A Laird's Promise

by Aileen Adams

  Much to Agnes’s surprise, he sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of Sarah.

  “Eat,” he directed, reaching for one of the satchels. “I will dump the herbs onto the cloth and keep them separated. You look at them, tell me what they are and how they are used.”

  She eyed him in surprise as he picked up a piece of bread and gave it to her.

  “Eat, Sarah. You will be no good to me if you fall ill.”

  She slowly took the piece of bread and bit into it. Chewed for several moments and then took another bite, then another. Soon she reached for a slice of cheese, placed it on top of another piece of bread, and then took another bite.

  He nodded in satisfaction and reached for the first satchel. By the time he finished shaking out their contents, there were numerous small piles of dried herbs, flowers, and mixtures of leaves, roots, and what looked like to be tiny bits of berries or fruits on the cloth, separated by small spaces.

  Sarah had eaten all the bread, but she had finished most of the cheese and a portion of the fowl. She had not touched the fish.

  “Drink,” he said, gesturing toward the tankard of buttermilk. He knew it was fortifying, so fought the grimace of disgust.

  She obeyed.

  When she lowered the tankard, he almost smiled. A thin stream of froth was evident above her upper lip and at the corners of her mouth. He resisted the urge to swipe his finger over it. Just the thought elicited another stirring of attraction, heightened when her tongue darted out and took care of the buttermilk.

  A swipe of her hand followed the tongue as she glanced down at the piles of herbs.

  “Now tell me.”

  She nodded and pointed to the small pile of shredded bark. “That's bayberry. It can help to lower fever and stop bleeding.”

  “But?”

  She looked at him, again uncertain.

  He encouraged her. “Sarah, I need to know. I'm not going to blame you for these. Now explain.”

  “It's not to be used for a long period of time or in a high dose. I have no idea how Ceana used it.” She turned to another small pile that looked like a combination of leaves and bark. “That's birch. It can be effective to relieve swelling, and as a mild pain reliever. When it's applied to the skin, it's effective for sores and boils.” She shook her head. “For a wound as severe as Jake's, it would not prove effective.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Go on.”

  She continued to point. “This one is known as black snakeroot. It can be used on some snakebites, and it can relieve the pain of old joints, but again, not very beneficial for Jake's condition.” She explained the other piles in a similar manner. Blessed thistle, Butcher’s Broom, calendula, chamomile, and Elder Bark and feverfew. Again, she took a defensive approach, stating that she had no knowledge of how Ceana used the herbs.

  “I understand,” Phillip repeated, striving for patience.

  He could understand her fear and hesitance, but he didn't know how to stress that he just needed information. He was not casting blame. He was looking for knowledge.

  “Can these things hurt Jake?”

  Again Sarah shrugged, pausing to look more closely at the last pile.

  He noticed. “What is it?”

  She frowned, nudging her fingertip in the ingredients. “It looks like bits of Hawthorn berry and something else, but I don't… I'm not sure… maybe goldenseal…”

  “And?”

  “Hawthorn can slow down circulation, or how well the heart pumps blood, but it depends on how much is used. Sometimes when mixed with other herbs it can make the heart… it can decrease the blood flow through the body.” She eyed the pile, frowning. “And the Goldenseal, it can be used to reduce swelling and fight infection, but it's not supposed to be taken on a daily basis.” She looked up at Phillip. “When used separately, some of these herbs are useful in treating minor ailments, cuts, and wounds, but nothing as extreme as Jake's. However, when used together, they can cause more damage than they actually help.”

  He looked at her, then the piles of herbs before turning to look at Jake. “Do you think that's what happened?”

  “I don't know,” she replied, frustrated. “That's why I asked you how experienced she was. It's an easy mistake to make if you don't know what you're doing or if you don't have a great deal of experience in treating wounds like his,” she said, gesturing toward Jake.

  Phillip frowned. “Ceana comes from a family of healers. Her mother and her grandmother before her.”

  Sarah nodded. “Then she should know better.”

  “I need you to tell me. Do you think that Ceana has purposely tried to poison my brother?”

  “That is something I cannot answer,” she replied. “You know her better than I.”

  “I will find her and talk to her.” He rose from the floor. “What should we do now?”

  She took a deep breath.

  By the expression on her face, he could tell that he wasn't going to like what she suggested.

  “Because it's not certain what Jake has been given, I would say that we do not give him anything more right now.” She looked up at him, gauging his reaction. “Let his body purge itself of any of her treatments. His wound has been cleansed. The cooling cloths will help with his fever a bit, or at the very least perhaps make him more comfortable.”

  He frowned. No, he definitely did not like what she suggested. “But if we don't give him anything, won't he get worse?”

  “I have no supplies with me,” she reminded him. “I don't want to use any of these herbs. They are not helpful, at least right now. Some of this looks old and will have lost its potency. I can go gather some things in the woods first thing in the morning. But it might be best to let him sweat the toxins out of his body. Then I can see how he's doing and make a poultice and some tinctures that might help.”

  He watched his brother for several moments and swallowed heavily. He hated to see him suffering.

  Jake slept fitfully, but didn't seem to be experiencing much pain. Maybe the cleansing of the wound had helped enough to hold death at bay—for now.

  Phillip finally nodded.

  “Go to your chamber and sleep. In the morning, you can gather what you may need. I will sit with Jake for a while. In the morning, I will send someone to fetch Ceana. You can speak with her then.” He noticed the expression on her face. “Do not worry about Ceana. I will make sure that she tells you what you need to know.”

  He gestured toward Agnes, and she nodded in understanding.

  “Come with me, Sarah,” the older woman said. “I will take you to your chamber.”

  Sarah took the proffered hand of the older woman offered, and slowly and stiffly rose from the floor, glancing down at the half-eaten platter of food.

  He saw the grimace of pain she tried to hide.

  Those bruises?

  He frowned as she glanced at him.

  She then turned to Agnes.

  “May I take the rest of the food and the buttermilk to my chamber? I will finish it and then go to sleep.”

  Agnes smiled and nodded. She stooped to retrieve the items.

  Phillip watched them go.

  Sarah held the platter of food close to her body and tightly clutched the tankard of half-consumed buttermilk. Knowing where she came from, chances were that she had never tasted buttermilk before, nor had the opportunity to eat so heartily.

  He frowned, again wondering about the bruises and the scarring on her body. The bursts of temper and obstinacy he had experienced on their journey here were gone, tempered by exhaustion, hunger, and the strain of her situation. Maybe a good night’s sleep, food in her belly, and that warm bath would serve to revive her.

  He recalled the sight of her standing naked in her chamber, her skin shadowed with her depths and curves, the soft glow of the firelight against it. He purposely turned back toward his brother, pushing softer emotions and nudging of desire for the young healer from his mind.

  He must focus on his brother.
<
br />   Had Ceana deliberately tried to kill his brother, or was Sarah merely, yet quite effectively, driving a wedge between lifelong acquaintances?

  He sighed as he sagged in his chair to watch over his brother. He had no way of knowing.

  In the morning, he would find Ceana and get the answers he needed.

  11

  Sarah didn't think that it would do much good for Phillip to talk to Ceana. If she had been deliberately trying to hurt Jake, the woman certainly wasn't going to admit it. Why would she? But what did that bode for her? She still felt uncertain and doubtful of Phillip's promise to return her to Kirkcaldy, no matter what happened to his brother.

  Ceana’s comments also weighed heavily.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and then lay down, thinking a few moment’s rest would certainly be welcome. But her mind was spinning, her senses attuned to every aspect of her environment.

  The manor, at least in this section, was quiet. She heard no footsteps, no voices, nothing. Perfectly silent.

  She sat up, her heart thumping. Should she? Everyone was asleep. She heard no sound from the chamber next door. Was Phillip still in there with his brother or had he gone to his own bedchamber to get some much-needed sleep? The thought of running away was tempting and at the same time troubling. She should. She should sneak out of the house when she had the chance and run. But how far would she get before her disappearance was discovered?

  At the same time, she felt bad about even thinking of leaving Jake in the condition he was in. Why should she care? This was not her problem. It was not her fault that Ceana Cameron obviously didn't know what she was doing.

  How she had managed to fool so many about her lack of skills for so long was interesting. Or had she? Maybe she had deliberately poisoned Jake. She shook her head with a disgusted grunt. It was none of her business. While she didn't like to see anyone suffer, chances were that Jake would not recover no matter what she did to help him.

  Her mind kept going round and round. Would Phillip blame her if his brother died? Had Ceana spoken the truth? Was he planning on locking her up, enslaving her, or perhaps even killing her when she had outlived her usefulness to him?

  She had heard of the brutality of the Highlanders and their warring clans. Were the tales true? She didn't know, but as the minutes passed and the flames of a fire in her room died down, inviting heaviness of her eyelids, her bone-weary fatigue, Sarah knew that she had to make a decision, and soon. This was her chance. The only sound that came from outside, passing through that narrow opening in the stone wall, was the distant hoot of an owl before that too ceased.

  She rose from the bed, nervous, her feet stepping lightly on the floorboards, cringing at the mere sound of a creak. On the balls of her feet, she hurried to the door and, hands braced against it, pressed her ear against to the wooden surface.

  Listened.

  Five seconds, ten, and then twenty.

  Nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, she slowly lifted the woods latch. She hadn't been locked in.

  Did Phillip actually think that she would not try to escape? When she peeked her head out the door, would she find her guards standing there, or perhaps even Phillip, standing in the narrow hallway, arms crossed over his chest, waiting?

  The thought brought no little amount of trepidation, but if she didn't open the door, she would never know. Slowly, cringing in expectation of the door making a sound, she opened it, just enough to see through with her eye.

  She saw no one.

  She opened it a little further, still no sound anywhere.

  Her heart pounded faster.

  Stay or go?

  Stay or go?

  She glanced down the short hallway toward the stair landing.

  Still no one in sight.

  Sarah stepped over the threshold, swallowed thickly and tried to calm her anxiety. She turned to take one step toward the stair landing and then paused.

  No, don't do it, she told herself.

  Just go!

  But something held her back.

  Guilt? Her devotion to her craft as a healer?

  She didn't know what it was, but she decided she would just peek in Jake's chamber, make sure he was still breathing. If he was, then the likelihood was that Ceana’s herbal remedies had been doing more harm than good.

  There was a chance that Jake might heal on his own, albeit a small one, without her own remedies or poultices.

  She measured the distance with her eyes—between the door of her chamber and Jake’s door.

  Maybe ten steps.

  Calling herself a fool with every step, she quickly tiptoed to Jake's door, then once again paused, glancing down the hallway before she pressed her ear to the door.

  Again, she heard nothing. No moans, no sound of snoring from a possibly sleeping Phillip. Good. He had probably retired to his own chamber.

  Just a peek, and then she would go. It might be her only chance.

  Ever so slowly, she pulled on the leather thong that would lift the latch on the inside of the door.

  Taking a deep breath and briefly closing her eyes, she prayed that she was right; that Phillip had gone to sleep in his own chamber, or even possibly fallen asleep in the chair beside Jake's bed.

  She took another breath and pushed the door open far enough to take one step into the room.

  Her eyes widened with dismay.

  She gasped, her heart thumping hard, so hard that she felt the pulse throbbing in her neck.

  She caught her breath, held it, frozen as Phillip turned from the small table on the right side of the room. She swallowed as her gaze took stock.

  He had turned to look who came through the door, obviously as startled as she.

  He stood there, bared to the waist, one hand holding a white piece of linen he was obviously using to wash himself.

  She took it all in in a single glance; the broad shoulders, rippling muscles, wide chest and narrow waist delineated with abdominal musculature.

  No stranger to a man's physique, she couldn't help but admire his frame. She felt a surge of warmth flood over her face and then race down her spine, and then wrap around to warm her belly.

  She opened her mouth to say something, anything to explain her sudden appearance, but no sound came out.

  He continued to watch her. Then, he slowly released the cloth.

  It fell back into the bowl of water with a soft plop before he turned fully toward her, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to be so muscular, so handsome? That thought startled her even more than her dismay of finding him standing half-naked in front of her. The tables had turned indeed —how could she think her captor handsome? He had kidnapped her! Literally dragged her away from her home, her sister… but she couldn't help the reaction of her own body. He was… impressive.

  “What are you doing here? I told you to go to sleep.”

  The sound of his voice jolted her away from wayward thoughts. She quickly licked her lips, sought to tamp questionable emotions down so she could respond, cringing at the sound of her tremulous voice.

  “I just… I just thought I would check one more time on Jake.”

  It sounded like a weak excuse, even to her. She tried to maintain a calm expression. Would he guess what she had intended? He hadn't moved, just continued to watch her.

  To keep up the pretext of wanting to check on his brother, she moved to his bedside, noted that he still slept a bit fitfully, but holding his own. She reached out to touch his forehead with the palm of her hand. It was still hot, but had the heat decreased a little? She thought so.

  She turned toward Phillip, still standing on the other side of the room, arms still crossed over his chest, watching her.

  He gazed from her to his brother, and then back again.

  What was he thinking? Why did she care? She shouldn't have come. Shouldn't worry about Jake.

  After all, she was a captive. Forced to take care of a comp
lete stranger, a Highlander and alas, because Laird Phillip Duncan demanded it be so. He had kidnapped her, giving her no choice.

  And while she was here, who was watching over Heather back home? Nobody. Warm tears filled her eyes.

  She headed for the door but turned too quickly, forgot she wasn't wearing her own kirtle. This one was a bit long and got caught up in her feet.

  One second, she was stepping toward the door, desperate to get away from Phillip and his brother, and the next she was teetering precariously, losing her balance, her feet tangled in the overlong underskirt and kirtle of the borrowed gown.

  She bit off a startled cry as she tried to catch her balance, but there was nothing to grab. She started to fall and closed her eyes in expectation of slamming face first into the floorboards.

  One knee banged into the flooring. She bit her tongue as she extended her hands to break her fall.

  She felt something warm and hard beneath her palm.

  Not floorboards.

  She opened her eyes only to realize that Phillip had caught her in his arms just before she landed on her shoulder.

  He was down on one knee, her upper torso captured in his embrace. The palms of her hands pressed against warm, slightly damp skin. Beneath her left hand, she felt the rock solid muscle bulging in his upper arm. Her cheek pressed against the middle of his chest and beneath that cheek, she felt the beat of his heart. Steady and sure.

  She gasped and tried to quickly scramble out of his grasp, but the way she had fallen was too awkward. Her body thrummed with awareness while her brain screamed at her to move. All she could manage was to look up at him, then wish she hadn't.

  He gazed down at her, his eyes once again searching hers. For what? He dipped his head closer, his lips perilously close to her own.

  And, the devil be cursed, she wanted to kiss him. Wanted him to kiss her. Wanted to feel those soft, warm lips on her own.

  Her common sense struggled against her physical awareness. He was the enemy! He was her captor! He wasn't letting her return home! And yet, in the furthest recesses of her mind, repeating it over and over, she realized that this was the first place, the first time, that she ever felt truly safe.