by Donna Grant
"All right."
She smiled and turned into the forest. Frang quickly followed her, noting she was going the way he had just come. After the years of travelling he'd done, what was another day?
By the time they reached her cottage, Frang welcomed peace of her home. His arm had begun to ache, and the bleeding had intensified. All he wanted to do was eat a hot meal and sleep.
Yet, he pushed all that aside as he kept his senses alert as they walked to the door to her small cottage. The cottage itself was nestled deep in the forest, surrounded by tall pines with clusters of ferns on the ground. It was a peaceful setting, one that seemed to compliment the woman.
She opened the door and motioned him to the table. Frang wearily sank into a chair. After she set aside her basket he watched as she moved about the cottage collecting leaves from plants hanging from the beams of the ceiling.
Her movements were graceful but quick, sometimes she didn't even look up at the plant she reached for. Frang held back a smile as she absently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
He sat forward when she moved aside a piece of fabric separating the main cottage from another room. At first he thought it might be where she slept, but after spotting her bed across from the hearth realised the room mostly likely was where she mixed her herbs.
When he heard her begin to hum he leaned his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. He smelled cinnamon and let out a deep breath. It was as if he were still in the Glen. A longing for the magic and peace of the Glen ran through him so swift and true, it nearly doubled him over.
A soft hand touched his face and Frang found himself leaning against it.
"Does the wound ache?"
He opened his eyes to look at the woman above him. Her eyes were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Their colour was that of the sky at sunset, a magnificent amber colour. Mystical. Seductive. Beautiful.
Frang swallowed and made himself look away. “Nay. The tenderness of the wound is minimal."
"They why did you look as though you were in great pain?"
Frang grinned and sat up, hating when her hand dropped from his face. “Memories tend to do that at times."
She took a step away from him and clasped her hands at her waist. “My apologies, sir."
"Frang,” he corrected her. “My name is Frang."
The corners of her mouth tilted up slightly. “It is good to meet you, Frang. I am Kenna."
Chapter Three
Kenna had to clasp her hands together to keep from touching the stranger who had saved her. He was handsome enough with his wide shoulders and muscular arms. His jaw was strong, his lips thin. She longed to run her hands through his shoulder-length light brown hair streaked with golden highlights.
But it was his eyes that held her captive. One glimpse into his sky blue eyes and she had glimpsed an old soul, a soul that had seen and suffered much.
"The herbs are nearly done,” Kenna said to break the silence.
He unsettled her, something no one had done before. She looked around her cottage and spotted lemon balm hanging near the hearth. She reached for one of the leaves and then moved to Frang's sword. As soon as her hand touched the hilt, his covered hers.
She raised her gaze to look into his bright blue eyes. “'Tis but lemon balm. Attached to your sword, it will staunch any blood."
After a moment he released her hand and she tied the herbs around the base of the hilt near the pommel where it would not get in his way. She stood and stepped back. She wasn't sure why she had given him the lemon balm. Never before had she given it to someone for their weapon.
"Thank you,” he said softly.
She nodded and turned to enter her backroom. After grinding a few more herbs together to make a fine powder, she set the bowl aside and reached for some cloth. The Adder's Tongue, one of her special herbs that had been soaking in water, was ready. She pulled it out and placed it on the cloth.
She gathered the cloth and the bowl then went back to Frang who sat with his head once again leaning back on the chair. He watched her closely as she approached. He stared at her as no one else ever had, with a hint of something deeper in gaze, something that made her stomach flutter and her blood heat. A strange emotion unfurled low in her belly, and the need to touch him, to feel his warmth was more than she could deny herself.
Silently, Kenna knelt beside the chair and reached to move aside his torn shirt, but before she could, he reached up and unpinned the brooch that held his plaid to let the tartan fall to his waist. Then he pulled his shirt over his head and leaned back.
Kenna took a deep breath and tried not to stare at the expanse of muscular chest and stomach that rippled with muscles. She had seen many a man without their shirts, but Frang was the first who made her want to run her hands over him at her leisure.
Her hand shook as she reached for the cloth. As gently as she could, she used the cloth to wipe away the blood and make sure the wound was cleaned. Once that was finished, she sprinkled the herb powder into the cut. Then, she took the cloth with the soaked Adder's Tongue and placed it over the wound and tied it in place.
With no other excuse to touch him, she rose and inspected her handiwork. “Would you like something to drink?"
He nodded and eagerly drank the water she gave him. Afterwards, he closed his eyes. For long moments she stared at him until his breathing evened into sleep. Only then did she turn and enter her backroom to work.
* * * *
Frang took a deep breath and gradually came awake. The pain in his arm had abated for the most part. He raised his arm and moved it about to test it.
"Already you pull at the wound."
He turned his head at the sound of Kenna's voice. She stood in the doorway of her backroom and watched him. He rose and reached for his torn and bloodied shirt.
"I will be careful."
"It needs to be stitched."
He stopped mid-motion and looked at her. “I've taken enough of your time."
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “What will be a waste of time is if you walk from my cottage now and reopen your wound during another fight. If you're going to leave now let me stitch it."
Frang lowered his shirt. “I don't go looking for fights."
"Be that as it may, this is Scotland. You aren't a Wallace. That in itself could cause bloodshed."
"As you wish,” he said as he sat back down.
His gaze followed her as she collected a needle and thread and more herbs before she returned to him. He wanted more of her soft touch. Her hands soothed him more than the herbs. The way she had smoothed her hands over his skin had made him want to pull her against his chest and ravage her mouth with a kiss that would leave her breathless and aching for more of him as he was beginning to ache for her.
This time she pulled the other chair around the table and sat. She untied the bandage and removed the Adder's Tongue with the cloth.
"Already it looks better,” she murmured.
Frang's gaze never left her face. She was serious about her healing, and it made him wonder how she would fit in at the Druid's Glen. With a little training she could very well be a Druid. Anyone with healing talents like hers was greatly sought after.
"You have a gentle touch,” he said as she threaded the needle.
She glanced at him, a slight grin on her lips. “A healer with rough hands is worthless."
"True enough. Who trained you?"
She paused for just a heartbeat, but it was enough to tell him she was cautious, which made him wonder if she would tell him the truth.
"An old woman in my clan. She had no children to pass on her knowledge. When it became apparent I had some skill, she showed me the way."
He was more than curious now. “I think I'd like to meet her."
Kenna turned to him with needle in hand. “That would be difficult since she died five winters back."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be,” she said as she leaned close to his arm, her warm
breath fanning his skin and making his rod stir.
Frang turned his head from her and closed his eyes as his body reacted to her nearness. Just as the first prick of the needle touched his skin, the sound of approaching horses caught both of their attentions.
Kenna jumped up, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Hide.” When he didn't move she turned to him and all but shoved him out of the chair as she threw his shirt at him. “Hide, Frang. In my backroom. Make sure you aren't seen."
Frang moved to do as she asked though he wondered why she wanted him to hide. Who was it she feared so much? Once he was in her backroom, he pulled the curtain closed and watched her through the crack as she tossed his bandage in the hearth. She moved to the table to gather the needle and herbs when the door flew open.
Chapter Four
Kenna tried to stop her knees from shaking as the imposing figure of her laird, Glenn Wallace, stepped into her cottage.
He was young and most considered him handsome with his blond hair and hazel eyes. If Kenna was anything other than a Druid she might not fear him so.
The Wallace's gaze moved slowly around her cottage, stopping at the table where the supplies to stitch Frang's arm still lay. Kenna met his gaze and waited.
"Is anything amiss, Kenna?” he asked as he leaned against her door.
"Nay, laird. Why would you think that?"
He took a deep breath. His wide chest expanded as his muscles stretched and contracted. “I found two dead Carmichaels on the road. Do you know anything about that?"
For a moment Kenna thought about lying but knew in the end the truth was needed. “Aye, laird. I was out gathering herbs when three men, Carmichael men, stopped me."
"Three?” he asked as he pushed off the door.
She nodded. “I warned them they were on Wallace land and that I was your healer, but they didn't seem to hear. They were about to attack me when a stranger came out of the woods and stopped them."
"Stranger?” The Wallace's brow furrowed at her words. “Where is this stranger?"
Kenna shrugged. “He killed two of the men, but the third ran off instead of fighting."
"And you didn't come to report this to me?"
Kenna straightened and returned her laird's glare. “Least you forget, laird, I was nearly raped by three men. All I thought about was the safety of my cottage, and that's where I ran."
For several heartbeats her laird stared at her. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded towards the table. “And the needle and thread?"
"I may be a healer, but I also have mending to do."
Her stomach clenched so tight she worried she might double over with the fear.
"This is just another reason for you to move to the safety of the castle walls, Kenna,” he said as he dropped his arms and moved closer to her.
Kenna lowered her gaze but didn't retreat as she wanted. “I prefer it here. This is my home."
"But I cannot protect you here,” he argued.
She raised her gaze to his then. “I'm not asking for your protection."
"You are part of my clan, Kenna, which makes you my responsibility to protect. Why do you fight me on this?"
"It is not my intent,” she said softly and glanced at his soldiers outside her door. “This is my home."
He gave a loud sigh before he reached out and touched her face with his fingertips. “Is there anything I can say to change your mind?"
Kenna shook her head.
"I will have the patrols check on you daily then. I cannot have my healer hurt.” He turned and started for the door. As he reached the doorway he paused then turned to look at her over his shoulder. “If you ever need anything, you only need to come to me."
Kenna gave him a smile. “You are very kind, laird."
She waited until he was atop his horse and galloping away before she closed the door. No sooner had she turned to tell Frang he could come out than there was a knock at her door. Kenna opened it to find one of her clansmen needing some herbs for a stiff neck.
Kenna glanced at her backroom and prayed Frang would stay there until she went to him.
* * * *
Frang lost count of the number of people who came to visit Kenna after her laird. He had been most interested in the laird of the Wallaces, and he knew just by looking at the man that he was a formidable opponent. If he was going to stay on Wallace land, he needed the laird as a friend.
He had lowered himself to the floor and watched Kenna through the crack in the curtain. The people who came to her respected her and her words. They listened raptly as she told them how to use the herbs, and he knew each of them would follow those instructions perfectly.
He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He had no wish to leave now that darkness was descending, not to mention he found Kenna intriguing. She had so many attributes of a Druid that for a moment when she had tended his wound, he had thought she was one.
Though he longed to ask her if she had some Druid training, he suspected she would most likely lie since she didn't trust him. He was used to being trusted, used to having people seek out his advice. Leaving the Druid's Glen had been the most painful thing he had ever done. Yet, making a new life for himself was proving to be almost as painful.
No one could know he was a Druid for it would mean his death. Christians had made sure all the pagans and Druids were hanged or burned as soon as they were discovered.
Frang sighed. Aye, his life was going to be vastly different. Aimery had advised him to grasp his gift with both hands, but it was difficult when all Frang wanted to do was return to the Glen and the magical stones. Even after five years, the Glen still called to him.
He opened his hands palm up and gazed at them. For centuries his hands had used the power of the Druids and even the powers of the Fae on occasion. How many times had he fought against the curse that bound him? Yet now he longed to have the curse returned.
His eyes closed again as he took a deep breath. Kenna's soothing voice lulled him to sleep. He yawned as he listened to her explain what the willow root was for and how the woman needed to use it.
It was the last thing he heard.
* * * *
Kenna wiped her hands on her skirt as she closed the door behind her last visitor. She moved to her window and reached out to close the shutters when her gaze caught the purple sky. The sun was sinking fast in the sky.
She closed the shutters and turned to her backroom. Frang had not made a sound while she had seen to her people. Her heart began to beat wildly as she realised he might have left out her back window. She told herself it was because she was worried about his wound, but she knew it for the lie it was. In truth, she liked the way her body reacted to him, and she wanted to experience more of the heat and ... desire.
As she reached to move the curtain aside her hand shook. Unhurriedly, she lifted the fabric and caught sight of his booted feet. She followed his legs until she found him leaning against the wall. Asleep.
His lips were slightly parted, and his body was relaxed. She bit her lip and knelt beside him. The deep yearning to touch him prompted her to run her fingers over his sculpted arm. Heat infused her skin. Her breath passed shakily from her lips when she found herself leaning forward to kiss him. Her lips were breaths from his when she pulled back, unable touch her lips against his.
Kenna stood on trembling legs and tried to tamp down the strange and joyous feelings running through her. She pushed aside the curtain and walked into the room to close and lock the shutters. When she turned back to Frang, his eyes were open and staring at her.
What few men had slept in her cottage had been ill. None had ever been there for any other reason, and the fact that she wanted him frightened her to the marrow of her bones. The air suddenly became thick and it grew hard for her to breathe as she focused on Frang.
"I will leave,” he said as if reading her mind.
Kenna smoothed back the hair from her face and licked her lips. Her stomach p
lummeted to her feet when she saw his gaze move to her mouth. Did he yearn to kiss her as she longed to feel his lips on hers? She had no experience with men, so didn't dare to ask questions she might not want to know the answer to.
"I have not stitched your wound."
He rose as nimble as a cat. “Then let us get to it."
Kenna had always known she was different but the fact Frang wanted to spend as little time with her as necessary stung. She moved to walk past him when his arm stopped her. That simple touch made her close her eyes and force herself not to lean against him.
"You are unmarried. It isn't right that I am here alone with you."
She opened her eyes and smiled, relieved it wasn't her who made him want to leave. “Frang, I am a healer. People come in and out of my cottage at all hours of the night."
He looked into her eyes for a long moment before he nodded and released her arm. Kenna walked to her table conscious of every move he made.
His mere presence filled her small cottage. She turned to find him staring at her. With her hand she motioned for him to sit. She waited silently as he slowly walked to the chair and lowered himself.
Kenna flexed her fingers as she once again took the chair next to him and reached for the needle. She leaned close to him to inspect the wound and see if the herbs had begun their magic or not. And stared dumbfounded at the wound.
"What is it?” His voice held a note of concern though it rose no higher than a whisper.
She raised her gaze to his and found herself lost in his pale blue eyes, eyes that seemed far older than he looked. She blinked and shook her head. Another glance at the wound showed her she hadn't imagined it.
The wound had begun to heal.
Before she could answer Frang, he looked down at the wound. His jaw hardened and he reached for his saffron shirt. Noting she still held the needle in her hand, Kenna lowered it to the table as she stood.
"My herbs are good, Frang. Very good. But I have never had someone heal this quickly."
