Falling for Her Captor

Sir Hugh nodded, his eyes half-closed. Aline took a deep breath and began.

She dipped the strips of dress into the hot water, ignoring the sting in her hands. She cleaned what blood she could from round the wound, ignoring the wincing this caused. Jack passed the whisky bottle to Aline, who drank deeply, then held it to Hugh’s lips. Her hair fell across her face and she paused, twisted it into a roll and secured it with a strip of skirt. Knowing she could put the moment off no longer, she took a deep breath and pushed the needle through Hugh’s skin. He jerked and let out a growl, but did not pass out again.

The needle was blunter than Aline would have preferred, and sewing the wound took what seemed like hours. It turned out that skin proved a lot tougher to pierce than tapestry cloth.

The sky was almost pitch-black by the time she was finished. Hugh had remained still after the first few stitches and contented himself with groaning or swearing depending on the depth of the stitch. Now Aline knotted the final thread with a sigh of relief. The Captain had lost a lot of blood, but with luck he would survive if he kept the wound clean. She used the remaining strips of dress to wrap the wound as best as she could, winding it across Sir Hugh’s chest and behind his shoulder.

Duncan brought a pile of blankets from the cart and rolled two up for a pillow, then covered Sir Hugh’s legs with another, fussing around him until the Captain waved him away irritably. Duncan patted Aline on the shoulder and gave her a smile of approval, then moved off to tend the fire. Jack went to the cart and returned with another bottle of whisky.

The four sat together, passing it between them, any hostility gone for now. They talked over events until they had pieced them together. Though Sir Hugh was exhausted, and weak from the loss of blood and his exertions, he had revived sufficiently to join in the conversation.

Aline was unused to drink that strong, but the warmth spreading through her body was far too comforting for her to care, and she soon found her head spinning. Jack made a further, slightly wobbly trip to the cart and returned with another bottle. He warned her in a slurred voice it was his own brew and would be ‘very, very much too strong for a woman.’

Her pride stung, Aline snatched it from his hand. Tilting her head back, she drank defiantly, conscious of Sir Hugh’s soft laugh as it caused her to cough abruptly and made her eyes water.

* * *

The night wore on and peace descended on the camp. Everyone became preoccupied with their own thoughts as the drink took effect. Duncan sat cross-legged with his back to the cartwheel next to Hugh, singing the same song over and over—something about cheeses and a maiden, though he seemed to know only half the words and was humming the rest. Jack lay on his back a little way off, hiccupping and ranting to the stars about how he should have followed his father into the ironmongery trade.

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