“I…I can’t,” she rasped, looking down at her feet.
“Listen lass,” Gregor said suddenly, gripping her upper arms. “I ken yer running from something.”
Her heart stilled, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she listened to what Gregor had to say.
“We don’t need to talk about it right now,” he continued, his fingers pressing hotly into her arms. “But I ken, alright? And I promise ye, whatever it is ye running from it’s not going to catch up to ye here, ye understand?”
“You can’t promise that,” she replied, shaking her head. She tried to step away but his grip only pulled her forward until their noses were only a few inches away. Finally she brought her eyes up to his and nearly gasped. His vivid green eyes were alive with urgency.
“Ye daenae ken me, lass,” Gregor warned, his voice dropping to a gravelly low. “Ye daenae ken what I’m capable of or what I’m about. In time we’ll fix that. But for now I need to take care of this. I protect my people. All of them, native or nay, and that includes ye, understand? Ye have me word that not a hair will be harmed on yer head while yer in Henwen because ye are what will be protecting my people. And rest assured, I’ll make the lot of them ken it well. Now come on lass, we’ve got to move.”
Courage swept through Morgana as Gregor made his promise. Of course he was right. After all helping people was what she did, who she was, and that didn’t just work for the ones who could make it to her. She had to go.
“What about Tily?” she asked, her gaze moving toward the direction of the woman’s home. “She’s been sick with it too, that’s where I’ve been. I can’t just leave her. And I need to harvest more herbs for the amount of medicine that it will take to help the village.”
As if on cue, Morgana heard the faint rumbling of wheels. Glancing over Gregor’s shoulder, she saw an old farm wagon pulled by two ponies slowly making its way up the faint path through the wood. Sitting atop it were two identical twin boys that looked to be about the age of twelve with curly mops of copper hair and slathering of freckles on their cheeks that she could see even from the distance. She looked back at Gregor and raised her eyebrow.
“And what if I would have said no?” she asked, raising her eyebrow.
Gregor smiled devilishly. “I would have tried other methods of convincing.”
Her blush made him chuckle, and his fingers slowly released her as he took a step back.
“I may nae ken ye well, Morgana,” he admitted, changing directions. “Or perhaps even at all. But I knew ye nae the soul to just let people suffer.”
The rowdy MacDonald twins Sean and John grew suddenly quiet and rather obedient when Morgana approached. He had watched, amused, as they looked at her with awe and stumbled over their words to introduce themselves. When Morgana had asked if they were big enough to help her, they all but broke into a scrap over who would help her the most.
Just as he was about to break them up, Morgana stepped between them in an instinctive, maternal way and gave them each a basket and instructions on how to pick the leaves from the plants. In no time at all the boys had stopped arguing and were working harmoniously together in the garden while he and Morgana went into the house to gather any additional supplies she would need to bring.
Within twenty minutes they had the wagon loaded with Morgana’s supplies and were making their way toward Tily’s. At the door Zeus greeted Morgana and the boys warmly, but as per usual the large canine growled lowly at Gregor as he walked by him.
“I missed ye too, beasty,” he remarked to Zeus sarcastically. Boldly, Gregor reached down and swept a hand over the dog’s massive head, and although he growled, he didn’t move to snap at his hand.
Progress.
Gregor stroked his chin and looked down at the dog approvingly.
“Laird Henwen!” Tily exclaimed weakly when she saw him. “What ye be doing here?”
“I’ve come to fetch ye lass,” he replied affectionately, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
Tily wasn’t over the moon about being brought in to the castle, but with Morgana’s gentle chiding they were able to win over her consent. In no time at all they had her comfortably situated on the back of the wagon with Zeus lying dutifully by her side. Surrounding them were the secured supplies and full herb baskets. It left no room for Morgana to sit.
“Ye’ll be safe riding with me,” Gregor assured her, when she looked questionably between him and Hermes and the wagon.
“What did I promise ye just a while ago?” he asked, lifting her chin so she would look in his eyes.
A small blush bloomed in Morgana’s cheeks, and she answered. “That I was under your protection,” she whispered.
“Aye lass,” he nodded, winking at her. “Ain’t anyone going to be bothering ye. Now come, we must be getting back. The light is nearly gone and we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
In one fluid motion he sat himself atop Hermes’ saddle, then held his hand down to her. Behind her, the wagon had already started its way back to the village. Looking back up at Gregor, she took his hand and found her seating quickly. Below them, Hermes barely flinched at the extra weight, and waited dutifully for the signal to begin their journey.
“I need to get ye to the village as soon as possible,” Gregor warned, pulling her arms tight around his waist. “Just hang on, and don’t ye worry. The balachs will take good care of Tily and they’ll be just a bit behind us.”
In response Morgana nodded in understanding and grasped each of her wrists with the opposite hand, pressing her torso even tighter against his back.
“Are you alright?” Morgana asked, her voice soft against his ear. “Do you feel sick?”
“Nay,” he replied, a bit too gruffly.
Morgana moved into action the moment they reached the village. His Uncle Jamie and nephew Finnegan had set about to light the fires in the large metal pits scattered among the huts and cottages, and those not affected by sickness were working to help those that had. When Morgana arrived, they all stopped what they were doing to meet her and ask her what to do.
Some had obviously met her before, greeting her with warm, familiar smiles while some who hadn’t looked at her both oddly and desperately. He was surprised and disappointed to find even some were openly scowling at Morgana as if she were a creature of the Devil. Gregor now better understood her discomfort among villages, and made a mental note to keep an eye on her.
“I need a space,” she told him, looking around. “Somewhere in the center of the village where I can set up and begin.”
“Use the church,” Gregor urged. Immediately he began giving orders to Sean and John to start taking the supplies over. When he turned around, he was surprised to see the priest standing very close to him. The man looked incredibly disgruntled.
“Faither,” Gregor greeted, already slightly irritated by the man’s aghast expression. He moved around the man and strode toward the wagon to help the boys.
“Me Laird,” the priest whined, following closely behind. “Wouldn’t another place be better suited?”
“Ye flock is falling ill, faither, and they need tending to. What better place to set up help than in the divine healer’s house?”
Gregor picked up one of the heavy black cauldrons from the back of the wagon and carried it inside as the priest continued to badger him. It was indecent, he had said, immoral even, to have a strange, unwed woman take control of the house of the Lord to perform magic.
“It’s not magic, faither,” Gregor shot back, his patience for the subject quickly fading. “It’s medicine, and our people need it.”
“Our people need God,” the priest cried. “This can all be answered through prayer!”
“Then go pray faither, and get out of our way,” he quipped. Gregor turned on his heel and put his finger in the man’s face.
“And one more thing,” he added, his voice dropping low so that only the two of them could hear. “If I hear ye going around with gossip about magic or witchcraft while this
woman be trying to save our people I’ll run ye out of me village meself. Understand?”
The priest’s eyes grew wide as his mouth dropped open in shock. No one, not even those with titles, were allowed to put hands on a man of God. To even threaten so was an excuse for the Roman Church to send their soldiers and make the man pay physical retribution for his sacrilege.
“God will punish ye for this,” the priest cursed, shaking his head as he took a step back. “Mark me words, me Laird Henwen. God will seek his vengeance for this disrespect to his house.”
“Tell him to add it to me list of sins,” Gregor fired back, done with the conversation. The priest seemed done with it too, and he retreated into the church. A short time later he came back out with his arms loaded with books and scrolls, and the man walked himself to the village inn. Gregor, happy the conversation was finally over, finished emptying the wagon and let the holy man sulk on his own.
Chapter 9
Three Days Later
Tiredly, Morgana watched as the newest batch of medicine began to turn the right color beneath the flames. Through the last three days she had been working tirelessly to help those that had fallen ill, but the symptoms wouldn’t stop.
Unlike Tily, the rest of the villagers weren’t getting better by the second day. Some were even getting worse, despite the different variations she had made in order to find a better cure. Laird Henwen had traced the origin to a milk they had bought from the next village. The tubs had gotten contaminated and had caused the wild breakout of colic and the runs in the area.
Breaking the silence, the front door began to creak. It opened to the Laird of Henwen, who stepped tiredly through threshold.
Though he hadn’t fallen ill, he was looking rather ragged. Still handsome, but ragged. Suddenly she realized that must look similarly unkempt to him, and instinctively ran a hand through her hair to try and tame some of the wild curls. Looking down, she saw her dress had several stains on it, and her hands had been dyed green from working with the herbs so much. Inwardly, she groaned.
“My Laird,” she greeted, forcing a smile onto her face. From her chair by the fire she rose to meet him. “How is the night treating our patients?”
Like her, Gregor hadn’t stopped working to heal the villagers since the first night she had come in. He had been a tremendous help, willing to aid in whatever she needed to get the medicine made and distributed. For the past two nights, long after everyone else had fallen into bed exhausted he had been the only person who stayed up with her to tend to the neediest of patients.
In response Gregor groaned, and fell heavily into the chair by her side. Even in the dire circumstances, she couldn’t help but smile as he did so. The way he protected people, the way he was open to knowledge, reminded her a lot of her father. She missed him greatly, and she suddenly felt grateful for the reminder of the only man she had ever loved.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked, realizing he had said something and she had completely missed.
“I feel like a dead man walking,” he muttered. “Somethin’ tells me this sickness is more than the cursed milk. But what can it be?”
Morgana felt an overwhelming urge to comfort the man. On the exterior he appeared to be as wild and brutish as the Scottish Highlands, but on the inside he had a kind heart that was big enough to fit an entire village. He genuinely seemed to care for each person there, and it touched her heart. Standing up, she crossed the room to her worktable, where she poured the Laird a cup of red liquid.
“Here,” she urged, bringing it to him. “Drink this. It’ll help.”
“What’s this?” He asked, taking a sniff. “Some sort of special brew to make me dance a jig?”
Morgana laughed genuinely, despite her fatigue. “Actually yes,” she smirked. “It’s wine.”
“Even better,” Gregor chuckled, thanking her. He brought the cup up to his lips and took a healthy swig.
“Ah,” he sighed, satisfied. “That’s much better. What about ye? Nae going to pour yerself a cup?”
“I shouldn’t,” Morgana replied, shaking her head. “I’m exhausted and I have to get this next batch of medicine ready. It’ll go straight to my head.”
“Just a little,” Gregor insisted, getting up to get her a cup. “Ye’ve been working tirelessly. Ye deserve a bit of rest.”
Knowing he was right, Morgana accepted the cup when he brought it over. Instead of returning to his seat, Gregor stayed at her side and looked down at her. The way his eyes slowly roamed over her figure made her aware of how every part of her body had suddenly started to hum deliciously. The butterflies returned to her stomach again, and she took a sip of the wine to calm her nerves.
“Better?”
“Much,” she admitted, taking another sip.
“Good lass,” he smiled, his eyes on hers.
For a moment they stood, their eyes locked on one another as the heat of the fire washed over them. Being this close, she could catch his scent. Despite caring for the sick the last few days he smelled like wild rain and pine trees. It was refreshing scent that restored her somehow, and she fought the urge to step closer so she could inhale him.
“I wanted to tell ye that yer medicine has been a Godsend,” he told her suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She smiled warmly at him.
“I’m glad,” she replied sincerely. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’m happy to help.”
Morgana felt her cheeks burn, and she fought the urge to cover them with her hand. Never in her twenty-four years had she felt this type of reaction to a man. She was no blushing maid new to the world, but a wise woman that was constantly running from witch-hunters. It wasn’t like her to contemplate men’s flirtations when they presented them to her. Love was a distraction from staying alive.
With her life and how her talents were so often misconstrued, it was always best to avoid interacting with the opposite sex as much as possible. Too often she had felt rough hands where they didn’t belong when she would visit villages with her medicines. In fact through the years, she had found it best to avoid men altogether.
But she couldn’t avoid Gregor. Nor did she want to. Instead, she wanted to know more about him. His leadership was unlike any she’d even seen along the English countryside. The boorish, pompous lords there would never be caught dead among their people, especially during a sickness outbreak.
“Ye studying me over there?”
Morgana jumped, suddenly realizing that a long silence had stretched between them while she had gotten lost in her thoughts.
“I–what? No, don’t be silly” She shook her head, moving to step away. Gregor’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist with surprising gentleness.
“What do ye see?” he asked, his eyes appearing to darken. Desire stirred in her belly, and an odd calm came over her. There was no use denying it, she decided. It was too late and she was too tired to not speak her mind. Slowly she raised her chin, her eyes staying on his as she went against her shyness and actually looked at him.
“I see a man who’s doing whatever he can to protect his people,” she answered quietly. “A true leader. But I also see someone who’s in a lot of pain. Someone that perhaps doesn’t want let go of it either. At least not yet.”
Gregor looked at her wildly. “You should,” she implored, her voice soft, “let go of the pain. It serves no purpose.”
He looked away from her suddenly, his gaze falling on the fire as his jaw set itself into a hard line. As the flames danced across his face Morgana could see his emotions fleeting over his face, struggling for control. He was a man in torment, though she wasn’t quite sure why he should be. Lady Isabel and their son had died in childbirth. There was nothing he could have done.
Wanting to comfort him somehow, she pulled her wrist away from his grip and slid her hand into his instead. It was something she did without thought, though once she did so she wondered why she had been so bold. He didn’t move, so she decided to keep it there, squeezing
lightly.
“I should have said this when you first told me,” she apologized, “but I am so very sorry for your loss.”
Gregor’s eyes remained trained on the fire, she could tell by the way his jaw ticked that he was struggling to find a response. Thinking she went too far, Morgana slowly tried to pull her fingertips away. When she did so, his grip tightened, and he turned to look at her. There was pain there, but now there was something else too. A heat she didn’t understand poured from his gaze, making every hair on her body stand up.
With the mere flick of his wrist he pulled her down into his lap, one hand moving to cup the back of her neck and the other going around her waist. Their eyes met for only a second before he pulled her toward him and kissed her. Morgana’s shoulders froze at first, but as his lips began to move and caress her own, she felt herself ease into his embrace and close her eyes.
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