Highland Healer (12 page)

Then Colbridge spotted one of his men approaching with a prisoner whose hands were bound behind his back. Good. Let him try to get to those leathers and chew them off.

“This man has news you should hear,” the guard told him and stepped back.

Colbridge, temper still frothing, snarled, “Well? Speak up, man!”

“Aye, sir,” the man started, then hesitated before continuing. “The other captives, they won’t stay nearby. They’ll likely follow the Lathan to the Aerie.”

“What do you mean they’ll follow the Lathan to the aerie? What aerie? And who is the Lathan?”

“The Lathan. Clan Lathan,” the man answered, clearly confused. “The clan nearest to us. Their stronghold, the Aerie, isna close but it’s less than a day’s ride west—farther into the mountains.”

“Why go there if it’s so far?”

“The other clans are even farther away,” the bound man replied. “The ones on foot will follow the men on horseback, though it may take them two more days.”

“And when they arrive, will the Lathan receive them?”

“Oh, aye, certainly, since he likely ordered them freed.”

“Ordered them freed? How could he do that when he didn’t know they were captured?”

“What? How could he no’ ken it? He sat right here among them. When his men came to retrieve him, he likely ordered the others freed to cover his own escape.”

Fear widened the bound man’s eyes when he saw Colbridge’s fist clench.

Colbridge’s rage threatened to choke him. “He was here?”

Clearly hesitant, the bound man continued. “Aye, tied up with the other prisoners. I saw him there when I they took me to the healers to bandage this cut on my arm. I wasna sure till I saw his torc.”

“Torc? Torc! The man I took prisoner wore a torc. He wasn’t a MacAnalen laird?”

“Nay, no’ one of ours. The MacAnalen wears no torc.”

“He was the laird of the nearest fortress?”

“Oh, aye. The Aerie’s a fine fortress. ’Tis set on a high tor. They say it has never been taken.”

“Never been taken? What do you mean?”

“If they don’t want ye in, ye don’t get in. And they can last forever in there.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because when he escaped, he left me behind. The Lathan laird sat among us alone. He should have sent for his men to help us fight ye off, but instead he watched us get slaughtered, and walked away without me when it was all over.”

Colbridge could barely credit what he heard. His fury raged as close to madness as it ever had. A strange laird had been in his hands. Now he was gone. Aileana with him. And instead of being able to turn south before winter moved in, he would have to get her from a castle reputed to be unassailable. They could be delayed here for weeks more—months, if they had to mount a siege. Colbridge shuddered.

“I had the Lathan here, and no one told me? You did not tell me!” Colbridge drew his sword. Both men facing him stepped back, but it was too late to run. In a flash Colbridge separated the prisoner’s head from his shoulders.

His guard stepped back even farther, face white, hands out, not daring to run, but terrified to stand too close. “I did not know. Don’t kill me, too.”

It did him no good. Colbridge’s wrath demanded blood and his sword flashed in the sun. Others who had started to carefully approach, not knowing what caused the commotion, stopped short, gaping at the sudden bloodshed. But they ran when he threw his head back and howled his fury to the sky.

Chapter Seven

Toran stood on the ramparts with Donal, watching as a small group of riders arrayed themselves at the edge of the glen below the Aerie, along the opposite trees. “They’ve found us, and quickly, too. Did they follow? Or did some poor MacAnalen captive point the way, I wonder?”

“It doesna matter,” Donal retorted. “That lot are here, and they’ll bring along the rest, soon enough.”

“Their leader still lives or they wouldna come. So that’s the answer to that. He willna give up.”

“We saw nary a siege engine in that camp. They canna do much against us without at least one,” Donal remarked thoughtfully and nodded toward the forest. “But there are plenty of trees to cut down. Given the time, they could build them, or use the logs as battering rams against our gates.” He gestured toward the main gate into the Aerie and continued, “We’ll need to post more archers there, but the approach up the ridge is easy enough to defend.” He turned back toward the invaders’ scouting party. “I dinna see many supply wagons in that camp, either. From the look of them, they’ve been on the march a long time.”

“More than two years, according to the Healer,” Toran answered, and wondered how the dark-haired lass had survived in the midst of the rough camp. She thought she’d been safe there. Toran wondered how long that would have remained true. “A long time to be away from hearth and home,” he muttered, turning his back on the scene outside the Aerie to regard the activity in the bailey, below.

“If there’s truth in what the MacAnalens told ye while ye enjoyed their company,” Donal said with a smirk, and Toran groaned in exasperation. Donal would not let him forget that, ever. “Then,” Donal continued, “most have no home to return to. If Colbridge didn’t break their clans, the Sassenach already had in the fighting at the borders. They’re mostly lost men, with none to look to except that toady bastard leading them around our countryside. And they’ve nowhere to go save squatting at our door.” Toran nearly grinned at Donal’s aggrieved tone.

“They’ll leave soon enough.”

“Aye, one way or the other,” Donal growled.

With Colbridge’s patrol in sight of the main approach to the Aerie, scouts that Toran had sent out would have to stay in the trees as long as possible and then make a fast break for the main gate, or take the longer, hidden way around the tor and the postern gate in the lower caverns. Toran allowed himself a moment of amusement, imagining the complaints as they climbed the many stairs and steep passageways up into the Aerie.

“We’ll need to move some of the horses to the lower stable,” he told Donal. “If Colbridge’s archers get in range of the main gate, the postern will be our best way in and out.”

“Aye. We’ll move them after dark.”

“I want three men to go back to Colbridge’s camp tonight. Someone told Colbridge where we are. I suspect we missed freeing some unlucky MacAnalen or one was recaptured and tortured for that information. If our scouts find anyone else held in there, get them into the hills with their kin where they can be cared for.”

“Aye. ’Twill be done.”

“Quietly. We don’t need any more Lathan captives in that camp.”

“Aye, Lathan,” Donal said with a straight face for once.

Toran’s attention focused on the bailey as Aileana come out from the main hall, following Elspie. Her appearance stilled the activity in the yard. Toran sensed no animosity among his folk, merely curiosity, as people stopped what they were doing to watch her go by, offer a greeting or just nod and stare. It was more than the fact that she was a new face, a stranger among the clan. He’d seen plenty of visitors noted and ignored. Did her status as a healer fascinate them? Nay, this was different.

So, she gained noticed from all, but then, Toran mused, the Healer was hard to ignore. Even in this place and with these people who were strange to her and staring at her, she maintained an air of calm certainty that only added to her beauty. She acknowledged everyone she passed, but did not pause to return their greetings. Her thick, dark braid swung on her back as she crossed the bailey to the wall of Senga’s herb garden and passed through the gate that Elspie opened. For a moment, the watchful stillness held, then the noise and movement resumed. Toran blew out the breath he had not realized he was holding.

“That’s quite an effect she has on the folk,” Donal muttered beside him. “As if she wears invisible armor, or royal raiment; all must regard her, but no one may approach.”

“I think we have just seen why she remained safe and untouched in the invader’s camp,” Toran answered, as bemused as his companion.

****

“The wall’s to keep the coneys out, or the long-eared pests would eat all that Senga grows, and there’d be naught for her stews and potions,” Elspie prattled on as she opened the gate and gestured for Aileana to precede her. “Though why they hop their way into a busy keep like this is more than I ken. The main portion of grains and root vegetables and such we get from the fields in the glens, and from the villages hereabouts, o’course. We’ve a goodly store to carry through the winter in the cellars beneath the keep. But Senga likes her herbs, and this garden is a pleasant spot in the morning.”

Indeed it was, Aileana thought as she noted with pleasure the neat beds of greens and herbs. If Senga tended this, she cared for more than greens and herbs; she had a bit of art in her as well. Aileana turned to take it all in, observing how the morning sun filled the generous space with light. Blooming vines climbed the rocky walls, some of the leaves turning russet or gold from the growing chill of the recent nights.

“It’s lovely,” Aileana said at last. “I can see why you like it so.”

Elspie led her to a bench in the sun, and went through a doorway into what must be the kitchen, judging by the mouthwatering scents that wafted out of the door. The clatter of pots and pans rang over the sound of women’s voices. Aileana couldn’t make out what the women discussed, so she ignored the chatter and studied the layout of the garden. The rock walls were positioned to soak up the warmth of the low sunlight that illuminated them this time of year and extend the growing season. Savory herbs for the pot were kept separate from medicinal plants, which could be dangerous. Now that she’d had a chance to study the arrangement, she realized that flowers bordered the savory beds, while a low, thorny shrub bordered the medicinal beds, clearly signaling “keep away.” Even the dullest kitchen lackey would be able to tell where to pick and what to avoid.

No such measures had been required in her mother’s garden since only she and Aileana had harvested there. But in a large keep such as this, there might be several who helped in the kitchens, and children might enter to play or pick flowers. Aileana admired Senga’s forethought.

Aileana had only a few minutes to herself to enjoy the sunshine and the scent of growing things before Elspie returned carrying a large basket and leading one of the tiniest women Aileana had ever seen.

“Good day, lady,” the sprite greeted her, then dismissed Elspie with a regal nod and continued with barely a breath. “I’m Senga. I’m told ye ken something of healing and herb lore.”

Elspie set the basket on the ground beside Senga, nodded to Aileana and left them alone.

Senga’s eyes were a bright, sharp blue, set in a small face that was crowned by a wealth of white hair braided and wrapped around her head. Despite her tiny size, the spirit that shone from her eyes was formidable. Aileana had the sense that Senga weighed and measured her fully in one steely glance.

Aileana took a breath, then answered her. “Some, yes. Though I’m told your methods are different than mine.”

“Aye?” The sharp blue gaze pinned her in place and the sense of being tested increased.

“What I know, I learned from my mother,” Aileana spoke carefully, not sure what Senga was looking for and reluctant to be found lacking in some way. “But what you have here is more than she used, and more than I recognize. I would learn from you, if you’re willing.”

“Then ye’ll be welcome to my garden when ye like,” the old healer said with a nod that Aileana took for some sort of acceptance. “And I’ll be pleased to show ye what’s here whilst I pick some herbs for tonight’s supper. There’s nothing our wee laird likes better than my stew.”

Aliana laughed at that. “Your wee laird?” she asked, incredulous that anyone, especially one as tiny as Senga, could describe the huge warrior as “wee.”

“Aye, I’ve called him that since he was a bairn,” Senga told her, then turned to a flower-bordered bed, knelt and began picking fresh herbs. “Toran’s been hanging about my kitchen since he got old enough to crawl and clever enough to snatch a treat from my tables. A wee pest he was, but even as a bairn, he had a charm that no one could resist.”

“I see that hasn’t changed,” Aileana answered, with only a little irony as the memory of her body’s hunger for him suddenly swamped her.

It was Senga’s turn to laugh. “Nay, lass, little has changed. He’s laird now, and a good one. He’s kept his charm. And he still visits my kitchen for a nibble whenever he pleases.” Senga picked up the basket and gestured to Aileana. “Now walk with me.”

“You’re the cook and the healer?” Aileana asked.

“The healer, aye. My herbal is just beyond the kitchen, and I keep an eye on the cooking to ensure the health of the clan, but others do the work with the pots and pans.”

Aileana could see why. She couldn’t imagine someone of Senga’s size lifting a pot full of stew. It would be nearly as big as she was.

Aileana listened with interest to Senga’s tales of life in the Aerie and of its laird as they wandered the garden, filling the basket with herbs and greens. She impressed Aileana with her fierce loyalty to the man she’d known first in swaddling. Her tales of his childish antics did nothing to dilute her evident pride in the laird he’d become, but Aileana wondered how he’d won the hearts of his people.

Loyalty could be bought with rewards, or forced with fear, as she had seen Colbridge do countless times. Was it fair to judge Toran by the measures she’d learned from that tyrant? She’d had little experience with any other form of leadership save the coercion Colbridge used to keep his men under his control. Was a clan run like an army? Or more like the village she’d grown up in?

She’d noticed a sense of community among the few people of Clan Lathan whom she’d met that she missed when she allowed herself to think about the home she’d lost. She wasn’t sure if it was real or a perception born of her own wishes. But it wouldn’t exist if their laird mistreated them in any way.

“Does it not worry you, that the invaders could arrive soon?” she asked Senga as they finished the tour of the garden and stopped outside the door into the kitchen and the nearby herbal. The mood in the Aerie seemed calm and purposeful, despite the probability of a siege.