by Aubrey Wynne
Mairi hurried over and hovered, wringing her hands. Kirstine cleaned the area with a lotion made from privet leaves. Then she made a poultice of honey and yarrow.
“This will continue to draw out any infection,” she said as she bandaged the foot. “And now we wait and pray. Ye might want to put the kettle on.”
By evening, the patient had managed to drink some tea with a willow bark tincture and was resting comfortably. Kirstine leaned back against the rocker and smiled. Satisfaction settled in her belly as she watched the steady rise and fall of Agnes’s chest. Mairi had lit a fire and a soft yellow glow filled the room.
“My mother will return tomorrow and change the bandage. She’ll want to inspect the wound herself. In the meantime, continue to bathe her with the sweet water if she becomes restless. Give her more willow bark tincture when she wakes and some beef tea or barley gruel when she can eat.” Kirstine stood and stretched, feeling the dull ache in her lower back. “As long as we can keep the infection under control, she should recover.”
Mairi hurried around the bed and threw her arms around Kirstine. “Thank ye again. She’s as much my ma as she is my grandmother. I’d be lost without her,” she sniffled.
“I’m happy to help.”
“Ye were so capable and self-assured.” Mairi stepped back and squeezed Kirstine’s hand. “I can see why Brodie chose ye over me.”
Kirstine drew in her breath. “Mairi—”
“Go on, now. He’s waiting for ye.”
“Brodie?”
Mairi nodded. “He said he’d no’ leave without ye. Been sitting with Da all this time, keeping his mind off…” Her eyes shone, and she dashed away a tear. “But we can walk out with a smile on our faces now and put his fears to rest.” She gave Kirstine another quick hug and slipped out of the room.
Kirstine collected her things and fastened the satchel. She was bone-tired. Sean wrapped her in a bear hug, and she thought she’d swoon from the lack of air.
“I swear, Miss MacDunn, ye’ve earned a few more steps toward the pearly gates this day. We’ll no’ forget what ye’ve done for us.”
Her eyes settled on Brodie’s solid form, his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. She self-consciously smoothed her rumpled skirt, but the concern in his gaze warmed her. When he reached out and laced his fingers through hers, it didn’t matter. She wanted to melt against him and sleep for a day and a night.
They walked outside, and Kirstine breathed in the crisp night air as Brodie fetched the horses. Charlie appeared from the shadows, then licked her hand. She scratched his wiry fur and talked to him softly as his tail made a soft, rhythmic thump against the dirt. She forced her eyes to remain open, wondering how she’d stay awake on the ride home. But it turned out, she didn’t need to. Brodie came around, tied her satchel to Speckles, then lifted her onto his horse. He climbed up behind her and pulled her body against his hard chest, placing Speckles’ reins in her hand to pony the horse behind them. One muscled arm rested protectively over her stomach, and Kirstine could feel the pulse of his neck against the crown of her head as she settled back. With a satisfied sigh, she allowed the exhaustion to take over. Brodie’s strength enveloped her, keeping her safe.
“I’m worried ye might fall off yer spirited beastie. Yer lids look as heavy as stones. So close yer eyes, and I’ll keep ye safe.” He kissed the top of her head and clucked to his gelding, the pony plodding beside them. “I had no idea ye were so knowledgeable in… I’m verra proud of ye, Kirsty.”
She smiled sleepily and snuggled into his warmth. Brodie had waited for her. And recognized her talent as a healer. Merciful heavens, could I love this man any more? She drifted off to the steady clip clop of the horse’s hooves, sheltered in his embrace.
*
Brodie smiled as her body relaxed against him, her breathing steady. Goosebumps rose on her bare skin from the chilly night air. He pulled his plaid around her and chuckled to the myriad of stars glittering above them. As she fidgeted in her sleep, his hold tightened around her slight form. The curve of her hips fit perfectly between his thighs, her belly soft against his forearm.
He’d never seen her in this capacity. Someone with a skill, with authority. Poor Sean had been beside himself, and Mairi in tears. Kirstine had blanketed the entire cottage with her calm efficiency and straightforward manner. She’d set everyone to work and kept their minds occupied on a task rather than the what ifs of the sick room. Her tone had been quiet but determined, infusing hope in those around her. It was a gift, really, that ability not only to tend and comfort the ailing but also soothe a family’s anxiety.
He nuzzled his cold nose in her silky chestnut hair. Citrus and vanilla. Tart yet sweet. That certainly described his Kirsty. It seemed the girl he’d known all his life had grown into a complicated and enticing woman.
When they reached the MacDunn property, he saw the flicker of a lantern in the front window. Charlie trotted ahead, probably nosing around for the supper he’d missed. Her folks would be worried. It had been mid-afternoon when they’d ridden pell-mell from here. It must be close to midnight now.
Brodie brushed the hair back from her face and feathered kisses down her neck. “Wake up, love,” he leaned down and whispered.
His breath must have tickled, for she made a groggy noise and swatted at her ear. Her finger jammed into his eye, pain exploding in the socket.
“Bloody hell,” he yelled as his hand flew to his face.
Kirsty jerked awake. Her head snapped back and connected hard with his chin.
“For the love of saints,” he groaned through clenched teeth.
Her bottom ground against his crotch as she squirmed to turn around. He closed his eyes and held his breath.
“Where am—what did—Oh!” She stilled, her fingers covering her lips. “Ye’re bleeding.”
“Aye. Now I ken if ye’re ever kidnapped, it’s the bandit I’ll be sorry for.” His tongue traced the swell of his lower lip, then he moved his jaw back and forth.
Kirsty wiped a tear from his watering eye. “Do ye still think I’m a good healer?” she asked. Her gaze glittered black under the yellow moon, lips upturned impishly.
“I’d rather ye show me.” His voice sounded gruff as he fought to control the throb low in his belly. “Take away my pain, Kirsty.”
Passion replaced the fading smile. Her finger tenderly traced the side of his face. She sat up to kiss his temple, then his good eye, and made her way down his jaw to his mouth. He closed his eyes and stifled the groan scratching at his throat.
Velvet lips brushed the corner of his mouth, his chin, then stopped at the bruise. Her tongue skimmed over the battered lip before she kissed the other corner of his mouth. He lost the battle and moaned, knew she had to feel his stiffness against her side.
She leaned back, their breaths mingling in the air between them. When he opened his eyes, Kirsty winked at him.
“I believe my job is done here.” One more quick kiss and her hand slid down his chest and across his lap. She slid from the horse, collected Speckles, and trotted across the yard.
“Aye, right,” he croaked and rubbed his chin to keep his hand from cradling his crotch, then winced. With a chuckle, he turned the gelding and headed home. A deep contented guffaw soon turned into a gut-splitting belly laugh. “Where have ye been all my life, Kirsty MacDunn?” he shouted to the man on the moon.
Chapter Ten
Tit For Tat
Early July 1819
“What do ye mean, ye’re no’ ready to marry?” Brigid stood up from the chess set, both hands on her hips, her feet planted in a wide challenging stance. “Ye can barely keep yer hands off her. How long can ye last? Or do ye plan on taking advantage of my friend?”
Brodie ground his teeth at the last statement. If she were a man or not his sister… “Take advantage? I love Kirsty. Let us enjoy the summer.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “For the love of saints, I’m the youngest son. There�
�s no hurry to push me into the parson’s trap.”
“Ye’re teasing her like she’s a trout in the stream.”
“I’ve courted her for barely over a month.” His jaw twitched. The little chit had nerve. “I will ask her sooner or later, in my own time. I’ll no’ be browbeaten by my wee sister.”
“Ye’ve been together since ye were bairns,” his sister argued, her blue eyes flashing.
“Ye both need to stop.” Glynnis interrupted the siblings from her chair near the hearth. She set down her needlework with a sigh. “Brodie, ye wait too long and ye’ll lose her. It doesna take a brilliant mind to figure that out. And we’ll no’ be sympathetic when ye come crying to us.”
Brigid sneered. “See?”
“And ye should be minding yer own romantic endeavors.” Glynnis narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “Ye run around the glen like my youngest son, scaring away any potential suitors with yer boyish ways.”
“But I—”
“She has no idea how to be feminine,” Brodie jumped in. Good. They’d turn the table on the little minx. “Name one household skill ye have an aptitude for.” He crossed his arms over his chest, daring her to deny it.
“I can…” Brigid’s foot tapped on one the rag rugs scattered across the floor. Her face brightened. “I can order supplies.”
“When I give ye the list,” pointed out Glynnis.
“I’ll strike a bargain.” An idea began to form in Brodie’s head. “Prove to us ye have a womanly side by spending a week in the kitchen.”
“Saints and sinners. What would I do there?” Brigid’s eyes were wide, the apparent horror eliciting a chuckle from her mother.
“Cook.” Glynnis nodded. “Yes, a week in the kitchen to learn how to cook. Perhaps Lissie will help so Enid doesna die of apoplexy the first day.”
“Help with what?” asked the female in question as she entered the room.
Lissie found solace in the kitchen. After Ian had left last week, Lissie made a dozen loaves of bread and enough biscuits to feed the village. Working the dough seemed to ease her mind, but Brodie had heard more pounding than kneading.
“I’ve made a deal with Brigid to spend a week in the kitchen.” His sister’s eyes burned a hole in the center of his forehead. “Yer company might ensure both she and Enid survive the ordeal.”
Lissie pressed her lips together and concentrated on smoothing a lock of her umber hair that had fallen over her shoulder. “Enid barely tolerates me in the kitchen. I stay out of her way and dinna cause any extra work for her. What if I teach ye how to sew?”
“I’d rather be trampled by a thousand angry sows.”
Brodie snorted.
“Perhaps that’s how ye could help,” said Glynnis. “Ye can help instruct Brigid in some simple dishes, show her some basic cooking skills, and keep her out of Enid’s way.”
Lissie shook her head. “When I prayed for a distraction after Ian left, this wasna what I had in mind. But I’m happy to help.”
Brigid scowled. “What part of chaining me to a stove translates into a wager? What are the stakes?”
Brodie rubbed his chin then grinned. “If ye stay in the kitchen a week, and dinna kill any of us, I’ll buy ye that sweet little mare ye liked in Dunderave.” As an afterthought he added, “If ye actually learn to cook a meal, I’ll throw in a new saddle and bridle.”
“And if I fail?”
“No more talk of my marriage and ye stay out of my and Kirsty’s business.” He spread his legs and matched her stance, his chin jutting out in a perfect imitation of his sister.
The challenge had been issued. Brodie recognized the competitive gleam and silently cursed. Her stake would be much higher.
“I agree to the first.” She gave him a let’s-see-if-he’s-paying-attention look. “Can we change the second part of my win?” she asked.
“Hmmph! Overly confident, I think.” He couldn’t read her expression but didn’t trust the request. “Depends.”
She shook her head. “Aye or nay.”
“Fine, what would ye like instead of a saddle?” He had a feeling this would cost him dearly.
“If I learn to cook a dish, ye stop lallygagging and ask Kirsty to marry ye.” She sat back down, a smug smile turning up her mouth.
The room was silent. Then Glynnis and Lissie laughed. A soft chuckle at first, then guffaws. The more Brodie scowled, the louder they became with Brigid joining in.
“Ye consider yerself clever, eh?” He glowered at his sister.
“She is clever. She outwitted ye, son. Now accept it like a gentleman.” His mother stifled her giggles and nodded her head. “And ye’ve both made me verra happy.”
“But we’re wagering against each other!” exclaimed Brigid.
“Aye. Regardless of the outcome, my daughter learns something about running a household. And if she’s successful, my son will soon have a wife.” She returned her attention to her needlework with a satisfied sigh. “Shall we start tomorrow?”
*
“I dinna remember spectators as part of the bargain,” grumbled Brigid with a glare at both brother and grandfather. She leaned against a long plank table, the shelves behind her filled with bowls, jars of spices, and pots. “It’s difficult enough in this hot tomb without extra bodies adding to the heat.”
Bunches of herbs hung from darkened beams in the low ceiling. The aroma of dried sage and yeast tickled Brodie’s nostrils. He sucked in a deep breath. The smells and sounds of this room always stirred fond childhood memories.
Enid growled from her corner of the kitchen. “The inside of a barn full of beasties isna my idea of heaven, either. And since I didna invite ye, I’ll ask ye to keep yer opinion of my domain to yerself.”
“Saints and sinners.” Colin chuckled. “I had to see it with my own eyes. I assumed Brodie was telling me a clanker when he said ye were helping in the kitchen.”
“Where’s Lissie?” asked Brigid, while she and Enid gave each other a wary glance.
Brodie held back the mirth that tickled his throat. The two women sized one another up, like two billy goats encountering each other on a narrow mountain path. Would they butt heads and fall over the cliff or compromise? “Her mother had a minor accident. Can’t use her wrist, so Lissie went to stay with them for a bit.”
The look of panic on his sister’s face sent both men into laughter. Enid straightened the rumpled apron over her ample form and tucked her frizzy ginger curls under her kertch.
“Out! Or I’ll sentence ye both to death by starvation,” exclaimed the cook in a tone that had the men scurrying out. The wooden spoon gripped in her fist stressed her point. “I’m only part of yer sibling wager because yer mother asked me. Now, I have work to do, or no one will be eating this day.”
Brodie paused in the dark hall, his back against the cool stone, and his head angled toward the door. Eavesdropping was not a usual pastime for him, but this would be a tale retold for years to come. He felt it in his bones.
“First, I’ll introduce ye to the weapons of my trade,” Enid began. “Knives are sharpened daily. And we’ll test the first on Brodie’s ear because I ken he’s just beyond the door listening to our every word.”
For the love of saints, the woman was a witch. “I’m leaving,” he called as he bolted up the narrow stone stairs.
Later that day, Brodie tried not to wince as he scraped the top layer of a biscuit with his teeth. Hard as a frozen loch in the middle of winter. His mother and grandmother had warned both men that negative comments would not be allowed. If they couldn’t say something pleasant, they were to remain silent. A punishment for both grandfather and grandson.
Brigid watched, a hesitant smile on her face. She was nervous. Brodie tried to remember the last time his sister had not been completely confident. His heart twisted as he gripped the rock in his hand and swallowed. This could be painful. He’d left the edge soaking in his plate of broth, so he’d been able to scrape off a bite without breaking a tooth. Calum had
noticed and nodded in approval, doing the same.
“What’s the verdict?” asked Brigid. She must have mistaken the thankful gleam in her grandfather’s eye for praise. “Enid says it’s much better than she expected for my first attempt.”
“And what did she ex—” Calum clamped his mouth shut at a glare from Peigi.
“The color seems just about right,” Brodie ventured and received a grateful smile from his mother. “What will ye make next?” He would find some reason to be detained.
“Tomorrow I’ll attempt white pudding, which should be easy enough. What could be so difficult, mixing together some oatmeal, suet, and meat?” She shrugged. “On Sunday, we shall make a meal in honor of Grandda.”
Calum choked on his ale. Brodie bit his lip, the taste of blood holding back his mirth.
“Venison collops,” she announced proudly, “and I’ll use a recipe from Enid’s family that uses red wine.”
“Ye’ll no’ be observing the first time—while Enid prepares it?” asked Calum, his face pale at the idea of a much-loved meal defiled forever. His look cast daggers at his grandson.
“Now why would I do that? I’ve always learned better by doing a task. It’s the mistakes that teach ye the most. That’s what the MacNaughton always told me when I was a girl.” She kissed the top of her grandfather’s head. “Since there are no bodies on the flagstone writhing from my first attempt, I’ll be on my way. I’ve work to do in the pasture.” Brigid made her escape, her footsteps fading away.
Brodie avoided Calum’s glower and appealed to Peigi. His grandmother’s lips were pressed together, but he caught the glint of humor in her green eyes before she studied her plate. The merrymaking played havoc in his throat and threatened to erupt. For the love of saints, his lip hurt.
“In my defense, Ma supported this wager.” It was a feeble apology, he knew.
“Ye thought it was amusing up until now,” Glynnis pointed out. “We all need to make sacrifices for the family.”
