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Meghan looked up at Osmod’s cursing. She frowned, watching him pour water over his hand. ‘What on earth has he done to himself?’ she wondered as he passed by where she sat with Brand; she had missed his unfortunate encounter with the hot kettle.
Brand was asleep, his face relaxed, breathing even. She put the palm of her hand against his forehead, noting it had grown cooler. Meghan chewed at the corner of her bottom lips considering whether he would stay asleep. She glanced over at Sythric, he seemed comfortable, too, for the moment. Chancing that her charges would not do something foolish, Meghan stood up and hurried to where Osmod stood talking low to Leod.
‘Oh, Osmod! That must hurt horribly!’ she said taking his burned hand in her own. Meghan glanced up from her inspection of the blistered fingers and reddened palm to his face. In the wavering light of the fire she could see his cheeks were a little crimsoned; though it seemed not from the pain. She could see the hand did indeed hurt him but he seemed to be holding back the pain well.
‘Let me get your salves and such and your rolls of bandage, Leod,’ she went on, turning her attention to the healer. ‘And a little cool water . . . yes? . . . to clean the burn.’
‘Don’t worry, Osmod,’ she said. ‘We . . . well, that is, Leod, I mean, will soon get you fixed up.’
Meghan was glad the night hid her own reddened cheeks as she went to fetch Leod’s supplies. Don’t let Leod’s words swell your head, girl! she chided herself as she hurried along.
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