The Healer

by Allison Butler

  Her face tilted upward and he stared into shimmering, sapphire eyes. They reminded him of the loch surrounding Closeburn Castle on a bright summer’s day. Alluring, yet dangerous to any who dared risk breaking the surface without knowing what lay beneath the treacherous depths.

  Just like Jinny, the Kirkpatricks’ wrinkled, sweet-faced healer who’d promised miracles with her herbs and simples and had delivered heartache instead.

  Will straightened, abruptly releasing his hold on the woman who stood too closely before him, her eyes too wide, too innocent.

  ‘Donald will see to you.’ He broke free of her white-knuckled grasp, spun on his heel and strode to where Donald crouched by the litter.

  ‘Donald, I’ll take charge of Edan. You see to the healer.’

  William hunkered down. ‘How do you fare?’ He laid a hand on his brother’s brow. Cool. Thank God.

  Edan brushed his hand aside.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself over me, Will. I’m fine. But you look as if you lost a sword fight with one of the village lasses.’

  Will scowled at his brother’s teasing smile and snatched the water-flask from Edan’s hand. He took a long swallow and while the water soothed his dry throat, Edan’s attempt at humour eased his brotherly concern.

  ‘Watch yourself, lad,’ he said, offering the vessel back. ‘Remember who has to carry you about when you need privacy.’

  Edan’s smile slipped as comprehension dawned. The lad hated being coddled.

  ‘Hungry?’ William asked, pretending he hadn’t noticed Donald escorting the healer into the trees to his right.

  ‘Nae. But when Lynelle returns, I would appreciate your help in finding somewhere to relieve myself.’

  Hearing the healer’s name slip naturally from Edan’s lips stunned Will. It sounded too familiar, as if his brother knew her well, trusted her.

  ‘The woman is here to tend your wounds, Edan. Do not let her bonny face sway you. Once we reach Closeburn, she will be returned home.’

  From his reclining position, Edan’s grey-eyed gaze fixed on him. William knew he’d sounded harsh, but his warning was necessary.

  For the last year, many of Closeburn’s women had done their best to fill the gaping hole left by the deaths of their mother and sister. William feared Edan was easy prey for any woman fair of face.

  ‘So, you think Lynelle is bonny?’ Edan said.

  ‘I think you must have knocked your head when you fell off your horse,’ William said, turning away from his brother’s perceptive gaze.

  Donald and the healer emerged from the trees. The pair closed the distance with slow, measured steps, Donald halving his natural stride to keep pace with the awkward gait of the woman he escorted.

  Aye, she is bonny, he admitted to himself. But there was something other than her outward beauty that intrigued him, called to him. Her allure was new to him, sharpened his senses. Part of him hungered to explore his fascination for her, to discover exactly what it was about her that made him want to slide his fingers over her skin, press his lips against her flesh.

  Enough!

  The sooner they reached Closeburn, the better. It suddenly became imperative rather than an inner, desperate longing.

  Leaning over his brother, he gently scooped him into his arms. Edan held silent, but William noted the thinning of his lips. Even with his careful handling, he’d caused his brother pain.

  ‘Hold tight, lad.’ Cradling Edan to his chest, William carried him into the trees.

  ***

  Lynelle hobbled along beside Donald as quickly as her stiff, aching legs allowed. The older man had offered his arm in support, but she’d declined the caring gesture. Having spent the morning atop the huge horse in such close proximity with William, she needed to distance herself from human contact for a time.

  After giving her a moment alone, Donald had escorted her to the stream where she’d splashed her face with cool water to restore her muddled senses. But the skin about her middle still tingled with the heat William’s hands had left behind.

  She glanced up and watched him lift his injured brother into his arms. The strained look upon each of their faces told her of the younger one’s physical pain and the elder’s anguish.

  Lynelle looked down as they passed by, her heart thrumming in her chest. It was time. Time for her to do what she’d promised in return for Thomas’ release.

  A wave of giddiness washed over her. She stumbled, but quickly righted her footing.

  ‘A few days in the saddle and you’ll become accustomed to it, lass.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, glad Donald believed her misstep was due to riding for the first time and not from the fear threatening to send her to her knees.

  Keith led the three horses to the water’s edge to drink and came back the short distance with a bowl of water for the mount laden with the supplies and the litter.

  She eyed the sack containing her belongings and the satchel of herbs she’d brought. A fit of panic would not aid her and it certainly wouldn’t help ease Edan’s suffering. With slow, deep breaths, she calmed her racing heart and searched her memory for everything she’d learned about healing from Ada.

  This was her chance to make a difference and be part of the living, instead of sitting on the fringes and watching her life go by.

  Saints above, please help me do it right.

  ‘I need my things if I am to tend Edan,’ she said, approaching the horse-drawn pallet.

  ‘Sit yourself down, lass. I’ll fetch what you need.’

  Gritting her teeth, she gratefully sank to her knees beside the litter, not daring to touch the hard ground with her tender buttocks.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as Donald delivered her sack to her. Untying the leather cord securing the top, she rummaged for the satchel of herbs and ran familiar fingers over the worn hide.

  Guide me Ada, she silently prayed.

  Lynelle opened the satchel and as she studied the dried stems, leaves and flowers, it was as if Ada sat nearby, reminding her of their uses.

  Yarrow leaves pressed to a wound will slow the bleeding. Betony juice mixed with honey and gargled, eases an aching tooth. Wormwood aids unsettled stomachs. Sorrel leaves make a poultice for wounds and boils. Feverfew, with its strong, aromatic smell, could reduce inflammation and relieve an ache of the head. It also acted as a mild calmative.

  Lost in her thoughts, Lynelle jumped as Edan was carefully deposited on the pallet next to her. His damp hair was brushed back from his pale face and she saw small furrows bracketing his mouth. Eyes closed, brow creased, he was clearly in pain.

  She glanced up at the man towering over her. Dark hair, wet and mussed as if he’d dragged impatient fingers through it, hung about his face. Beads of water dotted his forehead and ran in rivulets along his unshaven jaw to pool and drop from his chin. His eyes, like a storm-tossed sky, rested on his brother, and then his gaze met hers.

  ‘Help him.’

  Lynelle looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his thunderous stare. ‘I need water,’ she said. ‘And a vessel to prepare a potion.’

  With a few steps he stood beside the packhorse and retrieved the remaining supplies from its back. Watching him, noting his confident stride and powerful size, a sense of conviction rushed through her.

  She might lack confidence in many areas, but in this instance she had one thing he did not – the knowledge and the ability to heal his brother.

  He approached and handed her one of the two bundles he carried. ‘A gift from Iona.’

  Stunned, she simply sat and stared at the cloth sack in her lap. She’d never received a gift in her life. She hardly knew what to do with it.

  Guilt welled inside her and she bit into her lip at such an ungrateful thought. Ada had gifted her with a roof over her head and made sure she hadn’t starved. She’d also seen to it she was garbed, pilfering discarded garments that Lynelle had mended and altered for herself.

  ‘Open it. It contains an assortment of herbs from Lac
hlan’s healer.’

  The bundle seemed too heavy to hold only herbs. Unwinding the ties at the top, she loosened it and pulled numerous pouches from within. She tucked them back in, knowing her own collection would suffice for now, but promised to explore the contents thoroughly later.

  Her fingers brushed over something cold and hard and with a firm grip she lifted the unknown item out. A solid, stone bowl sat cupped in her hand, its centre hollowed and smooth. A mortar! Lynelle dipped her hand back inside the sack, rummaging around until she found what she was looking for. She pulled the small club-shaped instrument into the light, awed by the miniature pestle. The mortar and pestle were perfect for grinding and pounding her herbs.

  ‘Will this hold enough water?’

  Lynelle’s gaze leapt from the implements to the man crouching beside her, holding a carved wooden cup in his large hand.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He rose and strode to the stream. In the sack he’d drawn the cup from, she caught sight of something gleaming at the top. Peering closer, she spied a small blade with an ivory handle.

  Her knife.

  The urge to reach for it was strong, but when she looked about to see if anyone watched her, she found Edan’s pain-glazed eyes resting on her.

  ‘Forgive me, Edan,’ she said, shamed by her wandering thoughts when he needed her attention.

  ‘Why? You have naught to be sorry for. My own recklessness caused my injuries. Though I’d never say as much to Will.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  Edan’s brows lowered thoughtfully. ‘If I admitted I was at fault, he’d lecture me ‘til my ears rang and then he’d confine me indoors.’

  ‘He is concerned for you.’

  ‘I know he is trying to protect me, but sometimes he can be overbearing.’

  Lynelle smiled at Edan’s description of William and wondered how it must feel to have someone care enough to seem repressive.

  ‘Besides, all will be well,’ Edan said. ‘I have you to care for me, Lynelle. I trust you.’

  Lynelle’s heart dropped and her smile slipped. Would he trust her if he knew she’d never used her healing skills on anyone save herself? Dear God, she was naught but a fraud.

  A footfall drew her attention to William’s approach. What would he do to her if she failed to heal his young brother? She shuddered.

  She had a choice to make, and quickly. Either use what healing skills she possessed or admit her false claims and do nothing.

  The moment she again peered into Edan’s trusting eyes, she made her decision. A sense of purpose eased the churning in her stomach and lessened the trembling of her hands.

  ‘Are you in terrible pain?’ she asked, setting Iona’s sack of herbs aside and reaching for her own.

  ‘Not so much. My leg pains me most.’

  William hunkered down near her and handed her the wooden cup full of water.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, placing it on a flat section of ground before her. She withdrew the pouch containing the feverfew, dropping several dried leaves into the mortar.

  ‘Do you have any wine?’ she asked as she used the pestle to grind the light yellow-green leaves.

  ‘Donald, bring the skin flask,’ William said.

  When the feverfew resembled a fine powder, she tipped most of the contents out of the cup and brushed the ground herb into the remaining water.

  Glancing to her right, she found William watching all she did.

  ‘The wine, please,’ she said.

  He removed the stopper and handed her the skin. She poured the wine into the cup, a little more than half way and then used the pestle to mix the ingredients.

  Satisfied she’d done everything correctly, she lifted the drinking vessel and offered it to Edan. A tide of warmth ran through her. She was doing something good for another, finally putting her knowledge to use.

  ‘You, first,’ William said.

  She looked at him and his gaze slid from the cup she held to meet hers.

  ‘You will sample it first,’ he said.

  ‘I have no need –’

  ‘Do you fear tasting your own mixture?’

  Her confusion mounted. ‘No, but –’

  ‘Then do it,’ he said.

  Concealing an odd sense of hurt, she flicked a glance at Edan and found him watching the exchange in silence. She brought the wooden cup to her lips, her mind awhirl.

  The herb’s natural strong scent had diminished when combined with the water and wine. Tilting the cup, she sipped and was not displeased by the flavour. She swallowed and turned puzzled eyes to William.

  He studied her face intensely, as if waiting for some kind of reaction. She stared at him with a calmness she didn’t feel. And waited.

  ‘Now, ‘tis my turn,’ he said, reaching for the cup.

  Lynelle gasped as his fingers brushed hers. She released the vessel, surprised when it didn’t fall to the earth. His hand already firmly wrapped about it.

  ‘Ah, Will,’ Edan said. ‘You don’t need to test it.’

  William ignored his brother, looked at Lynelle and took a drink from the cup. His eyes never wavered from hers. Understanding swept through her.

  He didn’t trust her. Didn’t believe in her. The burgeoning hope, so new, shrivelled inside her.

  He passed the potion to Edan and she watched him swallow it down without hesitation.

  ‘Any mixture or salve you make must first be sampled by you and then me before it touches my brother,’ William said.

  Feeling numb and weighted by a great sadness, Lynelle heard but didn’t reply.

  ‘Do you understand?’

  She turned to face William. His steel-edged tone matched the determined look in his cold, grey eyes.

  Her voice was lost to her. She nodded in answer and it was as if the movement displaced her dejection. Anger rushed in to take its place.

  All her energy suddenly centred on Ada’s teachings of herbs. Which one could bring on an ailment of the stomach? Unfortunately, having to taste the potion first, she’d have to suffer the illness too. But it would be worth it, just to see this man laid low for crushing her fledgling spirit.

  Chapter 6

  WILLIAM ignored the desolation clouding the healer’s expressive blue eyes. He’d expected the same insulted reaction Lachlan’s healer, Iona, had displayed. Not sadness. But Edan’s welfare took precedence over everything. If he happened to harm anyone’s sensibilities in the process, so be it.

  A glimmer of defiance suddenly flared in her gaze and relief filled him. Her hostility was easier to dismiss than her despair.

  Rising, he gave the order to resume their journey and secured the sacks on the borrowed horse. Edan nodded in response to his questioning look and settled back into the furs. William mounted Black and looked down at the woman clutching the ill-fitting cloak around her.

  She stood rigid, chin raised, staring off into the distance, her bearing almost regal. But her mouth, usually soft in appearance, looked uneven as she chewed her lower lip. She obviously wished to be anywhere but here. Why had she come alone to rescue Fenwick’s heir?

  ‘Come.’ He held out his hand to her, cutting off the multitude of questions crowding his mind. Her healing skills were all that mattered. ‘Place your right foot on top of mine and give me your right hand.’

  Her tongue peeked out to tease her upper lip as she contemplated his foot and then his outstretched hand. Heat rushed to his loins at the innocent gesture. Or was she practiced in the arts of enticing a man as well as herbal lore?

  ‘Your right foot is the one furthest away from Black.’

  ‘I know the difference between left and right,’ she said.

  ‘Then keep your tongue in your mouth and do as I said.’ His voice sounded gruff.

  Her lips thinned. She stepped forward and flung up her hand, the folds of her cloak parting as she lifted her leg. The moment her foot touched his, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up, twisting her about so she sat across his thighs
.

  He ignored her muffled oath as she landed in his lap. Leaning forward, his arm brushed the soft mounds beneath her cloak as he grasped the reins. He heard her sudden indrawn breath, as heat burned his ears.

  William straightened and glanced at Edan, who lay watching them with a faint smile on his face. He looked at Donald and found a similar expression on the older man’s face. William scowled, giving Donald the signal to move, annoyed the woman made him appear the fool before his brother and clansman.

  They resumed their journey, holding to the same steady pace. William concentrated on Edan and the land they traversed, doing his best to ignore the woman wriggling in his lap. Impossible.

  ‘God’s teeth, woman. Keep still.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m going to fall.’

  ‘You won’t fall,’ he said, tightening his hold.

  She jerked forward, and her weight slid from his left thigh to the saddle between his legs.

  He stifled a groan, silently berating himself for his unwarranted concern. Riding astride had been painful for her and he’d draped her sideways to minimize her discomfort. He frowned. Why was her comfort so important to him? At least she’d stopped squirming.

  Had he frightened her when he’d shifted his arm or had she reacted to his touch?

  She sat stiff and unyielding, the delicate line of her throat exposed as she stared ahead. Her appearance was of a woman calm and confident in her situation, but William had noted the little contradictory signs. Her cloak had fallen open, revealing white fingers clasped tightly together in her lap.

  Were false impressions a façade she used often? Or only when she traded herself to free an English heir and was forced to tend an injured young Scot?

  ‘Why didn’t Fenwick come for his heir?’ William wanted to slice out his tongue the moment the words slipped free. It wasn’t his habit to ask questions. He always weighed a situation, made a decision and then acted upon it.

  ‘Why did you kidnap him in the first place?’ she said.

  ‘Do you always answer a question with a question?’ William silently groaned. Another question. But his curiosity was roused.