Highland Healer (8 page)

Kyle caught up with them once, reporting that Donal and their men followed after relieving some of their pursuers of their mounts. But they were slowed by some of their and the MacAnalen wounded.

“How bad?” Toran asked.

“A few scratches and bumps,” Kyle reported with a grin. “Naught to keep them from the Aerie and auld Senga’s ministrations.”

“Take me back to them,” Aileana argued. “I can help.”

“Nay,” Toran said, and his tone brooked no further discussion.

Aileana pursed her lips, but managed to keep her silence. Did he so fear her abilities that he would deny her help for his men?

Then Toran added, “They’ll catch up to us soon enough,” and her anger evaporated into relief. Toran was just trying to keep her safe. “Kyle, ride back and hurry them along. I don’t want any of Colbridge’s men nipping at their heels. And stay with them. Another good sword arm will come in handy if they do meet trouble.”

Kyle balked. “Are ye sure that’s wise, Laird?”

“Aye.” Toran glanced ahead of them and noted the lowering sun in the western sky. “We’re hours away from their camp, and we’ve been on Lathan land for a while now. If they havena caught us yet, they willna between here and the Aerie.”

Without another word, Kyle turned his horse and headed back the way he’d come. Toran urged their mount to a quicker pace, and settled Aileana firmly against him.

After hours of hard riding, Aileana’s back ached and her backside felt numb to the toes. She remembered wishing that she’d been left behind in Colbridge’s camp. She didn’t want that, not really. At least there she could move about as she pleased. Even her earlier enjoyment of Toran’s arm about her was beginning to wear thin. She wondered how he still controlled his monstrous steed. Surely he must be as tired and numb as she.

Suddenly lights danced amid the wind-blown leaves of the trees ahead of them. Her breath seized and she straightened, pointing. “What is that?”

Toran slowed the horse to a walk and let his arm drop from below her breasts. With some satisfaction, she saw him shake it a bit, easing the circulation back into it, before he spoke. So, she wasn’t the only one suffering.

“What ye see are the lights of the Aerie. We’re nearly there.”

As they rode closer, the trees thinned out. She gaped at the fortress that stood revealed. Steep-sided and tall, it loomed proud and alone on its high tor, keeping watch over the valley at its feet. The last rays of sunlight glinted on diamond-paned glass windows set near the top of a tall tower. Torches burned along the merlons, limning the top of the defensive works with flickering gold and sparking off of metal pikes that lined the crenellations.

Her heart began to pound as they left the trees and descended into the narrow glen. The closer they got, the higher the tor and the castle atop it loomed. She crossed her arms in front of her. Despite the chill wind, her palms were sweating. This edifice could indeed be defended against Colbridge. And the man who held her in his arms with such casual strength claimed to be the laird of all that light and soaring height. Her home had been a small village of farmers and herders, tied to a manor house, not to a castle with lords and ladies. Tears pricked her eyes as she realized she might never be accepted by people who lived in such a place.

And what would he do with her once he got her there? Shivering, she remembered that castles had dungeons. Surely, he couldn’t mean to throw her in the dungeon, could he?

Then she recalled how Toran had described it. A home like any other. Longing warred with anxiety and fatigue. Longing won.

“Let’s go, then,” she said, and heard Toran’s chuckle behind her—with amusement or sinister promise, she couldn’t tell. He wrapped an arm around her as he flicked the reins. The horse broke into a trot, headed home.

****

The evening activities in the Great Hall of the Aerie were usually just a congenial gathering of the men of the clan over their mead and ale, complete with boasts of conquests, be they battles or ladies, or discussions of current concerns. Tonight, the Hall was quiet, and the men sat at leisure staring into the fire, or carrying on low-voiced conversations. Toran took the subdued mood to be a reflection of their concern for the MacAnalens. Or his clan’s relief at his safe return. He found both ideas acceptable, until he noted Donal’s frowns in his direction as they ate a late meal.

“What ails ye, mon?” Toran finally asked. “Have I grown two heads, then?”

“Nay, Lathan, but I sometimes despair of the one ye do have.”

“Why is that, I wonder?” Toran said and gave Donal a grin, finding himself not to be so worn that he could not goad his long-time advisor. “Is it not handsome enough to please the ladies for miles around?” Coira liked him well enough. But why did he not seem to please the beautiful Healer? Toran’s grin fled his face. Damn, he ached to hold her again, as he had on the long ride to the Aerie. Her body had been lush and warm against him, her breasts heavy on the arm he’d wrapped securely around her ribs. Her body had been so tightly pressed between his thighs that even her tiniest movement had been sweet torture.

“Did yer head please the invader who captured ye?” Donal said, challenging him, yanking him back to the here and now. “He left it on yer shoulders, I see.” Donal leaned forward, glaring. “What did ye think to do, then, lad? Take on the whole invading army by yerself? Ye damn near scared the life out of me.”

“Nay, Donal,” Toran said, irritation growing along with embarrassment over Donal’s loudly expressed concern for his welfare. “But once the fighting started, I could scarce leave them to it, now could I,” he said, then sipped his mead, watchful of both his and Donal’s tempers. “I was there trying to make sure the feud our fathers fought died with them at Flodden. What do ye think the MacAnalens would ha’ done if they’d seen me riding away just as they came under attack?”

“Aye,” Kyle interjected.

Donal gave him a quelling look, and Kyle went back to serious drinking. Toran hid a smile.

“During the battle,” Toran continued, “I saw a lad too young to defend himself about to be overrun. I simply meant to give him time to slip away. I could not let him come to harm, now could I?” Toran’s expression was all innocence. He knew full well that Donal held charge over training the lads in the Aerie in the skills a warrior required for defense as well as for offense.

“Well done, then,” Donal remarked, taking a swallow from his tankard. Apparently this motive met with his approval.

“Not so well,” Toran continued, “for a moment later, the battle o’ertook me. I fought off the two who threatened the bairn.” Toran paused, trying to clear his foggy memory. “I took a blow from behind before I kenned it.” Toran fingered the torc at his throat. “I suspect the sight of this saved me. Likely whoever took me down mistook me for one of the MacAnalen lairds.”

“Ye always did have the luck,” another voice chimed in.

Toran glanced around to see who was listening to his well-deserved comeuppance. Ah, Parlan, the blacksmith, and several others, their attention rapt on the byplay between their laird and Donal. So, let them learn from his mistake. He certainly had. And the MacAnalens had suffered for it. Had he thought to send one of his men when he saw their peril…but no. He shook his head. It would not have helped. The Aerie lay too far away to get there and back with reinforcements before night fell or the fight ended. They’d done as well as anyone could, bringing Donal and the others to free him and the MacAnalens.

The best he could do for Angus now was being done. His scouts headed out to the hills around the invader camp. They carried weapons and supplies to help Angus protect his people until the invaders were gone, or until Toran could bring them safely into the Aerie.

“Mayhap they were surprised and engaged too quickly,” Kyle ventured. “Or their ghillies were slain before they could reach us. ’Tis good that our men made it back to raise the alarm, though seeing Banner riderless gave us a bad moment.”

Toran shrugged. “Whatever the reason, the battle went against them. And I spent the night enjoying the hospitality of the Healer’s tent.”

“The lass ye carried home?” Kyle asked, with mead-soaked admiration. “She’s a rare beauty, and one I wouldn’t mind trying.”

A sharp spasm of jealousy pierced Toran, but he hid his frown behind a quick swallow from his tankard.

“Aye, she’s a gifted healer, though I had little beside wounded pride and a pounding head to attend to.” Toran fixed Kyle and the others with a stern glare before he continued. “She’s a guest here, and not for the likes o’ ye,” he growled. “Nor me, either,” he muttered under his breath as he raised his tankard to his mouth, remembering how she’d fought him. But then, she’d responded to his kindness by healing the punctures in his arm. What did it mean?

Donal’s smirk told Toran that he’d overheard, but Kyle looked suitably chastened, so Toran went on with his tale and related what he’d learned from the MacAnalen captives before Donal and his men showed up to rescue their laird.

“The rest ye ken, except for the fact that the army’s leader took a bad cut to the shoulder and back this morning and rested in the Healer’s tent when ye arrived.”

Donal frowned. “Aye, that must ha’ been the scouting party we fought on the way to ye.” He slammed his tankard down and rose to his feet, hands planted on the tabletop. “Damn it, we had the bastard and let him live twice, is that what ye’re telling me? Once when we wounded him and again when we left him alive in the camp?”

“Ye didna ken who he was,” Toran said, excusing Donal, waving him back to his seat. “And I thought it more prudent to leave while we could than to risk recapture while trying to get to him in the camp.”

But Donal would have none of that, not Toran’s excuses, nor his own. He was the same way on the training field. Toran expected no less from him.

“Nay, it can’t be. I’m certain I delivered a killing blow,” he said, his face stony, his voice subdued, as he sat, Then he straightened, his eyes gleaming with purpose. “Laird, I’ll go back in the mornin’ and finish him off.”

“Nay,” Toran replied, quickly, knowing Donal when he got his mind made up. Colbridge had been near to death, at least until the Healer got involved. “He’ll be too well guarded. Anyway, I expect we’ll have another chance,” Toran warned. “If he survives his injuries, he’ll no’ ignore an insult such as we gave him. The Aerie will be where he goes next, to take revenge on the ones who dared to free his prisoners and take his healer from his own compound.”

“A winter camped on the glen will take care of most of them for us,” Donal said, nodding slowly as he considered the matter. “The rest will be foolish enough to challenge our walls and we’ll pick them off at our leisure.”

“Indeed we shall,” Toran agreed. “We’d best be prepared to do so. Increase the watch on the walls, and make sure the gates are secured after the riders bring in the folk from the outlying farms. If Colbridge and his men should arrive before they get back, I want to know it.”

“Aye, Laird Lathan,” Donal said, acknowledging the order. “I’ll see to it, meself.”

Toran stood. “And if Angus MacAnalen shows up, no matter when, bring him to me immediately.” He drained the last drops in his tankard and set it on the table. “Get some rest,” he commanded. “We’ll be busy tomorrow, with or without invaders at our walls.”

****

Candles lit the chamber where Aileana had been taken. A modest fire glowed in the hearth, adding a faintly smoky scent to the air. The large bed beckoned with crisp linen sheeting, a seductive pile of furs and woolen shawls. But Aileana fretted over what might be expected of her here. Toran had not claimed her as his prize during any of their stops on the way from Colbridge’s camp. Did he instead expect her to welcome his advances in the comfort of the big bed?

A small window glazed with the diamond-shaped panes of glass like the one that she’d seen catching the waning sunlight as they’d arrived opened onto a view of the outer bailey. Far below, men were calmly brushing horses and preparing to bed them down for the night. She would not escape that way. Beyond the walls of the Aerie, in the last dim glow of evening, she could see the ridge lines of the hills they’d ridden over this day.

She closed the window against the chill air and the view that reminded her where she had just come from. Colbridge’s camp. Hours away, and yet still with her. Ranald would be sitting vigil over Colbridge. Did he yet know she was gone? If he did, he would be concerned about her. Would he worry that the skills of the rest of the healers might not be enough to ensure their leaders’ well-being? Or would he still be intent on the unspoken question he had posed to Aileana before she had proceeded with her Healing? Would he finish Colbridge off and blame the earlier wound? She couldn’t guess.

The rest of the camp, she supposed, would be regrouping from the unexpected raid and release of the MacAnalen prisoners. And when…if…Colbridge awoke and discovered what had transpired while he lay in the healing sleep she had imposed, there would be hell to pay. Of that, she had no doubt. She hoped Ranald kept his distance until Colbridge vented his fury and returned to some semblance of reason.

She turned to pace in front of the hearth, considering this drastic change in her circumstances. After two years of captivity, seasons of travel with Colbridge’s army, waiting to be overrun and killed at the start of each campaign, and dealing with the aftermath of battles, she couldn’t help but welcome the comfortable security of this room. But had she merely exchanged one kind of captivity for another? It was too soon to tell. She rested her arms on the top of the high-backed chair and stared into the fire, tired, but too restless to sit just yet. She eyed the tools set by the hearth and wondered if she would have to try to defend herself with them against Toran’s impossible strength.

If this was indeed captivity, it was certainly of a more enjoyable kind. Male servants had brought a tub as soon as she’d arrived and filled it from buckets of hot water. A graying serving woman named Elspie had shooed them out, then taken Aileana’s clothing away to be cleaned while she bathed. After washing in icy streams for nearly as long as she could remember, Aileana had been unable to prevent herself from luxuriating in the tub, letting its heat soothe muscles sore from the long ride. When Elspie returned a short time later with a tray of food, the tantalizing scents of a hearty soup and warm bread had filled the chamber. Hunger and Elspie’s mother-hennish demands that she get out of the water and eat had roused Aileana from her doze in the still-warm tub. Then the busy Elspie had left her alone again. Now clean, well fed, and wrapped in a soft, thick robe, she surrendered to fatigue and moved around the chair to take a seat in front of the fire, refusing the bed until she could be certain she’d not be molested there.