The Healer (9 page)

She sank to the ground opposite Keith and set the bowls beside her. Accepting the platter Donald handed her, she nibbled on the succulent meat but ate very little. The heat from the flames warmed her, soothed her. Exhaustion seeped through her.

Stretching out beside the fire, she stared into the flickering flames. One whole day away from Fenwick, absent from all she’d ever known, and she’d achieved so much. She was a prisoner of sorts, but had never experienced such a sense of freedom.

Sleep beckoned and, oddly content, she had no will to fight it. Her last ounce of energy was spent on a single thought.

What would tomorrow bring?

DAWN’S dark and gloomy arrival did nothing to dampen William’s determination to reach home before nightfall. If anything, it spurred him on. He’d made his wishes known to Keith and Donald as they’d downed bread and cheese to break their fast. After testing the tonic the healer prepared to ease Edan’s pain, they’d set out.

The woman sharing his saddle was one of the main influences driving his resolution.

Even from the escarpment where he’d spent the night with his younger brother, the secret smile hovering about her lips as she’d settled by the fire had made him wary. And curious. He needed distance from her, an interim where she wasn’t within sight, or reach.

Impossible at the moment, with her body against his, warming his flesh. Tormenting his mind and body.

The sun hadn’t penetrated the brooding clouds in the hours since they’d begun riding. The blackening sky and the heaviness in the air matched his sombre mood to perfection.

William had permitted one stop, where he’d concentrated on Edan’s comfort and given the lad an oiled hide in advance of the impending downpour. Though it wasn’t cold, he’d flung his mantle about his own shoulders, knowing the woollen garment would keep him and the woman relatively dry.

Praise to God she’d refrained from speaking during the course of the day. William didn’t want to hear her soft, musical voice. Her silence helped him keep his, though the unfamiliar need to question her played havoc with his thoughts.

Why had she risked herself to rescue Fenwick’s heir? She’d never really answered him when he’d asked. Surely there must have been others eager to please their absent lord, either out of duty or concern for the young lad’s safety.

Was there no one to forbid or talk sense into this woman who risked her life, her reputation and her virtue? Did she have no father or mother to advise her? No brothers or sisters to caution her impulses? No husband?

A fat raindrop splashed his cheek, drawing him from the unending questions spinning about in his mind. Edan appeared as nothing but a lump beneath the protective hide, as the ominous clouds hanging from heaven’s rafters suddenly broke.

The path they followed through the valley between small rolling hills soon resembled a shallow, running burn. But the cluster of willow trees drooping under the weight of the deluge to William’s right, and the smooth granite boulder growing out of a hillock to his left, announced they were on his land – Kirkpatrick land.

Ignoring the water soaking his exposed head and face, William caught the woman in front of him about the waist and tucked her more securely into the shelter of his body. She squirmed, but he held firm. Her wet hair cooled his neck but failed to douse the ever-present desire simmering in his blood. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensations and then shifting in the saddle, cursed his momentary weakness.

Thank the saints they were almost home.

The lay of the land rose to a slight incline and Black tugged on the reins, sensing a dry stall and fresh oats close by. William held him back. There would be no galloping the last short distance today, even if he shared his mount’s eagerness to be home.

Instead, William studied the gait of the borrowed horse dragging his brother’s litter. The end of each pole scored the rain-softened earth, but did little to slow their progress.

The slope levelled out and the woman shifted. William’s body stirred at the heat they created between them. He tipped his head back and welcomed the stinging raindrops beating against his face.

William straightened in the saddle and peered through the curtain of water at the sight that always filled his heart with pride.

His castle. Home.

Closeburn Castle stood on an island in the middle of the loch; the curtain wall surrounding the grey-stoned keep was an added measure of defence.

Even on such a dull and dreary day as this, Closeburn inspired strength and warmth. It was a haven. Within its walls, William had experienced love and laughter, as well as tremendous pain and loss. But since he’d become laird half a year ago, he’d removed the cause of Closeburn’s suffering. He’d banished the clan’s healer.

His arm involuntarily tightened about the woman, the healer, in his lap. He loathed the thought of allowing her to cross Closeburn’s threshold. But he’d given her strict instructions for tending Edan. Although his mistrust had saddened and then angered her, she’d done as he bid, so far. Her stay would be brief. Only twelve days of her allotted time remained. Once William was ensured of Edan’s recovery, he’d cheerfully let her go.

The woman in his arms leaned forward as they rode down the gentle slope. Drawing Black to a halt, William dismounted and plucked the healer down from the saddle. She squirmed as he carried her the few feet to where Donald stood with Geordie the boatman.

‘Here.’ Almost carelessly, he deposited the woman into Donald’s outstretched hands and turned to the young man beside him. ‘Is all ready, Ian?’

‘Aye, laird. Welcome back.’

‘Thanks, lad. I’ll fetch Edan.’

William strode across the slick grass toward the barge nudging one side of the pier, and gave a shrill whistle. Black trotted up and Keith stepped away from Edan’s litter to lead the stallion onto the flat-bottomed boat. The barge was used for transporting horses, and any goods too large for the rowboat, across the loch.

‘It’s good to be home.’

William peered down into Edan’s face peeking out from beneath the hide. With a smile at his brother’s relieved tone he said, ‘Aye, lad. You’ll be warm and dry soon enough.’

Keith returned, having left Black and the other mounts in Geordie’s capable hands. He scooped up the borrowed horse’s reins and gave a nod.

William bent low to lift his brother from the litter. ‘Time to go, Edan.’

Donald, Ian and the English woman were waiting in the rowboat, heads bowed against the relentless rain. William carefully climbed into the small, rocking craft and sat on one of the cross planks, using his upper body to shield his brother.

But Edan struggled up with a grimace, pushing the hide away from his face to search the water surrounding them. ‘Are there any swans about, Will?’ he said softly.

William’s gut tightened. He studied Castle Loch, the body of water encircling Closeburn Castle, knowing he wouldn’t see any swans. The dark, murky water appeared pockmarked by the driving rain.

‘Nae swans, Edan,’ he said. ‘It is a foolish superstition, lad. One you’d be wise to ignore.’

‘But –’

‘Enough, lad,’ William cut in, keeping his mounting anger from his tone.

Edan’s lips thinned, holding back the words William knew he longed to say. Looking up from his brother’s tight expression, William’s gaze collided with the healer’s.

Pools of blue stared at him from the opposite end of the boat. He glared at her, daring her to voice the questions lurking in her moist, wide eyes. She blinked rapidly and turned away.

She looked as if she’d fallen into the loch. Three times. Her wet, red-gold hair hung dark and lifeless, plastered to her head. The only colours in her oval face were her pink lips, rain-washed and full, and the sapphire eyes that now refused to meet his. She shouldn’t be so appealing in such a dishevelled state but, much to his disgust, he found she was.

God save him from swans and curses and a foolish Englishwoman, whose claims as a healer should be enough to drive any thoughts of desire from his thick head and cool his unruly body.

With a gentle bump, they reached the jetty on the inner side of Castle Loch. Ian downed the oars, and with practiced ease he scrambled ashore to steady the craft so its passengers could alight. Once Donald and his charge climbed out, William followed. His brother’s weight was no hardship.

He headed for the iron-studded gates with long strides, swiftly passing his clansman and the healer. One of the massive gates swung inward at his approach. As he stepped through into the walled courtyard, the downpour doubled its force and became a deafening torrent. Hunching over Edan, he absorbed most of the water teeming from the wretched sky above.

As they neared the first-floor entrance to the tower, Closeburn’s steward held open the iron yett, the defensive gate of metal bars, allowing him entrance. Just inside the doorway William paused, and felt his mantle, wet and heavy, lifted from his shoulders.

‘‘Tis good to see you home and whole, laird,’ the steward said.

‘My thanks, Malcolm.’

Edan shifted in his arms, pushing the hide away from his face to offer the aging steward a weary smile.

‘And you too, master Edan.’

‘The others will follow soon,’ William said. ‘Is all prepared above stairs?’

‘Mary –’

‘Is right here to escort you, laird.’

The plump older woman sailed into view. William hadn’t missed the subtle grace of her hand as she’d approached, making the sign of the cross. She then clucked and fussed over Edan, showing no outward concern at seeing the lad in his brother’s arms instead of standing on his own two feet.

‘Everything is ready as you requested,’ Mary finally said.

‘I did not doubt it.’

‘Then why did you bother asking?’

William hid his smile. Her familiar, gentle chiding felt so...normal. After three days of constant mayhem, he welcomed it.

He strode through the archway leading into the hall and swept the occupants with his gaze. Preparations for the evening meal clattered to a stop, as men and women turned to stare wide-eyed at him carrying his brother. He gave a brisk nod in acknowledgement and turned toward the stairs, fighting to retain the brief sense of peace Mary’s scolding had granted.

But it disappeared beneath growing frustration. The dread he had seen in the eyes of his clan folks settled heavily in his mind. He took the stairs two at a time.

Damn his ancestor to hell for supposedly shooting the swan in the chest with a crossbow bolt
.

Edan gasped.

Peering into his brother’s face, William eased his hold. ‘Forgive me, lad.’

‘Nae, Will. It’s my own fault I need to be carted about like a bairn.’

‘Aye, it is. But as long as you know it, I’ve nae reason to lecture you.’

‘Really?’

An unbidden smile curved William’s lips. ‘Aye. Really.’ His chest tightened as his brother relaxed in his arms.

Dear God. He’d do anything to see Edan dashing about, creating mischief again. Anything. Including swallowing his pride, for a time, to allow a healer within Closeburn’s walls.

Leaving the stairway at the third level, William marched along the torch-lit corridor and swung right into Edan’s chamber. Thankfully, the room stood empty of maids or servants with superstitious dread clouding their eyes. One of the two large wooden tubs Closeburn boasted sat before the flaming hearth, steam rising from its centre.

Gently depositing his brother upon the cushioned chair nearby, William inspected the water level, pleased to see it was shallow enough not to cover Edan’s injuries, but deep enough to chase the chill and mud from his body. Several pails of water, some hot, some cold, stood ready for use.

Mary came into the room, huffing and puffing from scaling the stairs and carrying the extra load of fresh drying cloths in her arms. She dumped them on the wooden stool beside the tub, and rested her hands on her ample hips.

William approached his brother and carefully removed the hide draping Edan’s form before dropping it to the floor. He turned back to Mary. ‘There is an English woman accompanying Donald.’ Mary’s eyes flared with curiosity. William ignored it. ‘I trust the chamber across the way has been as efficiently prepared as this one?’ The older woman gave a curt nod and William continued. ‘Good. Please take her there. She is wet, cold and no doubt hungry and will appreciate your aid. I’ll see to Edan.’

He turned back to his brother, dismissing Mary. But she was an inquisitive woman and her years of faithful service allowed her some latitude. She held her place.

‘Please close the door as you leave, Mary.’

Commanding Mary in such a way was discourteous, but William was tired and wet through and he didn’t care to relive all the happenings of the last few days. Not right now. He needed to tend his brother to ensure his haste to reach home hadn’t caused Edan more suffering. God knew guilt for not protecting his sole surviving brother from harm ate at his heart relentlessly.

Edan’s eyes reproached him for his ungentle treatment of Mary, but thankfully the lad held his tongue. At this moment, the last thing he needed was a fourteen-year-old abrading him for his ill manners. He’d mentally castigate himself for it later. After he’d seen to his brother.

THE slashing rain ceased battering Lynelle’s head and shoulders as her escort tugged her into the lighted entrance. Her ears buzzed and her upper body felt numbed from the incessant downpour. A muddy puddle stained the flagstones where she stood, and as she adjusted to the rain’s absence she watched the pool of water grow, her dripping garments adding to its size.

Voices penetrated her soggy thoughts. She heard Donald’s and another she didn’t recognize. Pushing strands of her sodden hair from her face, she spied a short, elderly man, his large brown eyes flicking from Donald to her.

She couldn’t hear their softly spoken words, but it was obvious they were discussing her. Clutching the moist fabric of her cloak tighter, she pretended indifference and studied the stone walls of the entranceway.

‘Lynelle,’ Donald said, coaxing her forward with a wave of his hand. ‘This is Malcolm, Closeburn’s steward.’