The Healer

by Allison Butler

  ‘Davy, oh my poor, wee, Davy.’

  The little boy coughed and started crying.

  ‘Where is she?’ William gasped, pushing wet strands of hair from his face. He spun around and stared at the rippling water. Nothing else moved.

  ‘The woman never came up,’ someone shouted.

  William gulped a lungful of air and dived deep, stretching his arms before him, raking the gloomy water, clawing with his hands. Something soft tickled his fingers and he grasped at it, kicking forward until his other hand clutched something solid. He pressed the form to his chest and with an almighty thrust of his legs, surged to the surface.

  He gasped for air, swam to the bank and hefted his burden into Donald’s waiting arms. William climbed onto shore and bent double with his hands braced on his knees, filled his chest with heaving breaths. He looked to where his kinsman had set the healer down and was thumping his fist on her back.

  Dread sparked and swelled inside William as Donald’s efforts went on without result. On unsteady legs he approached them, ready to shake life into the troublesome woman. She would not die on his lands. He would not allow it.

  A choking sound filled the waiting silence. Water spewed from her mouth and a violent fit of coughing shook her body.

  Donald supported her weight and when she quieted, William sank to one knee. Leaning forward, he brushed strands of sodden hair from her face. He traced the line of her jaw with his hand, cupped her chin and gently tilted her head up.

  Her skin looked ashen, cold to his touch. Her lips were almost as blue as the watery eyes she lifted to his. William stared into them, astounded by the throbbing relief pulsing in his veins. A shiver rippled through her, the tiny tremor dancing up his fingers.

  ‘Come.’ His voice sounded rough. He cleared his throat. ‘We need to get you dry.’ William stood and scooped her into his arms.

  ‘I’ll carry her, Will,’ Donald said as he fell into step beside him.

  ‘Nae sense you getting wet when I’m already soaked through,’ William said, loathe to give over the dripping woman nestled against him. ‘How’s wee Davy doing?’

  ‘Davy’s fine. He’s had a fright and I don’t think he’ll be back testing the water any time soon,’ Donald assured him.

  ‘Good. Kindly inform Mary of what has transpired and ask her to fetch me a dry set of clothes.’

  The inquisitive mob parted as he strode into the walled courtyard and entered the castle. He peered down at the woman in his arms, noting that her thick moist lashes were lowered and clumped together. The memory of her lifeless form pressed to his body flashed in his mind. ‘You little fool.’

  Her gaze snapped up and collided with his as he climbed to the second landing.

  ‘Put me down,’ she said weakly.

  William ignored her and kept on climbing.

  ‘Put...’ She hit him in the chest. ‘Me...’ Another blow. ‘Down.’ And another.

  He looked into her eyes, surprised by her strength, her daring. Anger blurred by pooling tears glared up at him, while his own anger grew, replacing his relief. She twisted in his grasp. He tightened his hold. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘You’re the fool if I need to explain,’ she said, pushing against him once more.

  He adjusted his hold on her and opened the door to her chamber. ‘Can you swim?’ he ground out, slamming the door closed with his heel.

  ‘Of course not.’ She continued struggling in his arms. ‘Let me go.’

  He dumped her on her feet and her gasp echoed about the room. She staggered and swayed and he lunged forward, capturing her waist and drawing her against him.

  Her breath rasped hot and fast. His wet garments were no barrier as each puff of warm air caressed his skin. Her fingers clawed his shirt and his stomach tensed beneath her touch. Waiting to feel more. Wanting to feel more. A hint of lavender teased his nose.

  Her palms flattened, searing his flesh, pushing him away. Moving his grip to her upper arms, William allowed her a small distance, but refused to release her. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. ‘Why did you steal away?’ He spoke to the crown of her head.

  ‘Keita’s mother is ill.’

  Her voice sounded bland, uncaring. ‘Why did you not ask to tend Elspeth?’

  ‘I...I didn’t think you would allow it.’

  ‘You believe me such an ogre to deny her aid?’

  Silence.

  Clenching his teeth, he battled to control his welling ire. His fingers flexed on her arms. ‘Do you?’

  ‘I -’

  ‘Look at me,’ he demanded, annoyed that she stood docile when moments ago she’d fought him. ‘Are you a coward as well as a fool?’

  Her head snapped back, wrath-filled eyes stabbing him with fury. ‘Do not call me that.’

  ‘Which? Coward or fool?’

  ‘Neither. You do not know me, yet from the first you named me something I am not.’

  ‘I know more about you than you think.’

  Her eyes flared wide for a moment and then she bowed her head again. God above. What secrets did she hide? What did she fear he knew?

  ‘I know you are unwed and have suffered the loss of a loved one.’ A tremor fluttered through her. ‘I know you are ungainly at times, though I struggle to believe it.’ He watched as she curled her unbound hand into a fist. ‘You heal quickly, too, it seems.’ His fingers flexed. ‘You cannot swim yet you risk your life to save a bairn.’ She stiffened beneath his hold. ‘And I have just discovered that while you appear meek, you hide a temper behind your mildness.’ The tautness under his fingers relaxed. Was she mastering her temper even now? ‘You have been called pretty but once.’ Her arms turned rigid. ‘An offense to my mind,’ he finished softly.

  She strained to pull free.

  Placing his hands on each side of her head, he tipped her face up and stared into beautiful blue eyes, quickly shuttered with the lowering of her thick red-gold lashes. His gaze drifted to the fullness of her pale pink mouth.

  Why is it I long to taste your lips, feel them soften beneath mine?

  ‘Why is it I seem to be wet more than dry since meeting you?’ he asked instead.

  Tears seeped from the outer corners of her closed lids. His gut clenched. He wanted to lick the tear-trail from her skin, erase them from sight. He gently wiped each trickle with the pad of his thumbs.

  A knock sounded. Mary’s worried voice rang through the wood. ‘William? Are you all right, lad?’

  Nae.

  He stepped back, his hands sliding to her shoulders. The pounding on the door grew frantic and her eyes fluttered open. The longing, shining in the blue depths, mirrored his. He wanted to ignore Mary’s pounding plea and satisfy his own.

  Fighting the need to slake his hunger, he made certain she could stand without collapsing and forced his hands to release her. He strode to the door and wrenched it open. ‘I’m fine, Mary.’ He fought to keep the growl from his tone. ‘The healer needs your assistance.’

  ‘Oh the poor lass.’ Mary pushed past him and into the room, clucking about how cold the brave soul must be.

  William stepped to the grate and knelt to light the fire. Striking flint to tinder, thoughts of how to manage his hammering need crammed inside his head. Eight days remained of her stay at Closeburn. Plenty of time to find out everything he wished to know about her and perhaps ease the unwanted desire simmering in his blood.

  The kindling sparked and greedy flames soon spread and licked high in the hearth. He warmed his hands over their heat for a moment, then stood and strode to the door.

  A last look at the sodden, bedraggled form showed her standing stiff with her chin angled stubbornly.

  Damn her beauty and her courage. Devil take her for making him fear for her life. Curse her healing skills and her tears. She was much too dangerous for his peace of mind and far too alluring to ignore.

  Chapter 14

  THE door closed and Lynelle sagged with weary relief. Angels of mercy, she thought he’d never leave.
Now he’d gone, she longed to call him back. Craved his touch, so gentle, feather-like, barely there. Yet her arms could still feel the heat of his hands. The tender flesh beneath her eyes sang in memory of his whisper-soft caress.

  Mary stripped the wet clothes from her and wrapped her in a rough drying cloth, so harsh against her sensitized skin. With the older woman’s gentle prodding, she approached the stool set before the hearth and perched upon it. Legs weak, every inch of her skin prickled with goose flesh, she didn’t resist Mary’s attentions. She didn’t even have the strength to shudder from the cold.

  The echo of her heartbeat pounding sluggishly in her ears failed to drown out the deep timbre of William’s voice, or his words. His naming her a fool, again, had unleashed her anger, given her strength. His rumbling words of admiration had pierced the well of sadness hidden in the recesses of her soul. She’d fought, begged and struggled, but she’d been powerless to stop the trickle of tears seeping free – a silent watery tribute to how much his praise touched her.

  Heat stretched out from the fire to coat her face and the front of her body with soothing warmth. She stared into the hungry flames, wondering at the strangeness of the day. Had she really run and leapt into the loch to rescue the little boy? It seemed too unimaginable to be real.

  Had William then plunged in and pulled the child from the water, and then returned to save her? It seemed too impossible, but it was true.

  Dear God, she owed him her life. A shiver skittered over her skin. How would she ever repay him? What payment would he expect?

  In a daze, she lifted her arms while Mary slipped a nightgown over her head. With effort she stood and the older woman slid the drying cloth free, the well-worn fabric fluttering down her length, tickling the tops of her feet.

  Guided back onto the stool and encouraged to turn her back to the flames, Lynelle sighed as Mary passed a comb through her hair, humming softly while she worked. Her heavy lids dipped closed. Strands crackled and wisped about her cheeks like caresses, reminding her of the stroke of William’s fingers. A wondrous touch that burned yet held her in place, willing to suffer the heat, craving more.

  On legs that seemed to belong to someone else, she made it to the bed and slipped beneath the covers. Caring hands tucked the bedding about her and a kiss of motherly kindness brushed her forehead.

  Drifting off to sleep, her mind manifested a vision of lips, thinned by anger, fuller when at ease, and surrounded by the faint shadow of a beard. How she longed to feel those lips pressed to her mouth, her cheek, her...

  ***

  A noise tugged at the fringes of her sleep. In her dream there were no voices, no sound. Only feeling. The disturbance came again, a quiet voice accompanied by a pat on her shoulder. The mouth, the warm breath in her slumbering illusion faded, cooled, vanished.

  Reluctantly opening her eyes, she searched the shadows. A flare of light drew her upright in the bed and she stared into Mary’s face, mottled and distorted by the candle flame she held beneath her generous chin.

  ‘Ah. Finally awake, lass.’ Setting the lit taper onto the table, Mary dipped the wick of another into its flame and placed it onto the mantle. ‘Did you rest well?’

  Colour stained Lynelle’s cheeks. Her wicked thoughts still hovered at the edges of her wakefulness. Thank the saints the room swam in relative darkness. ‘Yes, thank you. I am much restored.’

  Mary added wood to the fire and approached the bed. ‘Time to rise and eat, lass.’

  Ducking her head to hide the hot blush consuming her face, she swung her legs free of the covers and murmured, ‘I am a little hungry.’ Finding her feet, she walked the small distance to the table and sat. Her mouth watered as she spied the steaming fish on the trencher.

  ‘Well, ‘tis to be expected. You barely nibbled your noon meal.’ She hadn’t the stomach to eat then. ‘Too busy planning your grand escape, nae doubt.’

  Jerking her gaze from the salmon to the older woman, she found Mary studying her from beside the hearth. A hint of a smile curved Mary’s lips. ‘You don’t believe I erred, then?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’

  Laying her palms on the scarred tabletop, Lynelle braced herself for the scolding to come.

  ‘I do wonder why you didn’t ask William to visit Elspeth and why Keita hadn’t spoken about her mother’s ills sooner.’

  Jumping at the chance to steer the conversation away from herself, Lynelle said, ‘Perhaps Keita was aware of William’s mistrust of healers and didn’t wish to trouble him further.’

  ‘Hmm! Perhaps.’ Mary lifted Lynelle’s cloak from the peg on the wall, shook it out and turned it about before draping it back on the hook. ‘Now only your actions elude me.’ The older woman’s direct look caused Lynelle to inspect her trencher.

  ‘Do you think he will confine me to this room?’ she asked, pushing the greens about the platter with the tip of her spoon.

  She loathed the idea of being secured away after her small bout of stolen freedom. It saddened her to know the privilege of exploring the healing chamber would be lost too. But it might be for the best. A little over a sennight remained of her allotted time and she believed she could endure William’s nearness in short doses when she was summoned to care for Edan. Any further incidents that would lead to being held in his arms were too unsettling to think on.

  ‘I cannot say what William will do.’ Lifting a blanket from a pile of linens, the older woman ambled over and draped the soft folds about Lynelle’s shoulders. ‘I only know I am disappointed.’

  Closing her eyes and bowing her head, Lynelle fought to overcome the dreadful hurt caused by Mary’s last words.

  ‘I miss little of the goings on at Closeburn.’ She sounded disgruntled. ‘And to be one of only two souls to have missed the day’s excitement just ties my hose in knots.’

  Lynelle gaped at Mary and noted the twinkle in the older woman’s eye. ‘Forgive me for neglecting to inform you first, Mary.’ Smiling, she added, ‘I will do my best to give you warning the next time I throw myself into the loch.’

  Lips twitching, Mary said, ‘See that you do, lass.’ Pausing at the door, she turned. ‘Eat now and then I will take you to Edan.’ She opened the door. ‘The lad is anxious to see another hero in the flesh and I am certain your ears will bleed from the incessant praise pouring from his mouth.’ With the click of the latch she was gone.

  Lynelle paid little attention to the older woman’s final words. Her mind had fixed on visiting Edan, which entailed seeing William. She hardly needed to lay eyes on him to conjure his image. Not when she could still feel the imprint of his powerful frame against her softness.

  Filling her spoon, she chewed the cold fare, barely tasting the food. She was torn by the impossible need to avoid William and desperately wanting to have her sinful dreams become reality.

  ***

  ‘ ...and it was kind of Donald to tell me everything,’ Edan continued. ‘But I’d much rather have witnessed the excitement myself.’

  Edan’s constant chatter provided Lynelle with a much-needed distraction. William had been leaning against the wall by the window, his relaxed appearance belying the intensity of his regard. She’d bobbed her head in greeting before dragging her gaze away, but she could do little to stem the memories of his hands upon her. Or the feverish dreams inspired by his touch.

  Absently nodding each time Edan paused to draw breath, she prepared the potion and fought the urge to look at William from beneath her lowered lashes. Her mind and body were so keenly aware of him, she knew the moment he moved. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken as he shifted to the opposite side of the bed.

  Sipping the brew, she passed it across to his silent figure, struggling to hold the vessel steady. His fingers brushed hers as he took the cup, sending a frisson of sizzling heat up her arm. Her traitorous gaze snapped up and collided with his, then flared wide at the smouldering eyes fixed on her. He tilted the cup and drank.

  ‘It’s like someone lick
ing a spoon dripping with honey and telling you how sweet it is.’ Edan sighed.

  William slowly lowered the cup.

  ‘But it’s not the same as tasting it yourself,’ Edan finished.

  No. Just as dreaming of kisses was a far cry from actually being kissed. Her breath locked in her throat. Fire burned in her cheeks and a shiver flashed through her as her gaze strayed to where she begged it not to.

  The tip of William’s tongue played over his moist upper lip, making her want things she knew nothing about. Wrenching her gaze away, she made the mistake of looking up into William’s eyes. Knowing eyes.

  Turning, she clumsily set out fresh bandages and ointment, trying to slow the pounding of her heart and ignore the tightening of her breasts.

  She accepted the empty cup from Edan and placed it on the small wooden table before retrieving the pot of salve. ‘I, for one, am pleased you were not present.’ She dipped her fingertip in the ointment and swiped a smear on William’s proffered wrist, masking her shiver by quickly scooping more onto her burning finger.

  She looked into Edan’s face, his expression showing confusion. Licking her dry lips, she hastened to explain. ‘Plunging into cold water will do your leg little good.’ Painting the pink, puckered flesh of his wound, she continued, ‘It is healing well and I’ve no doubt that had you been anywhere near the loch when Davy tumbled in, you would have given no thought to your own wounded state and risked all to save the boy.’

  His face brightened. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘Aye. You’re probably right.’

  With a nod and a secret inner smile, she bandaged his leg, checked his other injuries, packed her herbs and prepared to leave.

  ‘What does being a hero feel like?’ Edan asked.

  Her hands stilled. ‘I do not know,’ she said quietly. Securing the top of her sack, she looked at Edan. ‘Heroes hardly need rescuing, do they?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ he said.

  ‘You should ask your brother. Today he played the hero more than once.’ Snatching up her belongings, she headed to the door, Edan’s frustrated voice following her.