“The logs dinna break apart by themselves anymore, lass.” He lifted the axe and the next log, setting it onto the block and began hacking away again, his back to her once more, hiding the smile that had come.
Isla rolled her eyes and went inside the cottage. She found Edine slumped in the cozy chair, as she referred to the one with the back. Dropping her sticks, Isla fell to her knees beside the chair, taking the old woman’s cool hand in hers. “Edine!”
The healer jerked at Isla’s cry, throwing her free hand over her heart. “What’s said, lass?”
“You scared me, Edine. I thought—”
“Ye scared me, lass! Ye trying to hurry it along?”
The door, which Isla had shut, crashed open. James Cameron burst into the cottage, axe still in hand, Fynn at his side.
Isla shook off her fright, coming to her feet. Edine told him, “Go on wit ye, Sir James. We’ve much work to do yet.” And she cackled a bit at this, which had Isla turning from the cupboard, where she’d gone to hang her cloak. “Lass canna tell the difference between the dead and the sleeping.”
Isla grinned a bit herself. “Not fair, Edine,” she challenged. “You keep threatening to die, and then sprawl yourself out in the chair like it’s done.” She passed Fynn, gave his ears a scratch, and grabbed up the pitcher of water. “Likely, you did it apurpose, to test me,” this, with a smile as she poured the water into the bowl at the lower supper table and gave her hands a good wash.
Another cackle followed as Edine lifted herself from the chair and waved James outside. She followed and took the axe from him, setting it against the timber and wattle and daub of the front of the cottage. “Aye, yer a nice lad, Cameron. But ye’ll be leaving her alone for the next few weeks, she’s got work to do. Ye come back when I’m gone and make sure she’s getting on all right. Ye wait till then to finish whatever it is ye be starting here with the lass.”
He did not respond, just frowned at her, until Edine thought he would not, or could not, respond and so she stepped back into the cottage and closed the door on him, just as the sun began to set behind the trees across the meadow.
JAMES STARED AT THE door Edine had closed in his face, then moved his gaze to the window at the right, where the cracks in the shutter showed the halo of a golden light from the candles within. He didn’t know what to make of what he’d just witnessed. True, he had his own fun with Isla Gordon, but she had been sparing and secretive with her smiles. And then she’d stepped inside that cottage, had teased and laughed with Edine—another shock, as the old woman apparently could laugh as well—and James wasn’t sure he would get over it. Ever.
With her hair tucked into her usual wimple, with her stoic, often frowning demeanor, Isla Gordon was distractingly beautiful. And serious. But today, her thick hair was loose and hung down to her waist in shiny waves, and she had grinned and smiled, and James Cameron knew, without question, he had never been witness to a more glorious sight.
Chapter 9
Daily, Edine insisted that Isla recite the names of the plants in her garden, where they were arranged in the plot alongside the cottage, and what purpose they served. This was not so easy to do, as the present winter garden gave no visual aid. And it frightened Isla because her friend’s insistence that she commit these to memory, without waiting for spring to come that Isla might be shown some sprouting greens, suggested that Edine believed she’d not be here when the spring did come.
They were seated upon the cart, which the palfrey was slowly pulling toward Wolvesley. Isla drove, as she had for the last several weeks, having lost her initial trepidation, though this was mostly a result of Edine’s lack of patience for any and all sorts of indecision and unease.
When Isla had finished her recital, Edine nodded, huddled in her cloak, smaller and frailer in the past week. Isla hoped it was only the bone-chilling cold that had taken the woman’s usual spry manner and bearing.
“Ye take on the Mistress Alva today, lass.”
Isla nodded. Of late, Edine had been directing Isla to take the lead in more and more home visits. She’d started nervously, looking constantly to Edine over the sick person’s bed, for some confirmation that her diagnosis and treatment plan were correct. Edine had promised her that confidence would come with time.
Isla applied smooth pressure on the reins, pulling them toward her belly so that the horse stopped about midway across the main road of the village. She kicked the brake with her foot and jumped down from the wagon seat, reaching first for the covered basket, which she slung over her arm and then for Edine, assisting her in her descent.
The door was pulled open and a young girl, whom Isla recalled as Margaret, cast worried eyes onto the pair. She waved them inside and backed out of the way. Isla glanced quickly around, saw no sign of Margaret’s brother, who’d come to Edine’s to fetch the healer only twenty minutes ago, and sat Edine upon the bench near the table and set her basket onto the table top. She removed her cloak and settled it in Edine’s lap.
Alva, wife of Ian, now deceased, sat upon a stool near her cooking fire, and cast wary eyes at Isla. Maybe she was recalling how impolite she had always been to Isla, being one of the persons who had called her a witch. They need ye more than you need them. Edine’s words to Isla only a few weeks ago helped her to concentrate. Edine had also cautioned, Ye can have no prejudice, lass. Everyone, even the nasty warts ye’d want to send to their graves deserve yer compassion and yer attendance.
“Let’s see what we have here, Mistress Alva.” Isla moved the lone candle to the end of the table nearest the lady. Alva pursed her lips and lifted her arm, holding it palm up, to show a thick red, arced burn, nastiest in her palm, but still dangerous on her forearm. Blisters were already beginning to form. Isla took hold of the woman’s arm, ignored her flinch, as she hadn’t touched the burn itself, and turned it down to better see the damage.
Nodding, she lifted the square of old plaid off the basket and withdrew the linen covered bowl. Before removing the cover, she said to Alva, “We dinna want so many blisters, mistress. They break and bleed and can get infected. ‘Tis not a desirable treatment, but it is the most effective.” And with that, she withdrew a slug from the pottery dish and placed it on the woman’s forearm.
“Leeches?” The woman gasped, her eyes widened in dismay.
“Nae, but slugs.” Isla placed another in Alva’s palm. Both were moving, creeping along. Isla pointed to the shiny slime each left in its wake. “Like the plants we often use to heal, creatures too can give us medicine. The slime you see—which is mucus—will prevent the blisters.” Carefully, she dipped the tip of her finger into the slime and gently rubbed it around to cover more area. “Dinna ask me how it works, but ken that it does.” She set the dish onto the table and covered it with the linen again. “Two or three at a time and spread the mucus around the burn.” She did this now herself, showing the still horrified Alva by demonstration. When all the burn was covered, she put all but one of the slugs back into the dish. The last was set onto the table. She fetched a long linen strip from the basket, caught sight of young Margaret’s eyes widened at the still moving slug.
Isla first waved the linen over Alva’s arm to dry the slime, then wrapped her arm in linen from elbow to palm. “You do this several times a day, at least thrice. And you hang this fellow,” she said, and pointed to the slug crawling on the table, “out to dry. When he’s dead, you stop the medicine and leave the skin to air.” She waited for some indication from Alva that she understood.
Mistress Alva lifted worried gray eyes to Isla. But she did nod. And then, with embarrassment, “I haven’t any coin t’ pay ye.”
Isla returned her cloak to her shoulders and shook her head. “’Tis fine, mistress, but perhaps you’ll kindly remember this service and save any linen scraps for me. We go through quite a bit of them.”
The worry and embarrassment disappeared from Alva’s eyes. She did not stand but almost smiled. “I would be happy to, lass.”
I
sla smiled at her, and then Margaret, reminding the child, “Dinna forget to hang him out to dry.” And she took Edine’s hand and pulled her to her feet.
Outside, the wind had picked up. Isla had quite a time trying to get Edine back into the cart. She’d set the basket aside, on the hard ground, and tried three times to push Edine up onto the step.
“Hold, lass!” Came a call.
Isla recognized James Cameron’s voice, but her gaze was riveted to Edine, whose face was ashen gray and stuck into a grimace. Luckily, her arms were wrapped around the old woman, or Isla feared she might have fallen to the ground.
And then James Cameron was beside her, had taken Edine up into his arms, and set her onto the seat of the wagon. Isla ran around to the other side and climbed up to sit next to her, while James still held onto the woman.
“Edine, you gave me a fright.” Already, color seemed to return to Edine’s face, her wrinkly cheeks showing a light pinkening.
“Aye, lass.” She sounded as if she’d run all the way to Wolvesley. “Sir James, the lass can come tomorrow to see yer da. I’ll be wanting my bed now.”
James and Isla exchanged a look, both showing concern. “Move over, lass,” he said to Isla, and she shifted on the seat, egging Edine to do the same so that James could perch next to them. He flipped the brake free and took up the leather leads, turning the palfrey and cart around.
Isla kept her arm around Edine, over the back of the rails, and kept her gaze on the woman’s face, looking for any sign of distress. James did not force the horse into any breakneck speed, but they were moving faster than Isla would have imagined ol’ Nellie capable of.
Once returned to Edine’s cottage, the healer refused James’s offer to carry her inside, but did accept his hands to help her alight, and allowed him to support her as she ambled into the house. Isla shooed an anxious Fynn out of the way and knew that Edine was feeling particularly poorly when she opted to lie down upon her bed, and not just find respite in the cozy chair. When James had sat her down, Isla stepped in, removed her old and worn cloak and lifted Edine’s skinny little legs up onto the bed. Edine turned onto her side, refusing Isla’s offer to boil some mint and parsley in wine, which she partook of daily—"gives me ease, lass”, Edine had explained.
Isla watched Fynn lie down at the floor beside Edine, and with a worried sigh, she turned and faced James Cameron. It had been three weeks since he’d come ‘round to chop wood. And while she hadn’t exactly forgotten how handsome he was, seeing him now after so long a time was a bit like seeing him for the first time, and she found herself rather flustered now under his returned, hungry gaze, which fixed repeatedly upon her lips.
With a rather internal shake, Isla removed her cloak and pronounced, “I—I should start our supper.”
This seemed to stir him from his own reverie. “Aye, I’ll come by tomorrow to check on her.”
“’Tis no need,” Isla said. “As Edine said, I will come up to see to the earl.”
James shook his head. “No pressing need for that, if Edine is poorly. ‘Tis only the same for him.”
Isla agreed. She’d been up to the keep several times with Edine to see James’s father, and he was right. Nothing ever changed. Edine said nothing would, until one day when he died. Lady Cameron had proven a devoted wife, who gave great care to her husband. She’d been unfailingly polite and kind to Isla when she’d accompanied Edine, seeming to bear no grudge for Isla having chosen this life with Edine instead of the one the great lady had offered.
With that, Isla and James only stared at one another, until finally he jerked a nod and left the cottage.
Much later in the evening, Isla sat beside Edine, having pulled the cozy chair across the room and set it between Edine’s raised bed and Isla’s own makeshift pallet on the floor. Edine spoke, slow and labored, giving what Isla assumed to be last minute instructions. It was clear Edine would rise no more from this bed. Isla held her hand and listened to the wise woman’s words. She talked of plants and herbs, people and disease, and reminded Isla that she had value.
“Ye dinna be afraid, lass,” Edine said. “Yer a clever one and what ye dinna ken, ye’ll figure out. Now, ye be telling the chief’s son, I dinna have need of a fancy ending. He can dig a nice hole in the yard, and him and ye say a nice prayer for me, ‘tis all I need.”
Isla had moments ago tried to soothe her, with an encouraging, “Dinna talk like that, Edine. You’ll be fine come the morrow,” but Edine had shushed her with an annoyed frown, telling her they hadn’t time to waste on untruths so that Isla only nodded now, rubbing her finger on the crepey skin of the old woman’s hand.
“Am I allowed to take time to say thank you?” She wondered. Her eyes watered. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Edine’s look softened, she squeezed Isla’s hand briefly. “Everyday, with yer sponge of a mind, yer concern and hard work, and yer kind words, ye say thank ye.”
“These have been the best months of my life, Edine.”
Edine expended some energy on a blunt little chuckle. “’Tis no saying much, lass. Aye, but the best years of yer life are still to come.”
Isla cried in earnest now. “But I’d rather have you at my side for what’s to come.”
“Now, stop with that. I want to remind about the yarrow....”
She talked for another hour, sometimes with long pauses, but continued to impart so much knowledge onto Isla, most of which she only prayed she remembered. And finally, she accepted Isla’s offer of the laced wine, the wine having been a gift of Lady Cameron, and drifted off to sleep well into the night.
Isla brushed the stringy gray hair off Edine’s brow, and after some time of watching the woman’s chest rise and fall, slowly but steadily, she shifted in the chair and laid her head on Edine’s hand.
JAMES RODE OUT TO EDINE’S early the next morning. Something had stirred in him, telling him not to wait to see if Isla might come up to the keep. Likely, this was not so much a perceived matter in his mind but only a practicality, as Edine’s condition of yesterday suggested she was not long for this world.
Fynn did not bark at his arrival, which struck James immediately as unusual. And even more curious, seeing Isla in the open door of the cottage, seeming only to have awaited his arrival. A quick perusal of her face told him he’d made the right decision in coming, that Edine was gone. He dismounted very close to the door and wondered at his first instinct, which was to take Isla in his arms.
But she spoke before he might have done so, if he would have.
“I thought you might come early,” she said, her voice even, suggesting it had been a while since she’d actively cried. “She did, too. She asked to be buried here, in the yard,” and now her voice broke, “with ... with just us to say a prayer.”
James nodded. And the tears did him in. He pulled her into his arms, pressed her head to his chest, while her hands were squeezed as well between them. She hadn’t cried when her father had died, not that he’d known or suspected. But she did now, not any great dramatic weeping, only a soft, measured keening into his chest. Nearly broke James’s heart. He kissed the top of her head, told her everything was going to be all right.
They buried Edine late in the morning. James spent more than an hour shoveling the hard earth out of the grave just behind the cottage, before the trees closed in, while Isla sewed yet another body into a shroud. Fynn whined and moped about, staying close to Edine’s body, barking at James when he’d lowered the shrouded figure into the ground. James said some heartfelt, but he feared inept, words over the grave. Isla stood at his side, holding the folds of her hood tight against the growing wind, and added softly, “Thank you, Lord, for the gift of Edine. Grant me courage and faithfulness to live the life she has given me. Accept our humble prayers on behalf of Edine, and grant her eternal rest, if thy be Your will.”
“Amen.”
She seemed in no hurry to leave the graveside, but James allowed her only a few more minutes in the icy air befo
re he took her hand and led her away, back inside the cottage.
Inside, Isla removed her cloak and glanced about, as if pondering what she might do next.
Though she hadn’t looked to James for any suggestion, he did offer, “I suggest you get about packing up Edine’s things.” Isla turned on him, surely fit to throw something at him along the lines of Edine not being cold yet, but he persisted, “She’d tell you same as I, to move on, and quickly, too. It will provide you a chore for the day, keep you thinking on her as I clearly see you are want to do.” It appeared these words had some effect on Isla, and loath though he was to leave her, this business hadn’t anything to do with him, and the bishop was coming today to Wolvesley to give the sacrament and eucharist to his father.
Chapter 10
Upon the training field, James stood with his feet braced apart, arms crossed over his chest, while he assessed the skill of the younger lads. The most he could say for them as of yet was that they were enthusiastic. But there was much work to be done yet. He couldn’t recall himself ever being this inept. Perhaps it was their size, most of them being rather scrawny and small yet, some barely able to properly wield the long swords.
Gavin was presently engaged in a sparring match with Timothy, son of Callum. Gavin had the advantage of size, being much taller than Timothy, but the shorter lad had the benefit of extended and rigid training of his father, James’s captain. They used verbal slurs and barbs as part of the training—not that they would use such in actual battle, but because it was essential that the lads learned how to stay focused and not allow anything outside of the physical to corrupt their fighting.
“That’s all you have?” Gavin needled, managing to grip Timothy in a pretty firm headlock.
“I had yer sister last night,” Timothy retorted promptly. Gavin gave a jerk of his flexed arms, tightening his hold. Timothy wrapped a leg around Gavin’s longer one, and tripped him up, sending them both sprawling, Gavin hitting the ground first. “Had the witch on her back, skirts over her head.”
And Then He Loved Me (A Highlander Novella Book 1) Page 7
