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Dara strode up, grabbed Sinséar’s lead, and steered the sturdy pony and cart past the body of the man lying on the sand. She felt a shiver go up her spine as she took one last look at the body, its brown eyes transfixed in a dead man’s stare.
She shook away the feeling of uncertainty while she walked towards home with her pony, and the strange man in her cart.
During the journey back home, the cart sank into the muddy soil twice, then again when she stopped Sinséar for a drink at the river.
“Returning home should have been easier than this,” Dara vented while she pushed the cart from behind for the third time.
Leaving earlier in the morning, she had cleared the fallen branches from the trail when she and her pony and cart were on their way to the village. She didn’t know that she’d be returning home so soon, and with someone injured.
Dara heard mumbling from the back of the cart. She stopped the pony again to check on the man. Thankfully, his blue eyes were closed. She was relieved by the steady rise and fall of his chest under the blanket. He mumbled again, words unfamiliar to her. Yet, he slept.
She tried to guide the pony again, but the brief stop had allowed the wheels of the cart to become stuck for a fourth time. Working with the pony, she rocked the cart back and forth until it moved freely. Sweat drenched her forehead.
Finally free of the mud, and with another hour of trudging in the muck, the trail opened into a small clearing. The welcoming calls of her three sheep made her smile while traipsed to her hut. The sheep huddled together inside the corral, still wide-eyed and skittish from being out in the storm all night.
Dara contemplated where she would put the man while he recovered. “Perhaps the shed would work,” she murmured as she walked to the shelter.
She inspected the rough interior of the pitched hut, and sputtered when small pieces of thatched roof fell upon her head. After the debris stopped falling, she peered up, through the gaping hole in the roof, and watched gray billowy clouds slowly pass by.
With the roof in disrepair because of the storm of the night before, and the animals skittish, she changed her mind about the shelter. She didn’t want him to die in the cold or be stomped to death. So, the only other place was her small hut.
She strode from the shelter to her hut, opened the door, and quickly scanned the interior, searching for where she could place him while he recovered. On one side of the room was the table with her book still open. She instantly decided against placing him on the table because of his height. The only place reasonable would be in her bed on the other side of the room. The low wooden pallet would keep his body off the ground. She spread the straw mattress smooth, and covered it with linen. Satisfied with the arrangement, she walked back outside to her patient.
Upon reaching the cart, Dara found the man half awake, rolling his head side to side.
Ignoring the groaning sounds he made, Dara strained with his semi-conscious body while she moved him from the cart, his right arm slung over her shoulder as she attempted to help him walk. He stumbled, and together they both fell inside. She moved from under his arm and hissed. Dara had landed on her hip. She rubbed the area until the throbbing ceased, then leaned over, tapping his bearded face once more, and roused him, finally maneuvering him onto the bed. She turned him onto his back, where he instantly closed his eyes.
Gazing at his upper body as her breathing came back to normal, she noticed the linen bandage was wet with fresh blood.
“Luckily for you, that you’re unconscious again,” she whispered while removing the bandages.
Peeling back some of the torn tissue, Dara spied some wooden shards buried deep within the wound. Quickly she grabbed her sewing basket. Using a long bone needle, she carefully dug through the swollen flesh. After gently removing the wooden bits, she cleansed the wound with fresh water. Finally, she stitched up the gash in his shoulder, placing a small amount of moonwort and lanolin along the edges to keep the area safe from infection. Carefully, she re-bandaged the shoulder with clean linen and placed another blanket over him.
She moved the hemp stool next to the bed and rested for a few minutes, her body aching, in complete exhaustion, begging to fall asleep. She placed her head against her arms on the edge of the bed.
The mattress shook slightly. Looking up through half dazed eyes, she watched him shivering. She placed her hand on his forehead, noting he was feverish. Removing the cover, she hesitantly glided her hand lower on his body for the cause of the chill. Finding his leggings still damp, Dara decided that the rest of his clothing must come off.
Carefully, she slipped his wet leggings off. A rush of heat filled her cheeks as she tried to avert her eyes from his bare groin. She removed the last of his wet clothes and tossed them to the ground and then replaced the blanket, watching his body calm itself.
“Should I tie him up?” she wondered as she settled on the edge of her stool. She reflected that to help a Viking raider was punishable by death after they’d previously ravaged the village of Linn Duachaill. The people the Vikings captured, including her friend Colleen ... what became of them? Although she still did not know from whence he came, and could not prove he was a Norseman, she wanted answers though feared she already knew.
From where she sat, Dara gazed at the man lying there, his chest rising and falling with every breath. She noted that while he slept, his upper face was relaxed, almost gentle, giving her the impression of a different man.
Cocking her head to one side, she squinted to get a different perspective on his looks. “Maybe with a few adjustments to his appearance,” she commented quietly to herself.
She removed the thin belt from her waist, tied his wrists together, and went to get her shears.