Highland Healer (11 page)

Though he’d never dared tell her, he’d stayed with Colbridge to be with her and watch over her. He owed her so much, and she needed him to help her, to be her eyes and hands on the battlefield once the fighting ended. And to protect her. He felt certain Aileana did not know that he stood guard outside her tent on the nights the men celebrated their most recent victories. Let them have their camp followers, or the women of the villages they destroyed. He had kept the few away from Aileana who had dared consider her their prey, or who were drunk enough not to care about the consequences. His presence served to remind them what they stood to lose if they violated the Healer—to be left with only the rough surgery and bandages of the other healers to save their lives.

She had to be found. He needed to plan, to think of a way to avoid his otherwise certain fate when he broke the news to Colbridge. Ranald dropped the flap and turned back to regard the man on the table. He had to persuade him that there existed a way for Ranald to play a part in finding Aileana, in getting her back. If he could no longer fight, surely he could do something. But what? He didn’t know who had taken her and the MacAnalen. Likely she’d been carried off to this Aerie that he’d heard the men talking about. No other strongholds existed close by, and who else would be so daring?

Their raid was surely a message to Colbridge. To persist in his conquest would be foolish against a clan so bold as to steal into an armed camp and retrieve the captured laird and a woman, and to free the rest of the prisoners. Most important to least important, in their barbarian eyes, Ranald supposed, a sign that they could act against an armed camp without heed to its defenses, and take whatever they liked. They could not know what treasure they’d stolen when they spirited Aileana away.

Colbridge suddenly snorted, and sat up, blinking. “What...where...” he mumbled, then looked around the tent, still groggy from his rest. He rubbed his face with one hand, and that seemed to wake him up even more.

Ranald stood, silent, determination overriding his fear, waiting to be acknowledged. “Ah, now I remember,” Colbridge continued, talking now to Ranald. “I was injured. Aileana did her magic, did she?”

“She did, sir.”

Colbridge shrugged his shoulder, then lifted his hand over his head and brought it back down. “It all seems right enough. So, then, how long did I sleep? Where are the men? What news?”

Ranald steeled himself. “You slept the day away. ’Tis past midnight, and the camp is quiet—now.”

Colbridge did not miss the hesitation or the inflection in Ranald’s voice.

“Now? What do you mean, now?”

Might as well get it said while Colbridge was still bleary and had no weapon to hand,
Ranald thought. That might save him.

“There was a disturbance midday. Raiders came for the MacAnalen. They took him, and...”

“What! They came right into my camp and took my prize prisoner? Where were my men? How could this happen!”

“That’s not all they took.” Ranald rushed to get the words out before Colbridge’s temper got worse. “They took Aileana and set the other prisoners free.” Ranald held his breath, waiting for the eruption that would signal his doom.

Colbridge’s sputtering stilled as Ranald’s words sank in. Ranald watched his eyes narrow as he absorbed their meaning. “They took the Healer? And the MacAnalen? Out of an armed camp? And freed the rest of the prisoners, too?” Colbridge’s voice grew louder and higher with each sentence as he repeated Ranald’s news, disbelief plain on his face. Suddenly his teeth clenched and his face flushed scarlet. “Where are the guards? Bring them to me! I’ll have their heads!” he shouted as he stood up, then swayed and grabbed the table edge for support.

Ranald reached to steady him and had his hand batted away for his trouble.

“No!” Colbridge gasped, and straightened up. “How can I prevail without her? Men are going to be wounded and die. I need her!” Suddenly, he grabbed Ranald around the neck, and growled, “Where ever she is, you’re going to help me get her back, do you understand?”

“Of course,” Ranald rasped, fighting to be still, trying not to provoke Colbridge further. Despite his weakened condition, Colbridge was entirely capable of crushing a man’s throat with one hand.

As suddenly as he’d attacked, Colbridge loosed Ranald and turned for the entry. “Bring me the guard captains!” he shouted, slapping the tent flap aside. With that, he staggered out of the tent and into the firelit night.

It was Ranald’s turn to sag against the table. He still lived while Colbridge shouted for the guards. He knew he’d had a narrow escape. He’d be wisest to stay out of Colbridge’s way until he’d slaked his temper in the hapless guards’ blood and cooled off. But Ranald had to do something to find Aileana, to discover who had taken her and where, anything it took. He hadn’t spent years training as a warrior to cower in this tent now. It was time to resume fighting. And if he could not get her back, perhaps he could join her, alive or dead.

Ranald followed Colbridge into the night.

****

The day dawned bright and cloudless. Aileana took it as a good omen that the mists made no defense against the cheery sunshine, and that blue skies replaced the gray damp of yesterday’s dawn in Colbridge’s camp.

Colbridge’s camp. Only yesterday and already it seemed a lifetime ago. She wondered how Ranald fared and wished he’d been taken, too, not left behind to deal with Colbridge’s recovery when they discovered that she had disappeared with all the prisoners. He could be more comfortable here, as she was now, than he could living in a rough camp. And surely he could continue to assist her, or find employment among the many trades required to run a keep such as this; one where he could make a good life for himself.

Aileana luxuriated in the deep softness of the feather bed, so different from the pallet she was used to. Blankets and linen sheeting kept the autumn chill from her skin. Embers glowed in the banked-down fireplace, awaiting someone’s attention to stir them to life. As she drowsed, she pictured the fire flaring up, and recalled the heat that had blazed last night in Toran’s eyes as he touched her. He wanted her. That was plain, though he’d kept his caresses slow and gentle, his voice low and soft. She’d been nearly helpless against her own body’s yearnings, and yet he had not taken advantage of her, had not tried to force her to do what they both wanted.

And she wanted him, though she should not. She had finally found her Voice and forced him to leave her alone, though the sudden absence of his touch had brought tears to her eyes. He possessed the will to defend against her talent, perhaps to overwhelm her, but he had submitted to her. This time. Would he do so again? Or would he become more and more immune to her will? As strongly as the attraction pulsed between them, she dared not enter into that contest. Her talent had kept her safe and untouched these two years. She could not risk being less than inviolable. Not for any man, no matter how attractive, powerful or wealthy.

Once taken, no longer untouched, but still possessing her Talents, she would be vulnerable to the attentions of any man. That is what she risked with Toran. For when he tired of her, or when his clan forced him to marry someone suitable to be the wife of the laird, she would lose all of her protections—his, and the fiction that had carried her safe this far.

Irritated now, Aileana threw back the covers and quit the bed. Grabbing the poker, she stirred the embers of the fire and threw on some kindling to encourage a blaze to match her own frustration. A glorious day, comfort she had not known for years, if ever, and she could not let herself enjoy it for fretting over the laird and his intentions. It was not to be borne! She would protect herself as she always had, she vowed, and would not allow such thoughts to spoil the day.

As the fire started to come back to life, a soft knock sounded and the door to her chamber swung open. Elspie trundled in, green dress over one arm, and a tray of oat bread and cheese propped on the opposite hip.

Aileana caught a glimpse of a boy passing by the door as it swung closed, but her guard of the evening before was not visible.

“Ye’ll be wanting to ready yerself,” Elspie said as she put the tray on the small table so she could shake out the dress and hold it up for Aileana to don. “There’s a bright mornin’ without to be enjoyed, and Senga would be pleased to show ye the herb garden, now that ye’ll take her place as healer.”

The cloth sliding over Aileana’s head muffled her voice, but she managed to squeak, “Take her place?” as the dress slipped onto her shoulders. “What do you mean, ‘take her place’?” she demanded when she could see Elspie again.

“Aye,” Elspie continued, waving Aileana to the chair and handing her the breakfast tray. “Old Senga is long past her prime. She’s had no help these last two winters. The talk in the Hall is that ye’re to become the clan’s new healer.”

“I’m not a prisoner, then?”

“Prisoner? What nonsense is that?” Elspie waved a hand to encompass the room and its comfortable furnishings. “Does this look like the dungeon, then, lass?”

“There was a guard on my door last night.”

“Oh? No’ a guard, I’m sure. ’Tis likely the laird wanted someone nearby if ye had need of aught during the night, since this keep is new to ye.”

“How kind of him,” Aileana replied drolly around a bite of bread. The frown Elspie gave her told Aileana the note of sarcasm in her voice had not been missed.

Aileana still had her doubts. Call it whatever Elspie wished, there had been a guard outside her room last night. But this morning, Elspie was her only company. Elspie didn’t look much like a jailer. Aileana thought she could outrun the older woman with one leg broken, and without the use of her Voice. And what of Elspie’s news? Aileana had only arrived last night. How could anyone know about her, much less be discussing her fate in the Great Hall? Anyway, she doubted that her future would be decided by common gossip. Talk in the hall was one thing, but... “What of your laird’s wishes?”

“Ah. Ach, now, our Toran knows ’tis in the best interests of the clan, and himself, to keep Senga content.”

“Why?”

“Would ye want the master of herb lore angry with ye?” Elspie asked with a smirk. “’Twould be impossible to eat or drink anythin’, were it so.”

Aileana picked up a piece of cheese, sniffed, and nibbled carefully on a corner, suddenly fervent in the hope that Senga was looking forward to having help. Elspie laughed.

“Dinna fash yerself, lass.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Aileana replied, then shrugged, put the whole piece in her mouth and chewed. “You aren’t being put forward as her successor. What if she’s not ready to be replaced?”

“Clan Lathan is an old clan, small now, but we’ve been here for many a year. The healer is well respected in the clan and always will be. Besides, Senga had an apprentice before, but a McDinnan lad caught the lass’s eye and suddenly she left.”

“And there’s no one else to apprentice to the healer? No child?”

“There’s none with the wit or the patience to take on the learnin’ that Senga demands.”

“So I arrive, ready-made a healer, is that it?”

“Aye, lass,” Elspie smiled with satisfaction.

“What if my ways are not hers?” Aileana stood, setting aside the tray covered now only by crumbs, and began to pace, fearful again of this new situation she found herself in. What if Senga found her lacking in some way? And told Toran? What would she do then? She had no other training, no other skills, except as a healer.

So, that was why Toran had brought her to the Aerie. But if Senga did not accept her, what would Toran do? Send her back to Colbridge’s camp?

As Aileana paced, Elspie backed out of her way, toward the door, concern plain on her face. “What if I have no wish to remain in your Aerie?” Aileana continued, standing still as the thought occurred to her. “What then?”

“That ye’ll have to discuss with the laird,” Elspie answered, a frown knitting her eyebrows together. “It’ll be up to him what’s to be done wi’ ye.”

Aileana decided she did not want to know what Elspie meant by that. For now, as to whether Toran considered her prisoner or guest, it would seem this morning she was to be accorded the privileges of a guest, and the freedom of the keep, at least so far as the herb garden. But everyone would be looking at her, wherever she went. She needed to pull herself together and be dignified, or at least calm. She could not look flustered or fearful, no matter what happened today.

But to replace the clan’s healer, when she’d just arrived yesterday? That remained to be seen.

****

Colbridge stalked through the remains of his camp, snarling at anyone who dared cross his path. Few tents remained standing. Most had already been packed for travel into the few wagons they had horses left to pull, as were supplies and stores. Those signs of progress did little to ease his frustration. His prize prisoner stolen, along with his Healer. In a camp of nearly two hundred armed men, it should not have been possible. And they hadn’t just walked out on their own. But where had they gone? Farther north or west into the mountains?

The sentries on duty at the time had been whipped and now suffered the care of Ranald and the lesser healers. Hurts that Aliana could have righted quickly would linger, diminishing Colbridge’s fighting force. But an example had to be made. The sentries had been careless of their duty. By God, he’d taught them to care. It was a lesson they’d not soon forget, and if they did, there would be plenty of scars on their backs to remind them.

His own hurts were mended, though the damnable weakness persisted. Curse the woman, stolen away just when he needed her. His slow recovery was delaying the advance.

He approached the area where the prisoners had been held, noting the leathers still tied round the trees, the only sign this area had once held men, men who now roamed free in the forest to rebuild a fighting force and attack his rear when he moved out. Many of the leathers showed teeth marks and ragged edges. They hadn’t been cut; they’d been chewed apart. Fresh fury crested, and he cut the strips from the trees and tossed them into a pile. By God, he should use them to string those guards up. What were they doing while the prisoners gnawed through their bindings to gain their freedom? Whipping had been too good for them. Perhaps a more permanent example would have an even greater impact on their vigilance. The guard captain, for instance. Or the lot of them.