by Alisa Adams
Rane looked away from her. He could not meet her eyes. For the first time, it was he whose eyes moved away. “I will dae my best tae make sure nothing happens to ye,” he said in a clipped voice as he swallowed back his guilt at asking this girl to help him. “But I know that without yer help, my horses definitely will die.”
Gillis arched an eyebrow at him as her lips trembled ever so slightly. “And did ye dae yer best tae make sure that nothing happened tae Mr. Nisbit?”
When he turned back to stare at her with anger flaming in his eyes and that tick working in his tight jaw, she continued. “Is he dead because of yer horses?” Gillis asked, remembering the warning in his letter to her. “You must tell me what happened, Laird MacLeod. I have a right tae know since I am tae work in his stead and risk my own life.”
Rane had to look away from her soft grey eyes once again. His jaw tightened and his fists clenched. “I dinnae know,” he growled.
Gillis was not satisfied with his response. She shot back, “But ye must know how he was killed,” she said assertively.
“What dae ye mean?”
“I mean,” she said angrily, “what caused his death? I would hazard a guess that he was killed by a knife. Perhaps the very same knife that did this tae yer horses,” she stated emphatically, waving her hand at his horses.
“That I dinnae know, but a knife, yes.”
“Stabbed or slashed?” she demanded.
“What?” he growled. Shock showed on his face at this young woman’s direct question.
Gillis took a breath. “If it was the same person that did this to yer horses, I believe he would have slashed Mr. Nisbit tae death like yer horses. Am I wrong?”
Rane stood like stone, unmoving.
“Am I correct?” She huffed out a loud breath when he continued to stand so still. “Ye wilnae tell me? Ye just stare at me and wilnae speak further?”
“I have no more tae tell ye,” he said as he studied her grey eyes.
“There is no more tae tell me, or there is no more that ye will tell me?” she demanded.
Rane stood up. “I will have a guard protecting ye at all times.”
Her eyes widened. “Because there is a need for a guard, as Mr. Nisbit was murdered?”
Rane looked back at his horses. Without giving her an answer, he turned back to her with a deep frown. “Ye should leave.”
Gillis reeled back as if he had struck her. So he is worried.
“I am staying,” Gillis said firmly.
Rane stared at her with too many thoughts flooding his mind.
It isnae safe for her here.
Why was Alexander killed? I have tae admit that even I cannae believe the man would take his own life.
Who would dae this tae the horses?
He felt her hand on his arm. It pulled him back to this place, this time. He looked down at her hand and then to her grey eyes, letting her calmness run over him like cool water on a hot day.
Gillis quickly pulled her hand away. The heat of his bare skin on the pads of her fingers made her think of what it may be like to reach out and touch lightning, or to get too close to a flame. She studied him as her eyes were captured by his yet again.
“Ye are worried for yer horses,” she said softly, “and ye should be. Something is vera wrong here. But first,” she said quietly, “yer horses’ wounds need tae be seen tae. They all require stitches. Then I want tae know more about Mr. Nisbit’s death.” She challenged him with her eyes. Waiting for something—anything—about her friend.
Rane breathed slowly in and out. It was wrong of him to let this woman stay, but God help him, he needed her to stay for his horses.
“What dae ye need tae aid my horses? Water?”
Gillis sighed loudly and dramatically. He obstinately refused to answer her about Alexander Nisbit. She looked back at the horses. “Aye, water,” she said as she turned back to the stubbornly silent laird. She snapped her fingers as a thought came to her. “But it must be clean water!” she corrected as she pointed a finger at him. “Water that has been boiled and cooled. And I shall need quite a bit more thread than I have in these bags tae sew their wounds.”
Rane stood up with his fists still clenched at his sides. “Vera well. I shall have these things brought to ye immediately.” He turned and was about to walk out of the stable.
Gillis frowned at Laird MacLeod's abrupt departure. She snapped her fingers. “Wait!” she called out.
Rane stopped and turned to stare silently at her. She stood in a defiant stance, there in a shaft of sunlight in his stable, frowning angrily at him. She looked so incongruous in her pale blue skirts as she stood in the swirling dust motes of the stable. Her femininity was flagrant to him and at odds in this place, but she did not seem to notice or care. She stood there as confident as a man, glaring away at him. Gone was the shaking, doubtful young woman who feared she could not help his horses.
She actually snapped her fingers at me! he thought. He stifled the smile that threatened to tilt his lips up from their naturally firm lines.
His face gave nothing away as he stared, waiting for her to tell him why she had commanded him to wait.
Gillis studied the look on his face. She could not read this expression he wore as he stared silently back at her. She did not like that.
“Is that what ye dae? Ye stare at people like some sort of stone statue until they give up?”
Rane’s jaw tightened at her question and description of himself.
Gillis saw him grit his teeth, and once again, he just stared broodingly at her. Almost as if there were hidden banked fires somewhere inside him, smoldering, just waiting to burst into hot flames that could incinerate anyone nearby. But he kept his fire tightly under control. Always, it seemed.
She sighed. She knew she could not do this alone.
“Send someone competent with a needle and thread tae help me!”
He looked at her and turned back around. Gillis stared in frustration at his departing figure.
She was alone in the stable.
Is this where Alexander was killed?
4
Gillis opened her little book and looked at her notes as she went back down the aisle again. She had put numbers next to the horses’ descriptions in her book in the order of those needing help first.
She returned to her bags and pulled out a long apron that had wonderfully large pockets. She pulled it on and tied it around her waist. Then she put the instruments she knew she would need in the pockets.
Her hand brushed against the lump of the letter in her skirt pocket under the apron. She reached in and pulled out the letter from Alexander.
* * *
To Lady Gillis Ross
Fionnaghal Castle
* * *
Gillis, I am writing this letter to you, my dear girl, to ask for your help. Something is wrong with the horses here at Kinloch Castle! I fear I cannot write what I know in this letter, but I beg you to come. It will be quite the task for you as a woman for this castle has not a single female! It is purely a warhorse training castle. I do believe that you, above all my other students, are up to the task with that most brilliant mind that you possess.
You have proven to be the most excellent student I have ever had the honor to apprentice under my tutelage. I took a great risk accepting you, though I did assume (incorrectly, of course, by the name on your letter) that you were a man. If I had known you were a woman I most certainly would never have taken you on, but seeing that you had the highest marks on the exam I have ever seen, I was most excited to meet the exceptional mind of that exam taker.
You are a remarkable young woman, and one I could not possibly turn away once I met you. The world needs to see, like I do, that women can be as excellent in the many fields of medicine as men. The Royal College of Physicians in Edinburgh was correct to let you proceed. Though I believe they turned a blind eye to your real sex due to your name, which can be male or female. Your name has been your greatest gift, besides yo
ur insatiable curiosity to learn, that is, and this is what I need here at Kinloch Castle.
But now to the matter at hand. I need you to be brave as I require your help urgently!
As you know I left the university for a position at a horse training keep. My life needed to slow down at my age and I thought this was the perfect opportunity.
Laird MacLeod of Kinlochervie in the Northwest Highlands was in need of help with his horses. The laird has well over a hundred stock at Kinloch Castle! (You and your Ross cousins would be most impressed by this castle, my dear!)
As you travel here, you should know that the parish of Kinlochervie is very rough with woods, mountains and tractless paths. It is unsuitable for anything save the rearing of goats, cattle and horses. It may be hard to find for you but in this district there is a famous herd of golden cattle and the most beautiful horses. The parish is between a beautiful loch named Loch innis nam ba bhuideh, which I am told means the lake by which the yellow herd graze. On the other side of the parish is the bay with a well designed harbor. It is truly a beautiful land, once you make it here, that is. I feel I lived in Edinburgh too long and had forgotten the hidden beauty of the Highlands!
I beg you to come to assist me. There are far too many horses here for one healer, and I will state again that I fear something is amiss! I must confess however, that this is not without risk for you.
Of course you will be under my protection from persecution as a woman for working on the livestock at Kinloch Castle. I will sign your permission of release allowing you to act as a healer's assistant alongside myself.
Please come with all haste. I can not put down in a letter what I fear. It is your sharp mind, my dear, that I need now!
The Kinloch horses need you as well, my dear Gillis!
With great regard,
Alexander Nisbit, Animal Healer and Apothecary, Royal College of Physicians at Edinburgh
Writing from Kinloch Castle in the parish of Kinlochervie, Northwest Highlands.
* * *
A noise drew her to one of the doors at the back of the stable. She pushed the letter back into her pocket and went to look out the back door. A stallion was calling out to a mare in a field across the green pastures.
Gillis stood with one hand on the doorframe, looking out on lush, green, rolling hills that stretched on one side to a peaceful, clear loch that reflected the heavenly hues of the blue sky. Her eyes traveled over to the other side and up, up into the rolling green hills. The grass there went from soft greens to the yellows of the gorse and whins to purples, pinks, and the almost reds of the heather. Finally, the hills became steeper until they could only be called mountains, with their greys and browns coloring their rocky peaks where they seemed to touch the misty clouds or even disappear into them.
Kinlochervie was a beautiful, enchanting place.
Gillis inhaled deeply and caught the whiff of the sea just beyond the loch. It reminded her of home. Of Fionnaghal.
A rough voice broke into her thoughts.
“I want tae see me horse.”
Gillis spun quickly around to see two men standing in the aisle, looking at her belligerently.
“I don’t suppose one of ye is my guard?” she said with a quirk of her lips as she noted the hostility in their eyes.
The shorter of the two men looked at her suspiciously. “Why would ya be needin’ a guard?” he demanded to know. He squinted at her out of one eye as the other was swollen shut and black and blue.
Gillis started to answer and then hesitated. Is it known how Mr. Nisbit died? she wondered.
The taller man laughed as he thwacked his companion in the arm. “Pilop, ye numpty-brained mon! ’Tis because of her being a woman and all. She needs protection from all us men!” He laughed again and winked at his friend as he knuckled him in the shoulder.
The short man looked up at his friend as he rubbed his arm with his stubby, thick fingers. “Dinnae be punching me, Ingelram! I told ye I dinnae like it. Ye are always striking me,” he said with almost a whine. “’Twas a fair question tae ask her. There is some that says that the horse healer didnae kill himself. That in fact he was killed!”
Ingelram laughed at his friend. “That is nonsense! Of course he killed himself. He was upset and felt responsible for the death of the laird’s fine horse! Remember?” He punched Pilop in the arm again, then immediately furrowed his brows at his small friend's expression of pain. “I forget how small ye are, Pilop.” He turned sideways, offering his arm to him. “Here, ye can punch me back, eh?”
Pilop turned back to Gillis with an angry frown. “I dinnae need tae punch ye,” he said quietly over his shoulder to his companion. “Maybe later though,” he added quickly. He squinted up at Gillis with his one eye. “I just want tae see me horse! Have ye fixed him up or not?”
Gillis held her hands together in front of her and smiled pleasantly at the two men. She moved nonchalantly closer to a barrel that was just off to the side of her. She noted its lid was loose, resting partially on the rim of the big barrel.
“I have only just arrived,” she said calmly. “I am waiting on some boiled water and more thread tae sew their injuries.” She smiled again. “Which horse is yers? Phillip is yer name, I believe?”
“Nay! ’Tis Pilop!”
Pilop squinted at her. His hair was thick and stuck straight up from his head in various places. It seemed to be held there by what had to be dried mud and dirt. His dark kilt and brown shirt were dusty as well. He was covered in dust and dirt from head to toe.
She looked at Ingelram. His hair was shaved short, close to his head. He was dirty, as well. The two of them had no discernible colors on them; they were mud from head to toe—even their clothing was covered. Only the whites of their eyes and teeth showed. What have these two been doing? she wondered. A light breeze wafted through the stable, and with it, she caught the smell coming off the men. It was not dirt or mud. It was manure.
Gillis hid her smile by looking down at her boots peeking from under her blue skirts. The stone aisle was immaculate in this stable. She resisted the desire to cover her nose with her fingers.
“Have ye two been mucking stalls?” she asked lightly as she looked back up at them.
Pilop’s chest puffed up importantly. “Aye. We are the best! And the fastest. We just did the whole southside stable.” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “Fifty stalls. Done,” he said proudly.
Gillis snapped her fingers. “Done?” she said. “My! Ye two must be fast! Well, a one-winged bird never flies, they say!”
Pilop scratched his head while Ingelram tilted his face and stared at her with his mouth open.
Pilop peered at Gillis out of his good eye. “Nay, ‘tis ‘a bird never flew on one wing.’ It takes two wings, like this, do ye see?” Pilop stated as he flapped both arms.
Gillis shrugged. “Nay.” She looked the two men over again. “Did ye fall in the manure pile then?” she said as she pointed at them.
Both men fidgeted. “Pilop fell in,” Ingelram said. “He got upset so I jumped in, tae make him feel better. Not because I pushed him or anything.”
“I see,” Gillis said doubtfully.
The two men frowned at her doubtful expression and started to say more, but a third man entered the stable.
Gillis stood up straight, everything telling her to be on alert. This huge man was a warrior. She recognized the type. He walked like he was used to having a weapon in his hands. Though his hands were empty at the moment, his walk was predatory, slow, meant to intimidate. The breadth of his shoulders seemed to take up the entire doorway, blocking out the light. He glared at the two men.
“What are ye two doing in here?” he snarled.
Ingelram and Pilop visibly shrank.
Ingelram spoke up first. “Apologies, Gaufid. Pilop had a hankering tae see his horse,” he said as he spread his hands wide in a placating gesture.
The man called Gaufid was uninterested in the men’s re
ason for being there. He turned to look at Gillis with calculating, intelligent eyes.
Gillis met his pale blue eyes. She noted his bald head and the fact that he wore only a vest, no shirt, over a heavily muscled chest, and a rough, coarsely woven kilt and well-worn boots on legs that were as long and thick as tree trunks. He had some green-colored lines on one of his bulging biceps, she noted with interest, and another set of green lines on the top of his shiny bald head.
She felt a frisson of unease as she met his eyes once again and saw him smiling sardonically down at her.
His smile grew as he slowly ran a hand over the lines on his bald head. His eyes never left hers.
Gillis kept her face rigid and calm, not letting her eyes be chased away by his. What is it with these men who try tae outstare me? she thought, as she stared back at the man.
“By stroking yer head with yer hand over those green lines, ye are trying tae call attention tae them in a threatening manner,” she said archly. “It isnae working.”
Gaufid stood up straighter and tilted his head at her, like some sort of a vulture eyeing its prey and sizing it up. Then he slowly smiled again. He took a slow step towards her.
“Are ye sure?” Gaufid whispered.
“Absolutely sure,” Gillis said calmly.
Gaufid smiled a thin, menacing smile. “Perhaps they are the number of women I have killed…”
5
Gillis raised one eyebrow. “Those green lines are the marks of a criminal sent to work at sea. That is all.” She looked at him calmly. “I should hazard a guess that you finished your sentence.”
Gaufid made a strangled-sounding noise. He leaned forward as if to lunge at her.
