The Healer

by Allison Butler

  Sweet God, please keep Thomas safe.

  She wasn’t sure if someone like her was fit to ask for help, but she had to try. Once a life was lost, it could never be restored. Lynelle knew this to be true, for she was guilty of stealing not one life but two.

  She swallowed, knowing full well that prayers were not enough. If only she could rescue her brother herself.

  Her fingers stilled.

  Was it possible for her to rescue Thomas?

  She clutched the cleansing cloth and slowly sat on the wooden pail that served as both bucket and stool. There was nothing to stop her from finding Thomas and bringing him home. She had nothing to lose, but much to gain.

  If she rescued Thomas, her father would have to find favour with her, wouldn’t he? How could he not? He’d finally acknowledge her as his daughter.

  Excitement fluttered in the corner of her heart where she’d buried her greatest desire.

  She would rescue Thomas.

  Her spirits lifted as a sense of rightness flowed through her. She now had direction and a desperately needed purpose.

  Latching on to her tattered hope, Lynelle finished tending her wound. The gash didn’t seem to sting as much as it had before. As she tipped the unused wash into the slop bucket, she focused on what little she knew about her stepbrother’s captors.

  The Elliots were Scottish neighbours close to Fenwick. They lived beyond the north ridge, and were said to be a troublesome lot. Lynelle vowed to find them and set Thomas free.

  Her feelings of helplessness eased as she gathered her scant belongings and waited for darkness to fall. She carefully wrapped small bundles of herbs and placed them within a worn leather pouch. If Thomas were injured, the herbs and Ada’s teachings would prove necessary. She prayed the Scots who held him weren’t the brutes most claimed they were.

  A flicker of annoyance flashed through her at the ill timing of their raid. She’d finally begun to feel she belonged, had felt a part of something as she’d worked the soil. Though her small plot was separate from the rest, she’d turned and prepared the earth just as many of Fenwick’s people had. She’d even had her own sprinkling of seeds to plant, though the bag of seed now rested atop the battlements.

  Sighing, she glanced at the open doorway and saw that the day was almost done. Nervous anticipation coursed through her. It was almost dark. Almost time to go. Fenwick’s people would soon file into the tower house for the evening meal. Lynelle’s absence wouldn’t be noticed, as she’d never dined inside the great hall.

  Would things change once she rescued Thomas?

  Lifting her small knife, she wrapped it inside her spare gown, and coiled a linen cloth about the half loaf from the day before. She stuffed them into a sack with the herb pouch and tied the top with a strip of leather cord. Finally, she closed the window’s warped shutter, wincing as it creaked into place.

  Taking up her cloak, she walked to the door and swept the hooded garment around her shoulders. She secured the ties at her throat, pretending her hands shook not at all. She peered outside and noted how the dusky shades of twilight smothered the alley running along the rear of the tower house.

  She turned and drank in the dim interior of the hut, her home. Inhaling deeply, she snatched up her bundle and slipped out the door.

  Crouching low, ignoring the ache in her hip, Lynelle clung to the rear of the bakehouse and crept on past the kitchens. At the gap between kitchen and tower house, she looked up at the curtain wall. Two guards walked the battlements, their figures little more than dark shapes floating across the dull grey of the evening sky. The flaming torches at either end of the stone edifice shed pitiful light at this hour.

  Lynelle ran across the gap and stopped at the eastern corner of the tower house. Leaning against the cool stone wall, she closed her eyes and paused to catch her breath. The sound of her thudding heart filled her ears. She’d covered little ground, but her fear of discovery had her heart racing as if she’d run for miles.

  Fenwick’s people would not stop her due to concern for her wellbeing, but they might detain her, ending any chance of her rescuing Thomas.

  The pounding in her chest slowed. She pushed away from the stone at her back and peeked around the next corner. With no one in sight, she dashed across to the little used postern gate, and found it ajar.

  So this is how Thomas had made his escape.

  Few knew the gate existed. Its dimensions were smaller than that of the average doorway. With the stonework so cleverly done, it could be seen only by a trained eye or someone who knew it was there – or a child who’d explored every inch of the keep to hold her loneliness at bay.

  A cough sounded from somewhere behind. Lynelle flinched and glanced over her shoulder. Once certain she was alone, she opened the gate and stepped through the opening. She latched the door, clutched her sack tightly to her middle and turned around.

  Full night was but a breath away and she suddenly felt very small and very alone. She held no fear of the dark, but a shiver rushed through her as she felt a thread of doubt at what she was about to do.

  She must save Thomas. There would be no turning back. She was tired of living as an outcast. She wanted more.

  She cast all misgivings from her mind, stretched to her full height and lifted her chin a notch. Cursed she might be, but a coward she was not.

  Chapter 2

  Castle Redheugh

  Scots side of the border

  WILLIAM Kirkpatrick slipped into the dim, deserted corridor, and drew a deep, shuddering breath. Edan’s wounds had been appraised and tended. Thanks to the draft given to the lad by Iona, the Elliot’s aged and crippled healer, William’s young brother now slept.

  He’d dismissed Iona and the burning glare she gave him as she’d shuffled awkwardly from the room. She had been insulted by the terms he’d set for treating Edan. But William didn’t care. Relief surged through him. His brother would live.

  William rolled each aching shoulder, easing the tension caused by the day’s unexpected events, and welcomed the moment of solitude. Closing his eyes, he sank against the hard, stone wall and dragged roughened hands over his face.

  The memory of his brother’s grey eyes dulled by pain and rounded with terror filled the blackness behind his lids. Edan’s pain was due to his injuries. His terror stemmed from the blasted curse.

  William’s eyes snapped open. Bringing his brother with him to visit his friend, Lachlan Elliot, hadn’t been worth the effort. He knew now it would take more than a day or two away from Closeburn Castle to eradicate his brother’s fears. William was not a man led or controlled by foolish superstition. But many of his clan were, including his younger brother.

  Four members of William’s immediate family had died within the last year. William knew their deaths had nothing to do with the ancient curse and everything to do with the deceitful, inept tricksters who called themselves healers. He blamed himself too, for not recognizing the truth sooner.

  Wiser now, he’d ensure Edan didn’t suffer the same fate. He’d protect his only surviving kin with his life.

  Straightening, he stretched and turned to stare at the stout oak door he’d closed a short time ago. He peered over his shoulder and looked through the arrow slit on the opposite wall, surprised to see it was completely dark outside. He would find Lachlan and let him know he and Edan would be leaving tomorrow. But first, he’d take one last look at his brother.

  Cracking the door open, he blinked as heat bathed his face and the smell of herbs consumed his senses. His gaze immediately sought the bed across the small chamber and the still figure lying upon it.

  The crackling flames in the hearth painted Edan’s brown hair and pale face with splashes of red. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. The bedclothes pulled up to his chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm.

  The tightness in William’s chest eased. Withdrawing from the room, he latched the door.

  William strode toward the glow at the far end of the corridor,
passing two closed doors on his left. Halting, he peered at the massive iron-studded door directly opposite the stairwell, wondering if Lachlan had retired for the night.

  He had no clue as to what time it was. The bevy of snores floating up from the great hall at the bottom of the stairs proved it was later than he’d first thought. He could retire himself, but he wanted to be certain that Lachlan’s brother had escaped the boys’ foolish adventure unscathed.

  As William descended the stairs, the faint smell of roasted meat lingered in the air. His belly rumbled, reminding him that he’d missed the evening meal.

  ‘Ah, William,’ a voice rose above the din of slumbering noises. ‘Come sit and tell me how your brother fares.’

  William searched the hall and found the Elliot laird lounging in his chair, booted feet crossed and propped on the table’s top. Surprisingly, he was alone.

  ‘‘Tis late. Why is it nae fair lass has lured you to your bed?’ William teased, surprising both his target and himself. Drawing out the chair closest to where his handsome, fair-haired friend sprawled, he watched as a grin stole over Lachlan’s features.

  ‘I fear I’ve worn them all out.’

  But William noted the smile didn’t reach Lachlan’s blue eyes, and he remembered no village woman vying for his attention the previous night either.

  ‘Enough of me,’ Lachlan said. ‘How is young Edan?’

  William sat and accepted the goblet of ale his friend slid toward him. He sipped, swirling the ale in his mouth to eradicate the bitter taste of the sleeping potion he’d sampled before it passed Edan’s lips. He wondered if Iona had rinsed her mouth the moment he’d sent her from the chamber.

  ‘Two, perhaps three ribs are broken,’ he began.

  He drank deeply before naming the rest of the injuries his brother sustained. Edan had fallen from his horse. He’d landed awkwardly on a pile of deadwood within the small forest they’d rescued him from.

  ‘A small gash marks his face. His left arm is broken below the elbow and his body will soon rival the hue of a thundercloud.’ William drained his goblet and made no protest when Lachlan refilled it. ‘But it’s the wound to his left leg that concerns me most.’ He tried to erase the image of the rotted wood jutting out of Edan’s bloodied thigh. ‘What of Caelan?’

  ‘Caelan is the luckier of the two.’ Lachlan shifted and recrossed his booted feet. ‘He told me the tale of their adventure, and now I suspect his banishment from the stables until summer and cleaning every stone of the curtain wall to the south will hurt more than the few scrapes he sustained.’

  ‘He alone is not to blame for their foolishness.’

  ‘You and your brother are my guests, Will. Your safety is my responsibility while you’re here. Caelan knows the Borders are a dangerous place. Crossing into England is forbidden and the lad knows it. Being barred from the horses and a spot of cleaning is little to suffer for his crime.’

  ‘Have you not led your men across the border a time or two?’ Will asked with mock innocence.

  ‘Aye. It is my duty as a Border laird to wreak havoc on the English scum. Bring some excitement into their dull, witless lives.’ A frown replaced Lachlan’s smile. ‘But never were we ill prepared or outnumbered, as our brothers were today.’

  William nodded and sipped his ale. Both lads bore injuries, but they had escaped with their lives. For that he was grateful. The lads, both fourteen, had not been seen since dawn when they’d fetched horses from the stable and ridden south toward the border. Lachlan had immediately rounded up ten of his men, he and William making their party twelve. They had ridden over the ridge to search for their brothers.

  Caelan and Edan hadn’t gone far into English territory. They’d even managed to avoid any confrontation with the English. But a startled rabbit had spooked their horses and unseated both young riders.

  ‘How did you know where to find them?’ William asked.

  ‘Caelan believes the west wood is haunted. Tales of ghosties and goblins have kept him away until today. I heard Caelan telling Edan the very same stories last eve and suspect they found the courage to explore the wood together.’

  William nodded in understanding. ‘What of the lad you brought back? Who is he?’

  ‘He claims to be Lord Fenwick’s whelp.’

  ‘Was it necessary to bring him along?’

  A mischievous grin dawned on Lachlan’s face, this one reaching his eyes. ‘Nae, but it was too good an opportunity to pass. It has been months since we harassed our English neighbours and the lad was there for the taking.’

  ‘What will you do with him?’ William saw his younger brother as a lad, when at fourteen he was more a man. But the boy Lachlan had taken hostage was just that, a boy.

  ‘Ah, the lad.’ Lachlan took a swill of his ale and said, ‘Torture comes to mind.’

  William stared at Lachlan, trying to see beneath his friend’s set features. ‘You jest?’

  Lachlan burst out laughing. ‘Aye, Will,’ he said between bouts of laughter. ‘We will keep the lad for the night and release him, unharmed, come the morn.’

  William slammed his goblet on the table and stood.

  ‘Come now, Will. You’ve grown too severe over the years, man. Where’s your sense of mirth?’

  ‘I leave early for home. ‘Tis time I sought my bed.’

  ‘Is Edan well enough to make the journey?’ Lachlan asked as he too got to his feet.

  William ran a worried hand through his hair. His concern for Edan’s health weighed heavily on his mind. He’d been gone from Closeburn for only two days, but the sudden need to return home swamped him.

  ‘It is less than two days’ ride from here. Your healer believes Edan will survive if the pace is slow and his wounds are constantly tended.’

  Lachlan nodded. ‘Iona knows what she’s about. ‘Tis a pity her aging, twisted bones make her unfit to accompany you home.’

  ‘I believe she’d rather keep her distance from me.’

  William glanced at his friend and found the man grinning widely.

  ‘Have you offended the woman who has pieced me back together more times than I care to think?’

  ‘Aye. Iona didn’t like having to test each salve on her own skin and then mine before applying it to Edan’s broken flesh. But I think it was tasting the sleeping potion that sealed her hatred of me.’

  Lachlan laughed and shook his head. ‘Take care while you’re here then, Will. Iona has a long memory and will probably watch you bleed to death before raising a disfigured hand to aid you.’

  William nodded and turned for the stairs. His visit with Lachlan hadn’t been long, but he needed to look in on Edan again.

  ‘I could always ransom the English lad,’ Lachlan called out.

  William ignored him, knowing his friend was goading him. Skirting the sleeping horde, he picked a path where no unsuspecting fingers would be crushed beneath his boots. Thoughts of treating his brother’s injuries on the journey home filled his mind.

  He’d almost reached the first step when Lachlan’s next words stopped him in his tracks. ‘You need a woman, Will.’

  William turned and stared at his friend. ‘Nae, I need a healer. One I can trust. I bid you good night.’ Spinning about, he climbed the stairs two at a time.

  William strode to the guest chamber he shared with his brother and quietly slipped inside. The pungent aroma of herbs filled the air. He searched Edan’s face, relieved to see the lad still slept deeply.

  He eyed his brother’s pallet, now his bed for the night, but William knew he wouldn’t sleep. The room suddenly seemed overcrowded, stifling.

  He quietly left the chamber, leaving the door ajar. The cool air in the hallway brushed his heated skin and he drew several deep breaths to clear his senses. He crossed the corridor and peered at the night sky through the slit in the stone.

  Lachlan’s comment about needing a woman filled his thoughts, though this time a flash of remembrance came with it. The picture of a lone woman standing
high on the English battlements blinded him to the twinkling stars outside. Her red-gold hair seemed to catch fire beneath the sun’s warm rays. Her face had been hidden from view by the slender hand shading her eyes.

  She’d been the perfect target for a bowman’s arrow. Unexpected anger had bubbled inside him. He’d glared at her, willing her to move back and find shelter. The pack of mounted men he rode with had changed direction, veering away from the fortress. He and Lachlan continued riding straight for the west wood, while the others altered their course again. From then he had been consumed by Edan’s welfare.

  A commotion outside drew him back to the present. He tried to see what was happening in the darkness below, but found it impossible to view much at all. Heavy footfalls ran through the hall downstairs, then swiftly echoed up the stairway.

  A fist pounded on the laird’s door. William glanced in on his brother and closed the door on the gentle snores coming from the bed. His curiosity piqued, he made his way along the corridor to the top of the stairs and halted in the shadows, watching and waiting for Lachlan to answer the knock.

  The door suddenly flew inward. ‘What is it? Lachlan asked.

  The guard mumbled something too softly for William to hear. But Lachlan’s response was no doubt heard in the next glen.

  ‘God curse the bloody English! Fetch me some ale while I dress,’ he shouted before slamming the door. The day’s unfortunate events had troubled Lachlan more than he’d admitted or allowed others to see.

  William followed the guard down into the hall and slipped into the corner near the laird’s table. Propping a shoulder against the wall, he waited for his friend to appear.

  A sleepy-eyed servant dashed off to fetch the requested ale while others scurried about lighting torches. The rest of the castle-folk scrambled to line the hall’s perimeter, blinking wearily as they dragged their pallets with them.

  Lachlan had never been at his best when awoken from sleep. Apparently he hadn’t changed and his people knew him well. It was the only time the man lacked a grin on his face. Witnessing his friend’s bout of unusual annoyance made William smile. It also gave him something aside from his own worries to think about.