The Healer (20 page)

She waved William closer and held the lit taper above Dougal’s gaping jaw. ‘I will point out the tooth you need to pull,’ she said softly. Her sweet breath fanned his face. ‘Do you see it?’ He forced his gaze from the smooth turn of her cheek and peered into Dougal’s mouth. ‘On the left, the one with the hole in the centre.’

‘Aye. I see it.’

‘Good. Please be sure you have a firm hold with the pincers before you pull.’

He slowly lifted his gaze until it rested on her face once more. ‘I’ll do my best.’ He heard her swallow, but she kept her eyes downcast.

William looked down again to his task and a smattering of unease trickled through him. Firming his grip on the tool, he found a comfortable hold with his fingers and forced the metal jaws open.

‘Be still,’ she urged Dougal, cupping his grizzly cheek with her free hand.

William shifted his stance, groping for a firm hold on the tooth.

‘Tilt your head forward a mite,’ she said to the prostrate man, allowing William better access.

The implement’s jaws slid and then found purchase on either side of the decayed tooth. Holding his breath, William squeezed the pincer’s handles tight and pulled with all his might. After an initial resistance, the tooth came free with only a slight grunt from Dougal. William stared at the ruined tooth clutched in the tool’s steel jaws, long roots tinged grey with disease and red with blood.

‘Pretty blue eyes,’ Dougal mumbled. ‘As big asss the ssky,’ he slurred.

William’s gaze slid to Dougal and found his bewitched clansman still staring up at the healer, as she tried to clean away the bloodied spittle. He fought the sudden urge to pull more of Dougal’s teeth from his thick head, be they rotten or nae.

Coaxed by the healer and with help from the others, they turned Dougal onto his side, where the slack-jawed oaf promptly fell asleep.

‘Thank you.’

The genteel voice and the hint of lavender drew his attention back to the woman at his side. Pools of blue, shimmering with gratitude in the glow of the candle she held aloft, stared up at him. A faint smile sparkled in her eyes, for him.

God above, he could sink into the soft depths without reason, without struggle.

A hefty blow to his back saved him from such inane thoughts. ‘Saints be praised,’ Donald said.

Thrusting the tooth-grasping tool into her hand, William turned to his two burly helpers. ‘Leave Dougal to sleep it off. Set out the tables and have the serving wenches bring out the noon meal.’

‘Aye, laird.’ The menservants left for the kitchens.

‘Malcolm,’ he continued. ‘Kindly escort the healer to her chamber and relieve Mary of Edan’s company. I’ll not be long.’

Malcolm nodded.

Facing Donald, he said, ‘Care for a round of swordplay before we eat?’

‘Aye,’ Donald said with enthusiasm. ‘The morn’s idleness has stiffened my joints and I welcome the chance to best you with my blade.’

‘You can but try.’

Without a backward glance, William strode for the keep’s entrance, desperate to feel the wind on his face and the action of battle.

Dougal wasn’t the only one suffering from a form of intoxication.

‘GET an eyeful, lass?’

Startled by the sound of Mary’s voice, Lynelle almost toppled from where she stood high on the window-ledge in her room.

The clang of steel striking steel had drawn her to the window, and after shucking her boots she’d clambered atop the stool to view the commotion in the bailey. Still lacking height, she’d levered herself up onto the slim stone ledge, clutched the rough edges of the narrow opening with shaking fingers and peered out.

‘Merely curious as to what caused all the noise,’ she said calmly, despite the mortification burning her cheeks. What would Mary think, finding her in such an ungracious position?

Her efforts had been worth every graze scoring her hands, her foot and one side of her flushed face.

Praying conversation would distract the older woman and erase the image of William’s naked, sun-slicked torso from her mind, she carefully climbed down and asked, ‘How is Edan?’

‘The lad’s fine, though getting more fidgety by the hour.’ Mary slid the tray she carried onto the table. ‘And Dougal still snores the sleep of a drunkard.’

‘Good. Though I worry his head might ache more fiercely than his tooth ever did.’

Mary chuckled. ‘Don’t concern yourself. It won’t be the first time wee Dougal’s suffered from a sodden head. Come and eat.’

Lynelle placed the stool beside the table and sat. Looking down, she tried to focus on the trencher piled high with smoked ham, cheese and thick chunks of brown bread, but the deep-throated grunts accompanying each ringing clash from outside teased her ears and freshened the vision she struggled to clear from her head.

‘How was your visit with Elspeth?’

‘Oh, it went well,’ she said, grateful for the diversion. ‘Her leg ulcers are healing quickly.’

‘You’ve done a fine job with both Edan and Keita’s mother, lass.’

Lynelle glanced up at Mary, renewed warmth filling her cheeks at such praise. ‘Two village women also asked for my assistance.’

‘Truly?’

‘Yes,’ she said, nodding with pleased excitement. ‘One is round with child and the other suffers a persistent cough.’

‘‘Tis not surprising they sought you out,’ Mary said, heading to the door. ‘As you know, it’s been some time since we had a healer at Closeburn.’ She turned at the entrance. ‘Nae doubt they heard good tales about your tending of Edan and Elspeth. I’d wager others will come to you while you’re here.’

While she was here
. Lynelle needed to remember her time at Closeburn wasn’t permanent.

‘The laird told me of Roger’s death.’ She spoke to ease the disappointment that suddenly flared to life with her last thought.

‘Ah.’ Two grey brows lifted high on Mary’s forehead. ‘Now that does surprise me.’

Dismayed by her loose tongue and Mary’s obvious interest, Lynelle busied her hands laying cheese and ham upon the loaf, determined not to ask why or say more on the subject. ‘I need to make more salve for Elspeth and brew a tonic for coughs.’

‘I’ll come for you once you’ve eaten.’

‘Thank you.’ Satisfied she’d diverted Mary’s curiosity away from William and herself, Lynelle caught a glimpse of the older woman’s wide smile before the door closed, and she heaved a sigh. Perhaps not.

She cocked her head to one side and listened.

Nothing.

Only the sound of her breathing filled the quiet. At least she
was
breathing. When she’d first seen William’s sweat-dampened body, her breath had gotten lost somewhere deep in her belly. Each of his graceful movements had sent muscles rippling and bulging beneath his smooth, tanned skin.

She took a generous bite of her layered victuals, chewed slowly and gazed up at the high window.

Why couldn’t her chamber be located directly below, on the ground floor?

***

A familiar pattern shaped the following days, causing them to pass swiftly. Aware of her daily visits, the villagers formed a line outside Elspeth’s cottage every morning where Lynelle met and appraised each of their ailments. Keita suggested she make use of the empty cottage at the far end of the village, which left Elspeth to recover without swarms of people invading her home.

Each afternoon, the castle’s inhabitants sought her out to cure their ills while she prepared tinctures and ointments in the healing room. Her evenings were spent tending Edan and sharing his growing excitement as he improved.

The nights, however, seemed to lengthen and drift by far too slowly. Despite the sinful dreams she suffered, dreams invaded by William’s powerful form, nothing came close to matching the dizzying heat that swamped her each morning as she endured her so-called punishment.

Forced to trek to the village with William, she couldn’t help perusing the lean length of him, filing away images and snippets of information and bringing them to life as she slept. She also looked forward to their discussions as they walked, but made sure they spoke of safe topics, such as the needs of the clansmen she tended, giving him no opportunity to question her about the life she’d lived before coming to Closeburn.

Had she really lived somewhere else?

Her fading memories of Fenwick dimmed further with every passing day. As her confidence in her healing abilities swelled, awareness of a different kind clouded her thoughts.

The end of her allotted time at Closeburn was quickly approaching. She should be relieved. But a bleak sadness filled her chest and an unwavering ache settled in her heart.

She did her best to conceal her inner turmoil. The last thing she needed was for William to become privy to her thoughts. Would he care? Or would he find a way to use her weakness against her?

On the eve of her departure, she entered Edan’s chamber. Before she’d set her herb sack down, her gaze locked with William’s and a jolt of longing speared her heart. How would she survive each day without seeing his handsome face?

Was it anger flashing in his dark eyes?

Dear God. She didn’t want his anger, she wanted...

A crack of thunder shook the walls, heralding the arrival of nature’s onslaught that had hovered and threatened all day.

‘I...I need to fetch feverfew from the healing room.’ She swallowed and pressed her sack hard against her middle. ‘I will be back soon.’

Turning, she left the chamber and hurried down the stairs, removing one of the flaming torches from the wall as she went.

Entering the healing room, she dropped her sack on the stool and slid the torch into the wall sconce. With her hands now free, she hugged herself tightly, fighting to regain some of her scattered senses.

Holy Mother Mary. She’d fulfilled her promise and should be pleased her time here was almost over. Then why in heaven’s name did she feel as if she were being torn apart? Even the thought of returning to Fenwick and finally gauging her father’s reaction, failed to lift her spirits.

Unsettled by her bewilderment, she set about preparing Edan’s tincture.

The fine hair at Lynelle’s nape lifted as the air within the small chamber changed. She knew without looking who had come. So powerful was his presence, it was as if he’d brought with him the spring storm that raged outside.

William Kirkpatrick, laird of Closeburn
.

For almost two weeks she’d made use of this tiny room inside his castle, nurturing her healing skills amid vial-cluttered shelves and clumps of herbs dangling from the rafters. He’d never ventured here before. Why had he followed her now?

‘Is it ready?’

His deep, rumbling voice rolled through her like a clap of thunder. She fought to steady her hand as she lowered a full vessel to the scarred workbench. Checking to make sure none of the liquid had spilt, she took a moment to calm the tide of jumbled emotions washing over her.

‘Yes,’ she said, hearing the tremor in her voice. He stood behind her, far too close.

‘Come. Edan awaits.’

Inhaling slowly, she retrieved the goblet containing the potion and turned. She should be relieved knowing Edan wouldn’t need her tonics or her aid after drinking this mixture. Good food, gentle exercise and time were all he’d need to fully recover.

But her satisfaction was swamped by a fluttering nervousness. William’s broad shoulders seemed to fill the room. With potion in hand, she refrained from looking into his face. Instead her gaze touched his linen shirt, unlaced and exposing the bronzed skin and the smattering of dark curls at his throat. Her breathing quickened. She tightened her hold on the pewter goblet, fighting the sudden urge to test the hardness of his wide chest.

‘You first, healer.’

Why did he never use her name? Irritation surfaced and her eyes snapped up, colliding with his stony gaze.

‘Now?’ How she wished he’d take a step back.

‘Aye, now.’

Veiling her expression, she lifted the cup and drank. He still didn’t trust her or her tonics. The initial bitterness of the healing herbs disappeared beneath the sweet taste of honey. She swallowed and licked a stray droplet from her bottom lip.

A large hand cupped her elbow, warm fingers circling her bare flesh. Fire shot down her arm. The goblet slipped through her nerveless fingers. Liquid splashed the hem of her gown, seeping into the rushes scattered upon the floor.

Horrified, Lynelle stared at the moisture glistening on his leather boots. Her breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes lifted, skimming over the plaid draping his lean hips, past the corded muscles in his neck to the dark whiskers defying this morning’s efforts with his sharp blade. His jaw clenched and relaxed repeatedly. Her heartbeat thumped in time with the flexing movement.

‘My touch repulses you?’ His voice was hoarse, almost...uncertain.

‘No.’ Her response slipped out before her mind fully registered the question. She searched his eyes, seeing nothing in the cool, grey depths to confirm what she’d thought she’d heard. Did he truly believe she found his touch repulsive?

‘How does it make you feel?’

Warm. Wanting. Alive
.

‘Frightened.’ Not of him, but of how he made her feel.

His eyes narrowed as he studied her closely. She tried to hide her emotions, but knew she’d failed when his features cleared and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

‘It won’t take long to make another potion for Edan,’ she said, turning away from his enchanting mouth, desperately needing a chance to collect her wits.

‘In a moment.’ He grasped her arm again lightly, making her gasp. ‘I still need to taste the spilled potion.’

Lynelle turned and frowned up at him, struggling to understand his words.

‘‘Tis impossible. The rushes have absorbed the mixture.’

‘Nothing is ever impossible,’ he said, locking his other hand about her free arm and stepping closer.

Heat stretched across the minute space between them. A melting sensation spiralled through her. The smell of leather and man filled her giddy senses with excitement. And danger.

She swallowed, and remnants of her potion slid down her throat.