Lady Miracle (3 page)

He looked down at his left hand, fisting it, flexing the stiff fingers, feeling the ache in the ugly scarring there. “At least this the king gave me allows me to return to Dunsheen. I was reluctant to agree, but Sir Gavin Faulkener convinced me to help. I trust his judgment.”

“Interesting that the Englishman is among Bruce’s closest advisors now. Bruce has many strong men around him with true hearts and clever minds. You as well, Dunsheen.”

“It is a privilege, and poses difficult choices.” He shoved his fingers through his unruly brown hair. “But I agreed to watch for treason in my own sister’s husband, though Ranald MacSween claims utter loyalty.”

“He holds Glas Eilean, island and castle, for the king, and guards the seaward entrance to the Isles with much dedication, seems to all. Why would the king suspect he is false?”

“Has his reasons, I suppose. But if Ranald is a traitor, my sister will suffer for it too.”

“Sorcha will not be blamed. We would not allow that.”

“She will suffer in other ways,” Diarmid said sharply. “But I have no choice. English ships barricade the waters on the western coast and cut off Scottish trade routes. The Highland people are dependent on exports. My own galleys have engaged in sea warfare, and now we can only trade through Irish ports. And the king heard from an English source that Ranald is less than loyal. Glas Eilean is a key sea fortress. If there is a plot in the western Isles to harm Scotland, it must be exposed.”

“Then we will watch MacSween for the king.”

“Lately Bruce granted Glas Eilean’s charter to Gavin, who then gave it to his sister hoping to attract a strong Highland lord as her husband. Gavin cannot oversee Glas Eilean himself.”

“Ah. MacSween will be furious! Who is Faulkener’s unmarried sister?”

“A widow. Michaelmas is her name,” Diarmid said.

“The woman in Perth?” Mungo gaped at him. “The one who helped my father when he was wounded on a battlefield?”

“The very one. She owns Glas Eilean now.”

“What a fine mess.” Mungo shook his head. “Now I see why you want her at Dunsheen. Does Gavin know you are wed already? You cannot marry this girl.”

“I cannot, so I suggested one of my brothers for his sister.” She might hold a key to the king’s situation, but she held another key, too, one that could fulfill Diarmid’s vow to a child.

Magic.
The only true magic he had ever known had been in this lady’s hands, and he meant to find her. “She has become a skilled healer. Gavin says she had some medical training in Italy, and that she was wed and widowed there.”

“Yet another healer.” Mungo sighed.

“Just so. Come ahead.” Diarmid cantered toward Perth, where an angel dwelled.

No sunshine once again,
Michaelmas thought, and sighed. She had spent nine years in Italy, and often longed for warm sun. Standing in the doorway of the hospital building, holding a stack of clean, folded sheets, she lifted her face to the autumn breeze. The hems of her widow’s black surcoat and gown fluttered around her feet, and the air ruffled the linen wimple that framed her face.

“Lady Michaelmas, bring the sheets inside.” An imperious female voice cut into her thoughts. “The sisters have stripped the beds to be remade.”

“I am coming, Mother Agnes.” Michaelmas turned, but something caught her attention. In the distance, where blue hills encircled a glen, she saw two riders. She watched their progress for a moment, recognizing the wrapped plaids of Highlanders. Their sturdy mounts headed toward the hill on which the small hospital complex stood.

Saint Leonard’s Hospital, enclosed within a stone wall, overlooked a river and glen. Michaelmas often noticed new arrivals come by that route. The master physician came every few days and the apothecary rode in once a week from nearby Saint John’s Town, which some called Perth. Most of their visitors were those in need of medical help or the charity of beds and food.

As for the two riders, Highland men sometimes came here, especially those wounded in the raids that King Robert and his army sometimes made against the English in this area. The taller of the two men rode a black horse and moved with singular grace and rhythm, dark hair loose, posture strong and proud even from a distance. He did not look wounded. His companion rode more awkwardly, and possibly was in need of treatment.

But regardless of her medical training, she would not be permitted to treat them. The prioress, priest and master physician had agreed on that. She tended patients—but only in secret.

“Lady Michaelmas, we are waiting!” Mother Agnes called.

She turned quickly. “Coming!”

“Close the door! Master James does not like his patients to be exposed to the outside air!”

Michaelmas shut the door, then hurried along the aisle formed by twenty-four beds, twelve to each side, in the common hall. In a corner of the wide room, Mother Agnes watched her with a pinched expression, spoke to two novices with her, and then left by another door.

Michaelmas breathed out a sigh of relief. A few elderly patients, lying paired in the beds, reached out toward her as she passed. She greeted each one, but hurried along. She had spent too much time in the courtyard fetching clean sheets from the drying ropes.

“Pardon, Marjorie, Alice,” she told the novices as she laid the stacked linens on a table. “I hope the prioress knew it was my fault that the beds were not yet made up this morning.”

Marjorie picked up a sheet to spread it over one of the straw mattresses. “Och, the Mother Prioress was more grieved by what Father Anselm reported about you.”

Michaelmas she helped Alice fold and tuck another sheet. “What did he say this time?”

“He said you examined Mistress Jean and the Highland men yesterday in the manner of a physician,” Alice said. “He said that the patients are calling you that name again. Mother Agnes is not pleased.”

“She does hate for them to call me that,” Michaelmas said wryly, feeling her cheeks blush.

“‘Lady Miracle’ befits the Mother of our Savior, and the prioress says ”—Alice pursed her lips in imitation—“‘’'Tis no name for a Saracen’s widow, who has scant hope of attaining heaven because of her sinful marriage.’”

Marjorie laughed. Michaelmas snapped open a folded sheet vigorously. “Did she!”

“Michaelmas is a full physician!” Marjorie said. “And Lady Miracle is a fine name for her! She has a touch like an angel.”

“Mother Agnes is jealous,” Alice said. “She dislikes your marriage and your education.”

“I am widowed, does she like that better?” Michaelmas said bitterly.

“Och, you should be doing the work of Master James,” Marjorie said.

Alice punched a heather-stuffed pillow. “You could help more here but for the limits they put on you.” She looked up. “Could your marriage truly keep you from heaven?”

“My husband was a fine physician and a kind man,” Michaelmas said as she smoothed the covers on the bed. “He was a Saracen, but his mother was a Christian lady.”

“And now you are a widow and must make your way in the world,” Marjorie said. “You could accept membership in the barber-surgeon’s guild, since it was offered.”

“I refused. The guild will allow me to extract teeth, let blood, and repair small wounds. They will not even let practice midwifery unless I apprentice for four years here.”

Marjorie looked appalled. “You know as much as any midwife, and more!”

Michaelmas sighed. “They are still investigating me. I have argued for my physician’s license for months now. Father Anselm makes it clear it will never be granted to me.”

“You could go back to your brother’s home,” Alice said. “You can marry well.”

“I do not wish to marry a Highlander, as my brother wishes. I want to use my skills.”

“A hospital somewhere will welcome a female physician,” Marjorie said.

Michaelmas shrugged, discouraged. “Enough, my friends, we have work to do. Alice, fetch this morning’s doses from the infirmary,” she directed. “Marjorie, please begin to wash hands, faces and feet. There is warm water in the kettle by the hearth. And have them rinse their mouths with minted water this morning.” The girls walked away to begin their tasks.

Michaelmas turned toward an old woman who lay in a bed close by, a knitted cap on her hair, blankets tucked high on her bony shoulders. Her head trembled with age.

“Mistress Jean,” she said brightly, “how do you fare this morn?”

The woman opened her eyes, their color muddy with age. “Ah, Lady Miracle. I feared ye might leave us with all the trouble the prioress gave ye.”

“I would not leave without a farewell to you.” She took Jean’s wrist to measure the pulse.

“I might leave ye first, dearling, old as I am.”

Michaelmas counted, while the pulse beneath her fingertips fluttered like a butterfly. Ibrahim had taught her to recognize the rhythm of an aged heart slipping toward its final silence. Little time was left for Jean. Gently she set down the woman’s arm. “What shall I bring you at midday dinner, Jeanie?” she asked. “Something sweet today?”

“Aye, but do not tell the prioress! She was angry enough when ye gave me a bed to myself. She will bring trouble for ye, that one.”

“Oh, she does not worry me. Here is Alice with the electuary Master James prescribed for you to take.” Michaelmas smiled.

Jean wrinkled her nose. “I do not—ooh, now who is that?” she asked, looking toward the door. “Two fine-looking savages!” she crowed.

Michaelmas turned to see two Highlanders standing at the threshold of the common room. Their green and black plaids, unkempt hair, and bare legs did give them a savage look. These must be the men she had seen riding this way.

The taller man gazed at her, and she felt a power there, suddenly, that startled, drew her. She glanced down, and noticed that his plaid draped a strong physique, his boots were laced over muscular legs to the knee, and his leather belt, slung low, held a dirk. She glanced up again. His face, lean and hard, had a surprising elegance in the features, despite dark stubble and long, untidy brown hair.

Still staring at her, he murmured something to the man beside him. That one, also wearing a wrapped and belted plaid, was older, with a craggy face, graying hair and a clear scowl.

“Just a couple of Highlanders,” Alice said as she brought a tray with medicines in wooden cups. “They seem healthy. Perhaps they are just looking for food and shelter. That one is staring at you, my lady,” she whispered. “Do you know him?”

“I do not,” Michaelmas said.

“Oh, tell those fine lads to come closer,” Jean said. Alice laughed and handed her a cup.

Michaelmas went toward the men, folding her hands demurely. “May I help you?” she asked in Gaelic. “We have some Highland men here. They are there, at the far end of the room.”

“We do not know them,” the taller man said. His voice was deep and warm. “I came to see you, if you are Lady
Micheil
, half sister to Sir Gavin Faulkener.” He inclined his head politely.

She blinked in surprise. Gavin must have sent them with a message for her. She did not correct the way he said her name, but it stirred a memory she could not quite grasp. “So my brother sent you here?”

“He told us where you were,” the tall man replied.

“Is he well? What is his message?”

“He is well. He sent no message. I came of my own will to ask you to look at a patient.”

“I do not practice medicine here. You want the master physician for this hospital. He will be here later. Good day, sir.” She hurried away, feeling the tall Highlander’s gaze on her.

She stopped by two beds holding four injured men, their limb wounds treated by a surgeon. She checked the bandages and felt their heads for fever. One man’s brow seemed too warm, and his leg incision was pink and hot. She turned toward Alice.

“Mother Agnes says you canna change their bandages. She will do that later.”

“This man needs a potion for fever., and his wound must be cleansed. It may need lancing.”

“Master James will decide that,” the prioress said behind her. “He says festering is helpful.”

Michaelmas turned. Mother Agnes stood nearby, her expression sharp and disapproving. Father Anselm was with her. “Mother,” Michaelmas said. “Arabic physicians advise the cleansing of seeping wounds. In this man’s case, it is the wisest course.”

“Alice, go see why those Highlanders are still here,” the prioress barked. Alice backed away, and Mother Agnes glared at Michaelmas. “Let me remind you that your medical advice is not needed here. We have a competent physician. If you cannot cease to interfere, you will be dismissed, -or worse.”

“Worse?” Michaelmas asked.

“You risk excommunication by your actions,” Father Anselm said. “And you risk lives. Master James is inquiring into your behavior, as you know.”

Michaelmas listened, glancing at the doorway, where the Highlanders still stood. Alice spoke to them, and the taller one waved her away. They waited in the threshold like powerful guardians. Michaelmas felt oddly safe with them there.

“We know that you feel pulses and touch the limbs and torsos of women and men both,” the priest said. “You look at the patients’ private water in glass phials in the manner of a physician. Your behavior is abhorrent.”

“I have the knowledge and the right. You have seen my letters of diploma, signed by the master physicians of Bologna.”

The prioress’s mouth pursed. “You have some knowledge of women’s diseases and those of children. But you should never examine men.”

“And you must not argue with Master James,” Father Anselm went on. “He was educated in arts and medicine at both Oxford and Paris, and does not require your opinions.”

“I assisted my husband in his medical practice,” Michaelmas retorted. “Ibrahim Ibn Kateb had a fine reputation, and his medical treatises are still used and respected. He regarded me as an equal colleague. I was educated in Bologna as a physician in my own right. I hoped that would be honored when I came here.”

“Vanity,” Mother Agnes said. “Excessive stubborn temper, too. You cannot practice here.”

“Let me help,” Michaelmas protested. “I only want to help.”