The Healer (30 page)

A chill swept through Lynelle. ‘I am not certain, Elspeth.’

Elspeth nodded and Lynelle heard her swallow. Then she ducked her head to hide her fear for her friend.

The ill pair suffered bouts of delirium and sleep. Lynelle and Elspeth bathed them, encouraged them to take in broth, paced and dozed wherever they sat.

Two days after her initial fever, Blair died. As if sensing his wife no longer lived, Arthur joined her in death a few hours later.

Leaving them where they lay, Lynelle covered them with linen cloths and joined a weeping Elspeth on the opposite side of the room. Lynelle did her best to remain encouraging, but it was difficult to look into Elspeth’s fearful, sunken eyes. Neither of them slept, as exhausted as they were.

Elspeth’s fever started with a shiver. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said to Lynelle when she knew she hadn’t been spared. She fought well, calling for Keita and Carney whenever she woke. Lynelle doubled her useless efforts.

Three days later, moments before dawn, Elspeth’s struggle ended.

Lynelle draped Elspeth’s body with linen and knelt beside her friend. Dry-eyed, numb, her gaze roamed over the three that no longer were. Days ago she’d witnessed the miracle of birth, and now she’d experienced the cruelty of death.

Was she next? Not yet. There was one more thing she had to do.

Wresting her way to her feet, she stripped out of her gown and set a torch to flame. Shuffling to the door in shift and boots, she opened it, stepped through and closed it behind her.

Cool morning splashed her face and bare arms. She stumbled a few paces into the clearing and turned to stare at the death-ridden cottage. Sucking in huge gulps of fresh air, she sent a prayer to the heavens for the souls within and with an exhausted groan, threw the flickering torch upon the roof.

Fire caught quickly, devouring the thatched roof in moments. Red-hot flames crackled, as thick swirls of dark smoke tumbled high, marring dawn’s pale sky. The scent of burning stole the sweetness from the air. Heat stretched out to meet her, drying the tears spilling down her cheeks. Guilt for not saving them almost drove her to her knees.

She removed her boots and hose with trembling hands and tossed them into the thriving blaze. Her heart ached. Her head pounded, every inch of her hurt.

No more. No more. Please, no more
.

Spinning about, she staggered to her cottage and sealed herself inside. Bone weary, she slid down the wooden door, clutching her knees to her chest. She’d seen the pain the three afflicted with the pestilence had suffered, knew exactly what to expect.

But as exhausted as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Resting her chin on her knees, she waited for death to come.

ON William’s return to the castle, he and Geordie dragged the rowboat and barge from the loch, securing both onto land. They closed and barred the massive gates and while Geordie called together every clansman in the bailey, from stable hands to blacksmith and the guards on the battlements, William carried Edan from his chamber and summoned the people inside the keep.

When everyone had gathered in the great hall, William relayed Lynelle’s grim suspicions and gave strict instructions for the next two weeks. Not a single person was to leave the castle grounds and absolutely no one from outside the walls was permitted entry inside, including those from the village.

Horrified stares met his, for many friendships had been struck between villagers and castle folk. None however, matched the pain in Geordie’s eyes. Guilt filled William’s chest, for he had sent Geordie’s son Ian to the village as a form of punishment, a decision well accepted by all involved – until now.

‘I’m sorry,’ William said, grasping the man’s slumped shoulder.

‘Ian’s a strong lad,’ Geordie said, straightening. ‘He’ll do well.’

The guards resumed their posts, but many had families. With Donald’s help, William reduced each man’s time patrolling the walls, ordering them to inform William of any unusual activity coming from the village, no matter how small it seemed.

Having appraised the stores of grain, meat and ale, Malcolm assured William they had more than enough to see them through the allotted time, and longer if necessary. The hunt William had planned could wait.

William spent the daylight hours in the great hall with his people, Edan never far from his side and never out of his sight. Foreboding thickened the air of the crowded hall as William roamed from group to group, offering hope he didn’t feel.

Mary, bless her, did the same, digging out several old chessboards and dusty knuckles, encouraging play. After supper on the second evening, she managed to coax one of the men to strum his lute and convinced a few to dance. Their steps were heavy, their laughter forced.

Meeting on their rounds one evening, William pulled the older woman aside. Low voiced, he asked Mary to tell him all she knew of the Black Death. The symptoms she described were gruesome, the outcome crushing.

Each night, William accompanied Edan back to his chamber, the climb slow, his brother refusing to be hefted about like a babe any more.

William didn’t complain about the drawn-out process. He had plenty of time. Too much time to think of the hell his people in the village might be suffering. An abundance of time to worry over the woman he loved and missed, every dragging moment of every cursed day.

He’d resumed his place in the chair beside Edan’s bed, finding little rest. Each night, once certain his brother slept deeply, he slipped from the room to peer at the village from the laird’s chamber above, and he did the same before daybreak. He didn’t doubt the sentries in their duties, but he needed to look for himself.

With the passing of each long day and even longer nights, the false hope he tried to bestow on his clan flickered to life and began to grow. But as he stood staring out the window into the darkness on the fifth night, even his burgeoning hope couldn’t erase the feelings of powerlessness swamping his soul.

It wasn’t a new sensation. He’d experienced it before. Using the time of enforced idleness, he’d searched for the source and discovered an undeniable link.

At the onset of illness or the moment of mishap – whichever befell his family, his loved ones – he’d suffered the same sinking, restless anger now bruising his heart. He’d paced, he’d brooded, he’d demanded that something be done, but all the while he’d done naught to help. Hadn’t known what to do. Couldn’t find a way to fix it, them, to make everything right. He’d been useless, as he was now.

He’d cast the blame on Jinny for their deaths, banishing her for her inept efforts. But at least she’d tried, done everything in her power to save them, while he...he’d done nothing.

Just as Lynelle now risked all to protect his people.

Oh, God!

He drove his fist into the stone wall, relishing the pain. His claim of mistrusting healers held no truth. They were the victims of
his
helplessness.

Dragging shaking hands through his hair, William strode the length of the room as his heart twisted and his mind screamed. He wanted to do
something
, go to the village and help, but the image of Edan’s frightened face loomed in his head. How could he leave his brother alone, perhaps never to return?

Two weeks, William. Please
.

Lynelle’s fervent plea echoed in his ears. The vision of her loveliness and her beauty from within, rushed over him in waves and stole his breath.

Did it really matter who she was? Did it truly matter that she hadn’t enlightened him when she’d trusted him, gifted him, with her innocence, her passion?

No!

Could he repay her by racing to the village, ignoring her heartfelt appeal?

The least he could do was grant her the fourteen days she’d requested. The first week was almost over. He could wait another, couldn’t he?

William left the chamber and re-entered Edan’s. He’d been gone longer than usual and made certain his brother still slept. Assured that his absence hadn’t been noted, he sank into the chair by the bedside.

The feeling of powerlessness hadn’t eased; it pressed on his head and body as if the sky had fallen down around him. He prayed for strength to bear his helplessness, heavier now, since he’d defined its cause. And he hoped to God he’d made the right choice.

Rising from his seat, before the sun rose in the east, he crept up the stairs to his room and took up his place in front of the open window. Flexing his bruised hand, he searched the awakening landscape. Relief pulsed through him as a peaceful dawn heralded the beginning of the sixth day.

A puff of thick black smoke curled into the sky above the village. A stabbing pain pierced William’s chest, a sickening moment before a guard’s cry sounded from below.

His intention to honour Lynelle’s plea for time crumbled to dust.

He ran from the chamber, flew down the steps and burst into Edan’s chamber. ‘Edan, I have to – ‘

‘Go,’ his brother finished for him. Edan turned away from the window and looked at William. ‘I know.’

Running feet echoed on the stairs outside the room. The guards were coming to tell him what he’d already seen for himself.

‘The smoke is a bad sign, isn’t it?’

‘Aye,’ William said, crossing to Edan’s side.

‘You’ve been looking for such a sign each morning and night, haven’t you?’

‘Aye,’ he said again, startled that his brother had been aware of his absences but hadn’t said a word. ‘Edan,’ he said, only to be interrupted again.

‘I know you love me, Will. But you can’t keep holding back from what you need to do because you’re scared of leaving me alone.’

Stunned, William stared at his brother and then crushed him against his chest.

A knock, then ‘Laird –’

‘Saddle Black, open the gate and set the barge,’ he said without releasing Edan.

‘Aye.’ Quick steps rang back down the stairwell.

‘Please be careful, Will.’

William’s arms tightened and he pressed a kiss on the top of Edan’s dark head. ‘And you, brother.’

Letting go was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He strode to the door and turned around. ‘Edan, if I don’t come back, be sure to marry a pretty lass and have hundreds of bairns.’

Some of the colour leached from Edan’s young face, but he rallied. ‘You’ll be back. I know it.’

‘You seem to know a lot in your old age, lad.’

Edan nodded. ‘I kept telling you how wise I was, but you wouldn’t listen.’

‘I won’t err again,’ William said softly.

‘See you don’t. Now go.’

William turned and raced down the steps. Donald met him at the base of the stairwell. He nodded in greeting and gazed upon the sleepy-eyed clansmen filling the hall. ‘I must go,’ he said loud enough for all to hear. ‘While I’m gone, you must adhere to Donald’s command.’

Striding out into the bailey, he stopped Donald’s protest saying, ‘Nae, you’re not going with me. I need you to take care of Edan and guide him, if necessary.’

He slapped Donald on the back as they reached the gates and slipped through the opening. ‘Ground the barge once you arrive back, and bar the gates.’ Vigorous energy surged through him, replacing the gaping emptiness, as he walked the grassy slope to the pier.

‘I’m coming with you,’ Geordie called from the loch. ‘And I’ll not take nae for an answer.’

‘I welcome your company, Geordie.’ How could he refuse the man, knowing his son was all he had left?

Stepping onto the floating barge, he took Black’s reins from Geordie, leaving the man free to see to his own mount. Donald took them across the loch and once he’d delivered them to shore, he started back the way he’d come.

With a wave, William and Geordie gained their saddles and thundered toward the village. The smell of burning timber and earth grew stronger as they neared their destination. William tried to convince himself the sickening odour of scorched flesh underlying the scent was all in his mind.

They halted at the wooden barrier and jumped to the ground. As William made to leap the barricade, he noticed Geordie falter and glanced into his ashen face.

‘I need you to stay and watch the horses,’ William ordered. ‘The smoke will likely spook them.’

He cleared the barrier and ran to the first hut. Thumping on the door with his fist, he looked to the far end of the village, where a smouldering heap marked the place where a cottage once stood.

‘It’s William Kirkpatrick,’ he said, pounding the wood again.

The door opened. Ian slipped outside and closed it again, but not before William glimpsed half a dozen tear-streaked faces and heard their muffled sobs.

‘How many were in there?’

‘Four. I tried to stop Lynelle from going, but she – ‘

Pain pierced William’s heart. ‘Name them.’

‘Arthur and Blair, Elspeth and Lynelle.’

William swallowed the bile rising in his throat. ‘Who burned the cottage?’

‘Lynelle set the fire at dawn.’

‘You saw her?’

‘Aye, but not the others.’

His heart jolted and thudded in his chest. ‘What happened after she set the fire?’

‘She went to her cottage. She was...stumbling.’

Lord God!

‘Is anyone else ill?’

‘Nae.’

‘Thank Christ.’

‘‘Tis glad I am to see you, laird.’

‘Aye, lad. But there is someone waiting at the barrier who I’m sure you’d rather see.’

‘My Da?’

William nodded.

‘I can’t risk it yet,’ Ian said. ‘We’ve still another eight days before – ‘

‘You can wait, Ian, but I can’t.’ William started heading further into the village.

‘But Lynelle said two weeks. I promised – ‘

‘I promised too, Ian. But what if she’s sick and needs help? I’m tired of waiting and doing nothing.’ He was terrified he was already too late.

He marched to the end of the village, seeing small flames still flickering in the ruins across the way. He turned from the ugly sight and rapped on Lynelle’s door. Nothing. He knocked harder. ‘Lynelle. It’s William. Open the door.’

No denial, no protest about him breaking his word. His hands shook as he reached for the latch and pushed the door inward. It didn’t move. He pushed harder, to no avail, suddenly aware that something must be barring the door from the inside.