Highland Healer (15 page)

“Do ye truly believe that?”

“Aye, of course.”

“What about the fact that I stayed a day longer with the MacAnalens than I should have and so was taken in the battle and then caused all of their prisoners to be set free? Do ye think that might have caused a bit of resentment among the invaders?”

“Perhaps. But…”

“But nothing, lass. Aye, he wants ye back. Ye explained why to me the first night ye were here. And ye have the right of that. ’Tis hardly fair, though, to put the blame for everything on yer slender shoulders when mine are broad enough to share the load. I brought ye home with me, after all.” A droll grin lit his face, causing Aileana to snort, but then he continued more seriously. “But more than that, a warrior canna ignore the insult we gave him. He’s here because of me, because of what I and my men did in his camp. And even if I had no’ been there and had no’ met ye and none o’ the rest of it had happened, ye said yerself he’s bent on conquering the Highland clans. He would have shown up here eventually, with or without ye. This way, the timing works in our favor, not Colbridge’s. Winter is coming on. His force is small and shrinking by the day. ’Tis better to defeat him here and now when he’s worn and at the end of a long march than to face him again in the spring with a larger army and all summer to harass us. My presence in the MacAnalen camp and yer presence in the Aerie only served to hasten the inevitable.”

“Ye make a strong case, Laird Lathan.” Aileana sighed as the weight left her shoulders.

“I’m right, and well ye ken it.”

Aileana nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, you are. And thank you for that. The guilt was tearing me apart.”

“Ye have nothing to feel guilty for, lass.” He stood and held out his hand to her. “Now, if ye’re ready, I’ll take ye to Jamie.”

Chapter Nine

Toran sat alone by the fire in the Great Hall, sipping wine and pondering the rumblings of discontent within the clan that had reached him. He had to find a way to deal with the situation in the Aerie before it grew into something much more threatening than disgruntled mutterings.

He had tapped into the expensive cask of French burgundy, one of the few benefits of the Auld Alliance with France against England. That treaty had led James IV and many Highland lairds to attempt to divert England from its war with France by attacking the border, which had led to their deaths at Flodden three years before. The dead included the old MacAnalen and Toran’s father and older brother. Toran had never expected to become the Lathan. But now he was, and he had things he must deal with.

He took another sip and savored the taste, letting the wine roll around on his tongue before he swallowed it. So different from mead or ale or whisky. Like velvet in the mouth, warm and soft on the way down. It was proof that there were desirable things that came from outside of the Highlands. There were many, actually…spices, fabrics, books...and an unusual woman whose kisses tasted warm and soft like the wine but were so much more intoxicating. Which was why he sat here staring into the fire, soothing his troubled mind with a rare glass.

Some of his people feared Aileana was a witch. He kenned it. That was only fair, given what so many had seen down by the postern. And the tale grew as it spread, as tales often did. The way she saved Jamie’s life would be as fearful to some as it was wonderful to others. But some even reviled her for the fact that Jamie still lived! Toran shook his head. How anyone could see anything but good in what Aileana had done that day was more than he could fathom.

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing away from the fire, he saw Aileana crossing toward the hallway to the kitchen and Senga’s herbal. She was intent on her destination, looking neither right nor left. After spending one day resting and regaining her strength, and another alternating with Senga sitting vigil at Jamie’s bedside, she seemed revived. A touch of color tinted her cheeks. Her movements had regained their former regal grace. Toran stood and started after her. The wine held not nearly the attraction that the woman did.

As he reached the entrance to the long hallway, Coira stepped out of the kitchen and challenged Aileana.

“What are ye doin’ here?” she snarled. The memory of Coira’s icy glare as Aileana swooned in his arms after healing Jamie flashed before his eyes. He’d been warned by several of the clan about Coira’s ambitions, and about her arrogant treatment of the fosterlings and the serving folk. But it was that glare that had burned its way into his memory because she’d never shown him that expression until then. Toran feared that this chance meeting would develop into a confrontation that Aileana was not yet recovered enough to withstand.

But as he watched her square off with the other woman, he also knew she wouldna appreciate his interference, so he paused just out of sight beyond the entrance to the hallway and listened.

“Are we to accept yer witchery because ye healed Jamie?” Coira continued, with barely a breath. “Or did ye? Why has no one seen him since ye bespelled him?”

Aileana’s reply was barely audible, her voice soft. She seemed unbothered by Coira’s accusation. “You haven’t seen Jamie because he took a fever and Senga has confined him to bed until it passes,” she replied. “He’ll be fine.”

Toran peeked around the corner in time to see Aileana gesture down the hall toward the kitchen and Senga’s herbal. “You can ask her yourself if you don’t believe me. She’s preparing some medicine for him.” At Coira’s snort, Aileana clenched her hand into a fist and brought it down to her side, but continued calmly, “I am what you see: a healer working with Senga. Nothing more. What do you think I’m doing?”

The volume of her voice had risen, so Toran ducked back out of sight.

“That remains to be seen, does it no’?” Coira’s sarcastic reply sounded as if she was ready to spit into Aileana’s face, or worse. Toran was tempted again to intervene, but just before he stepped into the hallway, he heard Aileana’s even reply.

“It does, I suppose. Only time will prove my place here.”

“Time is something ye’ll no’ have, no’ if I have anything to say about it.”

“Anything you have to say, you’d best take up with your laird.”

“My laird, is he? I’ve seen yer gaze on Toran. And ye’ve managed to catch his eye, too, it seems. I won’t have it. Stay away from him, if ye know what’s good for ye. He’s to be mine. He seems to have forgotten that of late, but mark my words, I’ll soon remedy that.”

“I prefer not to,” Aileana replied evenly, much to Toran’s amusement. The Healer had depths he had not suspected, and greater strength than he had imagined. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she continued, “I’ve work to do. Senga expects me.”

There was a brief pause, then Toran heard Coira taunt, “Oh, ‘Senga expects me,’ indeed. Does she now? I won’t excuse ye, except to see ye marched out the front gate and back to the invaders’ camp where ye can starve with the rest of ’em.”

The silence that followed Coira’s last cutting remark worried Toran enough for him to step from his hiding place into the hallway. He half expected to see Aileana’s tear-streaked face downcast from Coira’s spite. But the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. He caught a glimpse of Aileana disappearing into the herbal. Coira stood alone, her back to him, hands on hips, fairly vibrating with anger.

It seemed that Aileana had returned the favor Senga had described to him after Coira had rudely turned on her heel and left Aileana in the garden. Senga’s tale wasn’t the first hint he’d had of Coira’s temper, but coming from Senga, he hadn’t been able to doubt the source. And now this. Well and good. He’d seen her anger with his own eyes and heard her venomous words with his own ears. She could not deny it after this.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, content to wait to be noticed, knowing that would unsettle her all the more. Nay, this shrew was not the face Coira showed to him; rather he got all of her sweetness and light, fawning over him, tempting him to her bed. But perhaps it was just as well that he saw this side of her now, before she got even more out of hand. He didn’t like her threatening Aileana. He wouldn’t accept it from anyone, certainly not from Coira.

At that moment, Coira turned and found him watching her. She paled, but tried a small smile and hesitantly stepped toward him nonetheless. He glowered at her, and his expression coupled with the fact that he had yet to speak, clearly worried her. Good.

“Toran? I didna hear ye come up behind me.” She put a tentative hand on his wrist and brushed her fingers up and down. “Well met, then. Perhaps ye’ll join me…”

“I heard ye.” Toran’s flat statement cut her off in mid-sentence. “Every bitter word.” He removed his forearm from under her touch and held up his hand instead. “Have done, Coira,” he said, so sharply and coldly that there could be no mistake about his intent. “I’ll no’ have ye treating my guest as ye just did. She doesna deserve yer ire. Nay, yer display of temper, and yer superstitious drivel, does ye no credit.”

“Yer guest?” Oddly, Coira seemed to take heart from his anger as she rounded on him, hands on her hips, and Toran saw that her temper was once again about to get the best of her tongue. “Yer guest, ye call her? What does that make me, I wonder?” Suddenly, as if she finally took heed of the thunderous expression on his face, she modulated her tone, but her words were just as harsh. “Donal has warned ye that she will do us harm, healer or no’. Have ye lost all sense over her, then, Toran?”

“Nay, Coira, but it seems ye have.”

“How so? Would ye set me aside for the witch? O’course, if ye’d rather have her skills in bed, then I suppose ye’ll have her as whore instead.”

“Remember yer place, lass.” Toran kept a tight rein on his temper as his anguish over the very conundrum that Coira named rose to clog his throat. He narrowed his eyes and kept his gaze steely as one tear trickled down her face, then another. False tears, he had no doubt, as false as her heart.

“My place is at yer side, Toran. ’Tis why I was sent here. Or have ye forgotten the alliance others intend for us to make?”

“I havena forgotten,” he finally spat, his words following one on the heels of another, allowing her no chance to interrupt, and no chance to mistake his meaning. “But ye seem to have forgotten that yer presence here was an enticement only—one that I’ve yet to agree to. We’re done,” he growled, “but make no mistake. It’s no’ because of Aileana. Yer behavior has been related to me.” Her actions had burned away any hint of ardor he’d ever felt toward this woman, nor could he summon any compassion. He would not tolerate her lies. “It’s because ye show a nasty streak to others that ye’ve kept from me while ye tried to seduce yer way into the laird’s bed. Aye, I ken yer ambition to become the lady of the clan. It willna happen, Coira. ’Tis no matter whether I ever have the healer or no’. I’ll no’ have ye. Is that plain enough for ye?” Any alliance he’d contemplated with her distant clan was of little value if her duplicity reflected what he could also expect from them.

“Aye, Laird Lathan,” Coira replied, her tone haughty despite her damp cheeks. “Ye’ve made yerself quite clear. Go to yer witchy whore, then.”

Toran held onto his temper with both hands. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to draw his dirk and silence her malicious mouth forever. But he could not, would not, treat one of the clan in that way, even one merely fostered here. He was no Colbridge, to shed the blood of those who displeased him, no matter the provocation. Instead he made his next words a clear command. “Stay away from Aileana.”

Finally seeming to come to her senses, Coira backed away as he spoke, then paused, poised to answer him.

He stopped her with a glare. “Say another word to her, or to anyone else about her,” he warned, “and I’ll ken it. Ye’ll no’ like the consequences, Coira, I can promise ye that.” Toran clenched his fists by his sides, which should have been enough of a caution for her to make herself scarce.

But she ignored him, chin up, eyes flashing. “I only mean to warn ye, Toran,” she said, her tone a contrite lie against the fury in her gaze. “She’ll see ye dead or ruined, and someone else will be laird o’ Clan Lathan.”

“Are ye a witch now, to tell the future with such certainty?” he taunted, bemused by her lack of sense.

“We dinna tolerate her kind where I’m from.” Was that fear he saw now, behind her anger?

More gently, he replied, “We do.”

Coira didn’t deign to answer, but brushed by him into the Great Hall. He watched as she mounted the stairs leading to her chambers, silently daring her to turn back or to speak her venom to anyone else. He was glad he had not allowed her tears to sway him; he knew they were as false as the rest of her. A breath escaped him. That was done, then.

Or was it? Coira had made friends among the clan, and her wiles were effective. His interest in her had proved that. She’d nearly snared him in her web. She’d soon have a new champion and be stirring up trouble for him, no doubt, and for Aileana. As much as he wanted to stay away from her, it would be best to keep an eye on Coira, at least until the siege was over and he could send her back to her home or marry her off into another clan—preferably one far, far away.

****

Aileana entered Senga’s herbal with her head down and her ears still ringing with Coira’s taunts. How was she supposed to deal with someone who treated her like that? With all she’d done for the clan, who was Coira to tell her she had no place here? Worse, she’d threatened Aileana with the one thing that Aileana feared most: labeling her Talent witchcraft and condemning her to banishment or death.

Aileana had forced herself to calmness while Coira railed at her, but that calm exterior was rapidly unraveling. She lifted a hand to see it shake, then clenched her fingers into a fist and dropped it to her side.

“Healer, whatever is the matter?” Senga asked her. “Ye’re trembling.”

The question startled Aileana. She turned toward Senga’s voice to see the old healer standing at a low cabinet crushing green herbs between her hands. She’d been so wrapped up in her own misery that she had forgotten that Senga would be in the room, waiting for her. And the sympathy in her voice further unraveled Aileana’s control. Had she heard what Coira said? Was calling Aileana “healer” Senga’s way of reminding her of her value? A tear slipped onto her cheek and turned away from the older woman, too embarrassed to let her see it.