull back and stare at him, unmoving.
"What?"
"I've got a nasty gash on my stomach. I need to tend to it. Will ye grab the bag, alcohol and a cloth from the water- I dinnae want her to ken it."
"Let me see it," I say immediately, worried. He shakes his head when I try to lift his shirt.
"Gill, please. Just get the items." His words are clipped, sending shivers down my spinal cord.
Without a second thought, I hurry back into the room, slowing when I see a woman, the woman that once answered the door for me, consoling Greer, smoothing her hair down gently.
"He loved ye, dearie," the woman says, gently.
I grab the bag off the table and the woman looks up at me. I avoid her gaze and walk to the fireplace, reaching into the edge of the water. I grit my teeth together from the burn but grab the pieces of cloth in my hands, moving for the door hurriedly.
"She has a parlor here," I say, pointing forward towards double doors. He nods and follows me to it. I open one of the doors slowly, finding the room exactly as I left it. It's bare, apart from furniture and a rug on the floor. There's also a desk catty-cornered to the wall.
"Sit down," I demand, shutting the door gently. He shakes his head.
"Nay, I'll stand."
"Callan-"
"I'm filthy and bleedin'. I'll not ruin her home. I'm fine, Gillian. Just hand me the alcohol."
"You're not doing this yourself. I'll do it."
Surprisingly, he doesn't fight me. I grab ahold of his shirt, pulling slightly. He grimaces but nods for me to keep going. I get it over his head, gasping when my eyes flicker to the blood on his stomach.
"Callan... you should have said something!"
"It's not a wide gash. A couple stitches and I'll be right... I'm feelin' slightly lightheaded though."
"Of course you are. You're bleeding to death! How long have you been walking like this?"
"About twelve hours or so."
"Jesus, sit down!"
"No-"
"I'll buy her a goddamn couch if I have to! Sit the hell down!" I persist angrily. His eyebrows curve together aggravatedly but he does it, grimacing. The gash isn't long but it's deep and it's been exposed for many hours.
"What do I do first?" I whisper after I bend down before him, swallowing.
"Alcohol. Then use a cloth to clean it. Give me the bag, please."
I hand it to him, grabbing the remaining whiskey. He looks to me and nods, pressing his lips together. I douse his belly in the drink and he groans, biting his fingers. I grimace and pull back the bottle but he shakes his head.
He's breathless but he utters, "More."
This time his body jerks and he releases a cry. I coo as if he were a child as he deflates into the couch, breathing heavy.
I grab the cloth and wipe the area around the gash, as gently as I can. The blood hasn't stopped so within seconds, the white towel is crimson. He's pale, extremely pale.
"I have to stand," he whispers, reaching for my hand. I stand, helping him up as well. He's holding the thread attached to the needle. He closes his eyes, blinking suddenly. When I notice his hands shaking, I shake my head in horror, taking the needle.
"I-I can do it."
He blinks more. "Are ye sure?"
I nod, although I'm completely unsure. "I can get someone else- if you want-"
"I want ye to do it. Just- hurry, please."
"Do we have any antibiotics?"
He opens one eye in confusion. "Anti-what?"
"Something to ease the pain."
He shakes his head. "We just gave the last of it to Knox."
I take a deep breath and nod, preparing myself. "Will you faint?"
He sways slightly and I groan. I am way out of my league right now. My only option is the desk. I pull him to it and he's so out of sorts, he doesn't resist.
I help him onto it, careful as I can. I cradle his head until it rests gently against the wood. His legs fall off the corner but thankfully, I'll be able to stitch him up like this without worrying that he'll fall over onto me.
I take the cloth to his stomach again, shaking violently.
"Ye need to calm down, love. Steady- hands."
I nod, flexing my fingers before I grab the needle again. "What do I do?"
"Stick it in me," he says, with sarcasm. I look at him and his mouth curves slightly. At least he's still got a sense of humor- that's a good sign.
"Well, I know that but what happens when I'm done?"
"Ye knot the end."
He says it like it's so easy. I press the needle onto his skin and he looks down, nodding at the lining.
"Aye, like that. Do it."
My heart is beating through my chest. I press into his skin, wincing as he releases a grunt, turning his head to the side while I pull the thread through, attaching it to the other side. I watch the veins beneath the skin on his throat widen in strain.
"Christ!"
My eyes flicker to his face nervously before continuing further. I'm halfway finished when his body jumps slightly before going limp.
"Callan? Callan?"
I feel tears of fear well up in my eyes but I continue on, gasping for breath, desperate to stop the blow flow. I close my eyes in relief when I knot the end, tying it as tight as I can. The job was clearly done by an amateur but it looks somewhat like it should... I think.
He remains unconscious for hours. I keep my head rested against my bloody hands, staring at the rise and fall of his chest, terrified to look away.
I refuse to look away.