Highland Healer (17 page)

“Indeed.”

“Indeed, that tale is what convinced me to come.” Angus lifted his gaze from the food in front of him to Toran’s. “If the tales are true, if she is a witch, then surely she can help.”

“A witch? Or a healer, a wise woman, or a seer?” Toran prompted.

“So it seems. Whatever she is, she’s the only hope the MacAnalen has.” Angus went back to eating, and appeared content to drop the subject, warning given.

Toran wondered what Angus would think if he’d seen how Aileana healed Jamie three days past. He could scarce credit the memory, even though he’d watched with growing horror as Jamie’s blood coated his hands. Senga’s despair at her own impotence had been terrible to see. He kenned what damage an arrow lodged in muscle would do. Besides the torn flesh, bleeding to death was a real possibility. Jamie’s wound had been much worse, and yet he still lived.

But for Senga’s confidence in Aileana’s abilities, Jamie would be gone from them. Donal might have succeeded in arguing against bringing Aileana down to provide her aid. Toran had been too stunned by Donal’s defection to be terrified of her, or of what she was doing, until it had all been over. And then, he’d been terrified for her when he saw the toll the healing had taken on her, the price she’d paid to save Jamie’s life. It was something he’d never forget, holding her nearly lifeless body in his arms, and looking up to see the faces of his clan. If not for Senga’s evident concern for her, what might have happened?

He pulled his wandering thoughts back to the present. Angus was still focused on the food in front of him and didn’t seem to have noticed Toran’s distraction.

“How did ye find the MacAnalen?”

“We searched for our missing, and we found some of them, none hurt as badly as the laird, thanks be to God.” Angus’s frown deepened. “Colbridge’s men have dumped the bodies of our dead in a crevasse, but we havena been able to get close enough to identify them. He keeps a patrol nearby, knowing we’ll try to go there. We know who we’re missing, o’course, but no’ until we’ve seen their bodies will we count them dead.” Angus heaved a deep sigh. “’Twas ill done, that day. Our men dead, our village burned. We’ve no homes to return to, once this Colbridge is gone.”

“Ye’ll rebuild. We’ll help ye,” Toran promised, not liking the set of Angus’s shoulders.

“Aye, then, let that day come soon,” Angus said, straightening, a small grin playing around the corners of his mouth. “Or we’ll guest with ye ’til spring comes again.”

Chapter Ten

Toran faced Donal on the practice ground, breathing heavily and leaning on his sword. As laird, Toran knew he had to set the example, so he sparred with Donal or anyone else, as often as he could, just as he took his share of watches on the ramparts.

He signaled for a cup of cold, clear water, and drank it down in a gulp as soon as it was handed to him. Sweat sheened his body and ran down his chest and back despite the chill in the air. But Donal eyed him and he knew if he didn’t pick up his sword in the next few seconds, Donal would, putting Toran immediately on the defensive. So with a deep breath, he hefted his longsword and with no other warning, began their third mock battle of the day.

It was the best way Toran knew to pass the hours until dark, when they would leave for Angus’s cave.

The siege had been underway for nearly a week, and autumn was suddenly well advanced. Toran agreed with Angus that the colder weather signalled Colbridge wouldn’t be able to maintain the siege much longer. Morning mists now turned to heavy frost that coated the glens with diamonds that melted away in the weak sunlight—beautiful, but portending the deadly cold and snow to come.

Colbridge’s remaining men had continued trying the walls without success, but their failures made no difference within the Aerie. Donal was a strict arms master who never relaxed his guard. Shouts and clangs, the familiar din of fighting, had echoed around the outer bailey all day. There might be a hostile force camped at their feet, but training never ceased.

“That’s water that coulda been poured on the invaders,” Donal remarked, his parry countering Toran’s thrust precisely, with no wasted motion. Though odd for a man of few words, Donal often used taunts or conversation to try to distract his opponent, and to force his students to learn to deal with the distractions that occur in battle before they had to face them with their lives at stake. Two could play that game.

“’Tis a good thing we have an endless supply.” Toran swung his blade, watched Donal twist out of the way.

Donal grinned and picked up the pace. “Aye. Boiling water works as well as boiling oil or pitch to keep them off our walls.”

“And Senga says it’s easier to treat our men for scalds than for the burns they get from hot tar or pitch. That damn stuff sticks,” Toran continued, turning to parry another thrust just before it connected with his shoulder. Thick practice padding protected them, and Donal was as skilled an instructor as he was a fighter, but Toran had no wish to suffer bruises at his hands, either.

Donal used the momentum of his twist to step sideways and around Toran’s back.

“Plunging a hand into a bucket of cold water has saved many a lad from deeper burns,” Toran added, his breath coming faster as he met Donal’s challenge. Donal, damn him, seemed unaffected by the pace he set

Donal jumped out of the path of Toran’s sword and pulled his dirk. The claymore was long and heavy enough to be challenging to wield two-handed, but to fight one-handed with it took considerably more strength and skill. Donal now faced him with sword and dirk. Toran heaved a sigh and pulled his dirk from its sheath, too.

“One less jeopardy we face,” he continued, as if the level of difficulty had not just doubled, or trebled. From the corner of his eye, he saw several people stop to watch as he and Donal sparred. He feinted with the sword and stepped in to threaten with the dirk. Donal saw him coming and danced out of the way.

“Thanks to our walls, none here face jeopardy. Save ye.” Donal grinned as the flat of his claymore thwacked Toran soundly across the back.

Damn! That was his weakness, Toran berated himself, and probably how he’d been ambushed during the battle in MacAnalen territory. He dropped his weapons and raised his hands, palm forward, his heart pounding. “Have done,” he said, conceding the match.

“Well fought, Laird,” Donal said, sheathing his dirk and dropping the point of his claymore into the dirt. He took Toran’s arm in an iron grip and chided, “Except for that last.”

Toran shook his head. “One day that ploy will fail.”

“Not soon enough,” Donal answered, suddenly grim, “or I wager ye wouldna lain in the Healer’s tent, laddie.”

“Aye,” Toran admitted, picked up his weapons, and then slung an arm over Donal’s shoulder, walking with him toward the great hall and tankards of mead to slake the thirst they’d both worked up. “But it turned out for the best. The Healer is with us now.”

“Is she, lad? Despite her helpful ideas, do we truly know where her loyalties lie?”

Toran dropped his arm from Donal’s shoulder and faced him. “Aye. Ye saw what she did for Jamie. What she’s done for others since then. Would ye turn aside from her when she saved his life and helped many more?”

Donal shook his head, his expression turning stubborn. “Lad, she’s got ye bewitched and besotted, it seems. Aye, what she did for Jamie was fair miraculous, but there’s the problem. What else can she do? What dinna we ken?” Donal gripped his arm, urging him into the Great Hall. “I’m not the only one of yer clan who has concerns, lad. What she did lies in the realm of fables, no’ healing as we ken it. Ye canna dismiss this. I see the way ye watch the lass. No good can come of it.”

“It already has, Donal.”

“Perhaps. And perhaps it would be best to leave her with Angus.”

“Nay. I’ll no’ do that. She belongs with us.”

“I hope ye’re right lad, I do.”

****

Dinner in the Great Hall was never a grand affair. The clan’s laird preferred to keep a more casual, comfortable home than had his father, the old laird, who sat at the high table and ran the servants ragged. Even with guests in attendance, Toran maintained the informality of the Hall. It was the way he preferred it to be, and after all, what was the point of being laird if he could not live the way he wished in his own home.

Tonight, Angus joined him at an early dinner. It would be their last chance for a full, hot meal for the next few days. Toran took his obligation seriously to treat Angus to what comforts he could offer before they ventured out into the cold night to rejoin his clansmen and carry out the plans he and Toran had made. He and Angus sat at table, Toran at the head and Angus at his left, cups of wine in hand.

Though it had become Aileana’s habit to take her evening meal with Senga, or in her chambers, Toran requested that she attend tonight after her preparations for the trip were finished. He was quite interested to see what Angus made of the Healer in her new setting.

“I have to say, I’ve never seen the like before,” Angus told him as they waited for her. “Many clans hereabouts have healers, wise women, and seers among them, but none that I know of have the skill this healer is said to possess.”

“Nor I.”

“’Tis a rare thing, it seems. Is it better known in the Lowlands? In the camp, it seemed strange that Colbridge’s men respected her wish to remain untouched. Was that due to Colbridge’s orders? Or because they already knew about healers like her?”

“Why would healers from the south have special talents that we havena seen here, and why would they have to remain untouched?” Toran wondered aloud. “How do new ones get born if that’s the case?”

“It defies logic, it does,” Angus replied. “Perhaps that was only her way to protect herself.”

Aileana entered the Hall then. Toran stood, and after a surprised moment of delay, the rest of the men in the Hall did, too. Aileana stopped, dismay on her face at the sudden display in her honor, and then started forward again as Toran held out his hand to her.

“Laird Lathan,” she said quietly as she touched her fingers to his palm. That contact shot a frisson of want through Toran. She had never before offered her touch without being involved in healing an injury. Was she becoming comfortable enough with him to forget her safeguards?

“Healer Aileana,” he replied, matching her formality for the moment. “I believe ye met Angus MacAnalen while he guested with Colbridge in the camp? Nay?” Toran hid the sense of loss that nearly overwhelmed him when Aileana retrieved her fingers from his. Angus offered his hand across the table, but Aileana merely nodded.

Angus inclined his head and smiled warmly at her, accepting her slight with good grace.

“Healer,” Angus said, “we did not meet. But ye took care of some of my clansmen. And soon, ye may save our laird. For all of that, I am in yer debt.”

“You owe me nothing, sir,” Aileana responded primly. “I simply did what I was called to do.”

“Aileana, please join us,” Toran invited, and pulled out the chair to his right, keeping the table between her and Angus.

She sat quickly, clearly uncomfortable, but doing her best to be polite.

“Supper is on the way,” he told her. “Would ye like some wine while we wait?”

“I don’t know,” she replied with a small frown. “I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted any.”

Toran noted Angus’s raised eyebrows, but chose not to explain Aileana’s simple background. “Indeed,” he said. He poured her a cup and placed it before her.

Aileana picked it up and sniffed the dark red liquid. “How can something smell warm?” She looked at Toran, but he simply smiled at her and nodded.

“Taste it. It’s good.”

Aileana took a sip, then raised her eyebrows in surprise. “It’s very good,” she said after she swallowed.

Angus chuckled, but Toran laughed outright. “Aye, that it is.”

When the food arrived, Toran was pleased to see Angus dig in with a will, and even more pleased that Aileana nearly matched him, bite for bite, between sips of wine.

“Healer,” Angus began after a glance at Toran, who nodded permission, “how do ye like living in the Aerie?”

“It’s very different,” she replied after a moment’s thought. “Different from anything I’ve ever known.”

“What do ye mean?”

“Look around you, Angus. It’s a grand fortress. I come from a village, and spent the last two years with a traveling army. I’ve never lived anywhere like this.”

Toran was amused to see her run her finger around the rim of her wine cup as she spoke.

“Would ye like some more, Aileana?”

“Yes, please.”

Toran poured just as Senga walked into the Great Hall and beckoned to him.

“If ye’ll excuse me,” he said to Aileana and Angus as he rose, “Senga wants me for something. I’ll be back shortly.”

Toran met the old healer halfway across the hall. “Is there something amiss?”

“Come with me, Laird. There’s something ye should see before ye leave.”

With no further explanation, she turned and led him from the Hall. He glanced around as they exited and saw Angus and Aileana deep in conversation across the table. He was tempted to turn back to see what subject had them both so engaged, but one did not ignore a summons from the clan’s healer. So he followed her up the stairs toward the solar. There, in the hallway, Toran nearly shouted with joy at the sight that greeted him. Jamie walked toward them and smiled, bringing a healthy pink to his cheeks.

“Jamie, ye’re on yer feet!”

“Ye have a wonderful grasp of the obvious, Lathan. And glad I am to be up and about, especially after coming so close to singing with the angels.

“They wouldna have ye, ye fool. Ye canna sing a note.” Toran clasped his old friend in a careful embrace. He remembered just in time not to pound him on the back. He wasn’t sure Jamie would appreciate that particular display of affection yet. “Ye’re the best thing I’ve seen for days.”

“He has recovered very well,” Senga announced. “I willna say he’s ready to resume his duties to the clan, but some time spent walking about the keep and a few good meals should see him completely restored.”

“That’s great news,” Toran responded with genuine feeling. “Thank ye for yer care of my old friend.” Toran slung an arm over Jamie’s shoulders as his friend stood between him and Senga looking sheepish. “He wouldha’ been a real loss to the clan.”