The Healer

by Allison Butler

  The servant dashed out of the kitchens and deposited a jug of ale and a goblet on the laird’s table. Lachlan stormed down the steps, dressed but looking dishevelled.

  William’s smile widened.

  Lachlan poured a measure of ale into his cup and took a long swallow before wiping the back of one hand across his mouth.

  Deeming it safe to speak, William said, ‘So they’ve come for the lad?’

  Lachlan’s head snapped to his left, searching the shadows. William moved a fraction, allowing his friend to see where he was before settling back against the wall.

  ‘Aye, the inconsiderate curs,’ Lachlan said. ‘They must want him badly for they couldn’t even wait till the bloody morn.’

  ‘How did they know to come here to find him?’

  ‘We are one of their closest neighbours across the border and it’s usually we Elliots who cause the Fenwicks the most grief,’ Lachlan said proudly before tilting the cup to his lips once more.

  ‘‘Tis not they, laird, but a single woman,’ announced the guard who’d woken his laird.

  ‘What?’ Lachlan demanded.

  ‘Your reputation is fierce indeed if the English send a lone woman to rescue the heir,’ William said.

  Lachlan glared at him, obviously not sharing his sense of humour.

  Turning back to the guard he asked, ‘Where is this woman?’

  ‘She awaits you in the bailey, laird,’ his clansman said.

  Lachlan slammed his cup down and stalked the length of the table. Reaching the far end, he said, ‘Bring the wench to me.’

  The guard ran from the hall to do his laird’s bidding.

  William’s wide smile became a grin as he watched Lachlan’s fumbling attempts to straighten his attire. ‘Are you planning to interrogate the woman or bed her?’

  Lachlan spared a glance William’s way before muttering, ‘I thought you needed your bed.’

  William chuckled. ‘And miss the mighty Elliot vanquish his enemy? I think not.’

  Lachlan’s chest swelled as he sucked in a breath. ‘You may stay and learn, but only if you hold your tongue.’

  William’s quiet laughter trailed off as the double doors to the great hall opened. A gust of night air bent the flames in the wall sconces sideways, freshening the crowded chamber. A small, cloaked and hooded figure entered, surrounded by half a dozen Elliots.

  William remained at ease, knowing the flickering torches did not penetrate the space he occupied. He could watch the drama unfold without detection.

  With hesitant steps the English lad’s saviour moved into the hall. Not a wisp of hair or flesh showed of the darkly clad form. William’s curiosity lifted a notch. What kind of woman dared to enter an enemy’s domain alone to rescue a boy?

  She is either a fool, or foolishly brave.

  The woman stopped an arm’s length from the laird’s table and William absently measured her height compared to his. The top of her head would barely reach his shoulder.

  ‘Tell me your name and why you have come at such an ungodly hour,’ Lachlan said in his best laird’s voice.

  William saw the cloaked figure start. Small, pale hands emerged from the confining cloak and pushed back the hood to reveal the woman.

  ‘I am Lynelle,’ she said in a tremulous voice. ‘I have come for Thomas, Lord Fenwick’s heir.’

  The glowing light from the torches fell on the woman’s hair, turning it red-gold. Recognition hit William like a blow to his gut. Anger swelled inside him.

  He surged forward, away from the wall. For the first time in his twenty-six years, William Kirkpatrick was furious without actually knowing why.

  Chapter 3

  ‘LITTLE fool.’

  Lynelle flinched and looked to where the harsh whisper exploded. She gasped as blazing eyes fixed on her.

  Dear God, it was him.

  She would know the dark-haired man’s burning gaze anywhere. It stole her breath and heated her body from inside out. A shiver ripped through her. Beneath her cloak she pressed clenched hands to her middle.

  She’d been called many heinous things, but never in her life had she been named a fool. He did not know her, yet he branded her. How dare he!

  The melting feeling disappeared. Her initial fear at confronting Thomas’ kidnappers ebbed. Driving her fists deeper into her stomach, she drew strength from her building anger. She glared back at him.

  ‘How do you know we have Fenwick’s heir?’ The fair-haired man behind the long trestle asked.

  Lynelle dragged her eyes away from the source of her sudden ire and focused on the man who spoke. He was looking at her, but unlike the man standing half in the shadows, he radiated not an ounce of judgment, only curiosity.

  Her fingers uncurled a fraction.

  ‘Is this the home of the Elliots?’ She was pleased her voice rang steady and clear.

  ‘Aye. I am Lachlan Elliot, laird of Redheugh Castle.’

  Relief flowed through her. She’d found her stepbrother’s prison. A warm, jittery feeling sparked in her chest and trickled into her belly. She knew pride to be a sin, but she had so many other faults that a few moments of self-indulgence would make little difference to her doomed soul.

  ‘I have come to the right place, then,’ she said. ‘Fenwick’s guards recognized your people and named the Elliots as Thomas’ kidnappers.’

  Inquiring blue eyes studied her. ‘What gift have you brought in payment for the lad’s release?’

  Her momentary pleasure curdled like goat’s milk left to lie in the sun as she noted his severe expression. He was serious.

  ‘I...I have naught to give you in return for freeing Thomas,’ she said in a small voice.

  The crowded chamber remained still and quiet as every eye rested upon her. Their curiosity surrounded her like a living thing. Of all the appraising eyes, she was acutely aware of the pair continuing to blaze at her from the side of the room.

  Why his opinion of her mattered so much she had no clue. Perhaps his naming her a fool drove her to prove she wasn’t.

  Her palms grew moist and her body again heated beneath her dusty cloak. She’d worn the garment as a barrier. Yet now the flimsy shield seemed to imprison her, stifling her.

  She’d come ill prepared, not realizing Thomas’ kidnappers required a gift to set him free. Inexperienced she might be, but she was definitely not a fool. As she did at Fenwick, she used the dark stranger’s contempt to fuel her flagging courage.

  On the opposite side of the long table, Lachlan Elliot paced back and forth. Head down, deep in thought, his booted steps echoed off the bare, stone walls.

  Despair surged. Without a gift, she had nothing to offer, nothing to give, save herself.

  She straightened and squared her shoulders as an inconceivable idea took hold. If she traded herself for Thomas for a short time, then surely she’d be welcomed home to Fenwick with open arms.

  Having come this far, she couldn’t leave, wouldn’t leave, without doing all she could. Her father would have to acknowledge such a sacrifice on her part, leaving him no choice other than to acknowledge her.

  Lynelle searched her mind for the right words to make her offer as tempting as possible. She needed to stretch the truth a little to snare Lachlan Elliot’s interest. She drew a deep breath, licked her dry lips and tilted her chin.

  ‘I have no coin or gift, but if you release Thomas, I am willing to offer my services in return.’

  Resounding gasps erupted. The Elliot laird stood still as a rock, his pacing abandoned. Unblinking, he stared at her.

  She didn’t really know why her offer garnered such a reaction, but she took advantage of the resulting silence.

  Swallowing the lump of nervousness in her throat, she moved a step closer to the table.

  ‘My skills are well known and many seek – ‘

  ‘Enough!’

  Lynelle jumped as the bellowed command ripped through the hall from her right.

  Wide-eyed, she watched as the savage st
rode toward the Elliot laird and stopped beside him. Darkest-brown, almost black, his hair skimmed his impressive shoulders. The creased material of his shirt drew taut across his chest as he placed powerful hands upon his lean hips and turned to Lachlan.

  Over her pounding heartbeat, she could just make out their low words.

  ‘God’s teeth, Lachlan. I will not stand by and watch while the wretched lass offers to whore for you.’

  ‘I did not suggest such a choice. I only asked what gift she had brought to trade.’

  Fire filled her cheeks as the meaning of their heated exchange sank in. Stunned, she stared at the dark-haired man. He’d called her a fool and now a whore. A wave of shame and fury crashed over her.

  ‘No!’ she shouted in outrage.

  Both men whipped around to look at her, their discussion forgotten. Her legs shook and she reached for the table to steady herself.

  ‘You...you mistake me,’ she said. ‘I am no man’s...you mistake me.’

  As they continued to watch her, Lynelle’s heart dropped into the pit of her belly.

  She would do anything to gain her father’s approval, but did anything include being Lachlan Elliot’s whore?

  Lachlan Elliot was a tall, handsome man. She tried to conjure images of him holding her, his mouth upon hers, but she failed.

  As her gaze travelled to assess his silent companion, her sudden breathlessness shocked her. Lachlan may leave her unmoved, but the same could not be said for the man beside him.

  His eyes were the colour of the sky on a cool, winter’s day. An omen to all that snow was on its way. His square jaw avowed stubborn determination, his shapely lips...

  Heat flooded her being as his sharp grey gaze skimmed her form. She felt skittish, like a newborn foal. Images of his mouth devouring the pounding point in her neck filled her strangely spinning head. Her pulse quickened.

  ‘Lynelle, is it?’ the Elliot laird asked quietly.

  She tore her gaze from the fascinating, terrifying mouth and slowly nodded. The softness in Lachlan’s eyes eased her fears.

  ‘Tell me, Lynelle.’ His gaze swept her length. ‘If you weren’t offering your body for the lad’s release, what skills and services were you volunteering?’

  This was her chance to free Thomas, her chance to change her life. She drew a deep breath. ‘Once I know that Thomas is unscathed and set free, I promise to willingly, for an allotted time, use my skills to benefit your people.’

  Lachlan nodded. ‘Nae harm has befallen the lad, Lynelle. Despite the tales you may have heard, we do not torture, starve or eat small children.’

  She wasn’t certain if she felt better or worse at such a reminder. But she heard the conviction in his voice and decided he spoke the truth. The frowning man beside him muttered something but Lynelle ignored him.

  ‘You still haven’t named the skill you have willingly offered to benefit my clan,’ Lachlan said.

  ‘Oh.’ Looking him squarely in the eye, she let the small, necessary lie slip off her tongue. ‘I am a healer.’

  A groan escaped the laird’s companion, but Lynelle forced herself to concentrate on Lachlan’s features. A slow-spreading, mischievous smile dawned on his pleasant face.

  ‘Ah, Will.’ The laird slapped the broad back of the man beside him. ‘It appears all your wishes have been granted.’

  ‘Aye, Lachlan. It seems good fortune has finally found me.’ Sarcasm dripped from his words.

  A sinking feeling started low in her stomach.

  ‘What say you to a month, Lynelle?’ Lachlan asked, snaring her attention.

  Four weeks wasn’t such a great space of time, but if she had to spend any length of it with the disapproving man named Will, it would seem never-ending.

  ‘A sennight,’ she countered.

  ‘Three,’ Lachlan said jovially, enjoying their bargaining.

  ‘Two,’ she said quickly, caught up in the play.

  ‘Done,’ Lachlan said, ending her chances to lessen her stay.

  The single word echoed about the great hall. Lynelle’s heart raced with excitement as she realized her accomplishment.

  Despite all odds, she’d gained her stepbrother’s release. And she’d also managed to halve the initial length of her stay.

  Admittedly, there would be a delay in receiving her father’s praise for rescuing Thomas, but she’d already waited a lifetime. Two weeks would flit by, if she kept herself busy tending the people of Redheugh Castle and avoided the brooding man called Will. She prayed no one suffered any serious illness during that time.

  ***

  William stared at the woman standing so straight before him, her bargaining with his friend now concluded.

  Was Lachlan right? Did he really need a woman? By the unwanted stirring of his body, he must.

  Why this particular woman awakened his repressed desires was beyond him. She certainly wasn’t without flaws.

  Her red-gold hair was untidy and dull without the sun’s light. Her round, sapphire eyes were too large in her delicate face. The gash on her cheek would likely leave a hideous scar. The thought of someone giving her such a wound burned low and hot in his gut. He pushed his unwanted, protective thoughts away but couldn’t help noticing that the injury would detract from her otherwise unblemished complexion.

  His gaze lowered as he studied her body. The cloak she wore was ill fitting and smeared with dirt. It hung in folds off her too slender form, hiding any shapely curves she might possess.

  He suddenly wondered if she would have given herself to Lachlan if it were the only means to free the boy. Was she so self-sacrificing or was she the fool he’d named her? Would Lachlan have accepted her offering even after admitting he’d release the lad the next day? An unfamiliar knot tightened in his gut.

  What did he care? Why had he interfered to begin with?

  God’s teeth, she is English.

  ‘The lad will be returned to Fenwick come morn,’ Lachlan announced.

  William’s hands clenched as a tremulous smile graced her generous lips, lighting her face. She looked...beautiful. Heat pulsed through his veins.

  ‘Lynelle,’ Lachlan said, ‘your allotted time will begin at dawn and end at dawn two weeks hence. Are we agreed?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation.

  William unfurled his fingers.

  ‘Good,’ Lachlan said. ‘Now for the introductions. Lynelle, this is my good friend, William Kirkpatrick.’

  Thick-lashed, enormous eyes briefly met his. William acknowledged her with a slow nod. She lowered her gaze to somewhere in the vicinity of his chest and he watched as one of her small hands skimmed her injured cheek.

  The smooth skin beneath her chin rippled as she swallowed.

  He clenched his hands again, fighting the urge to crawl over the table and bury his face in her neck. The impulse to know her scent was strong. He inhaled an uneven breath and felt his nostrils flare.

  Someone coughed. With a silent curse, William forced the unwanted images from his mind and relaxed his stiff fingers.

  Christ’s blood. She is a healer.

  He must be more tired than he thought for her presence to have such an effect on him. How could he have forgotten life’s past lessons? A few hours of sleep would likely restore his judgment.

  ‘William is returning to his castle at Closeburn tomorrow,’ Lachlan said.

  Was that relief in her eyes as she looked at him?

  ‘I wish you well on your journey home,’ she said, surprising him with her graciousness.

  ‘Thank you for your kind words, though I believe they are given in haste,’ William said.

  Her lips barely moved as she breathed, ‘Why?’

  ‘I depart for Closeburn tomorrow,’ he said, and he noticed a crease appear on her brow. ‘And you, healer, will be leaving with me.’

  Chapter 4

  KNOTS of worry coiled in Lynelle’s belly as she followed her burly escort down through the great hall and outside. She had paced a rut in the
wooden floor of her assigned chamber for the rest of the night, and now she welcomed the faint breeze brushing her cheeks, cooling her skin.

  She clutched the edges of her cloak together, her fingers aching from constantly wringing her hands. Thomas’ release was all that mattered. Her fears for herself were of little importance.

  Early-morning sunlight wrestled with the last of the night’s shadows that bathed the outbuildings and the bustling occupants of the bailey in grey. The clanging of steel upon steel echoed from one of the huts to her left, and a young girl with fiery-red hair scattered feed for the chickens squawking about her feet.

  Head down, Lynelle quickened her steps to keep up with the guard and almost collided with him when he suddenly stopped.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said, and entered the long structure before them.

  Lynelle peered into the opening but could see less than a few feet inside the dim interior. The pungent odour of horse dung wafted out from the stable.

  Surprised that she’d been left unattended, she turned and scanned the bailey. The massive gates she’d been ushered through hours earlier stood close by. Her heart thumped faster. Was escape possible? Could she don her hood and walk away from Redheugh Castle?

  A vision of Thomas’ stricken face formed in her mind and she cast the idea of leaving from her head. She couldn’t forsake him now.

  Staring across the way, she studied the people entering and exiting the large doors leading into the keep. They all appeared content as they headed off to begin their daily tasks.

  It was the same here as it was at Fenwick. She stood alone, watching as the men, women and even the children actively participated in life. The only difference here was that curious eyes rested on her as people went about their chores. At Fenwick, everyone avoided looking at her. Lynelle swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.

  Would her circumstances at Fenwick change once it became known she’d freed Thomas? It all depended on one man’s approval. Lord Fenwick.

  A woman singing a merry tune cut into her pensive thoughts. Now wasn’t the time for wishful thinking. She pushed her hopes to the back of her mind and tucked her dreams safely away in her heart.