Highland Healer (6 page)

Eventually, another low rumble of conversation caught his attention. He turned to see what interested the men and saw the Healer cross the camp. The skirt of her green kirtle swirled around long legs as she strode, then draped over a pleasantly rounded backside as she bent to enter a small tent.

Toran’s pulse kicked up at the sight of her. What was it about that Healer that drew him so?

“There’s a lovely lass,” one of the men said, leering after her and distracting Toran from his troublesome thoughts. “Had we won the field yesterday, there might have been a better use for these fetters on her.” He tugged on the leathers binding him to the tree. “Just let me get free of here and...”

“And what?” one of his fellow prisoners jeered. “That’s the Healer, ye fool. She has the Sight and can make yer puny manhood wane even smaller than it already is. If ye cross her, even the wee fairy maidens willna have a use for it.”

“Aye,” a third man laughed. “If she hears ye prattlin’ on this way, ye might begin ta feel a certain shrinking, even now.”

The first man got a worried look on his face, then growled as the men around him laughed. “Go on w’ye,” he barked.

Someone hissed, “Now look what ye’ve done—here come the guards.”

Indeed, the two guards who’d made a round earlier were joined by another of the invaders. They stayed together, but looked the bound men over, one at a time, as they moved among them.

Toran recognized the tactic, meant to intimidate and to quell the rising spirits of the prisoners. “Keep quiet, do you hear?” one of the guards finally demanded, kicking the nearest prisoner before the three turned and walked back to their bonfire.

“With their chief under the care of the Healer,” Angus whispered to Toran, “it seems they lack the stones for more confrontation than that.”

“What do ye ken about the Healer?” Toran asked.

“We’ve heard she’s a captive, too,” Angus began, “but the benefits of her skills award her the freedom of the camp.” Angus hesitated, then at Toran’s nod, went on, “The men may have the right of it,” he said, clearly troubled by the subject. “Some of our men were seen to take grievous wounds in the battle, yet they sit among us, whole and healthy, just hours after they were taken near death to her tent, with no memory of their injuries. Had only one claimed to see this, I’d lay it to the confusion of the battle, but there are several.”

Toran’s thoughts whirled as he wondered just what had happened to him to require her attention. Had he also been near death? This...Talent...Toran wondered what to make of it. But he did ken one thing: it would not be wise to leave her here. She’d learned too much about him. But even more important, it would be wisest to deprive the enemy of her skills and bring them to his clan. For that reason alone he should take her—or kill her. Toran put that thought firmly aside. That she was a prisoner here, just as he and the MacAnalens were, meant that she deserved to be freed with them. That he wanted her past all reason was perhaps the poorest of motives, but the one which drove his thoughts, and would also drive his actions, he decided, should the opportunity present itself.

“Angus, I have a plan, but I require the assistance of one of yer men.”

“Aye?”

“We can’t leave the Healer here to aid the invader. I’ll take her with me back to the Aerie, but one of yer men must feign illness to draw her among us once Donal arrives.”

“Perhaps something he ate?” Angus suggested.

“Aye, causing a great deal of belly pain. That might do the job. He must appear to be ill enough to fetch her, not one of the other healers.”

“I think I know just the man,” Angus said, chuckling. “Brodric is always telling tall tales. This should suit his talents very well.”

Angus leaned toward the man next to him and gestured to another nearby. Ah, the man who’d warned that the Healer could cause serious shrinking. Toran watched the whispered conversation as Angus told his man what they wanted. A grin split Brodric’s face. He clearly relished the challenge. Angus turned back to Toran.

“Brodric is ready whenever Donal arrives.”

Laughter drifted over from the bonfire, and Toran wished that some of the heat it generated would, as well. Glad he was to be wearing breeches instead of a kilt. At least his manhood suffered no immediate danger of shrinking from the cold. He rested his arms on his knees, and dropped his chin, making his upper body as compact as possible for a man as large as himself. It would be a long day, and an even longer night, even if he wrapped his plaid about him.

But the position had the added advantage of allowing him to worry at his bonds with his teeth while appearing to simply rest his head on his hands. He’d made some progress when riders leaving camp had awakened him at dawn, but the damage he’d done to his wrists was greater than the damage done to the leather before the Healer arrived.

As for what she’d done when she’d seen the condition of his wrists, Toran didn’t understand what he’d been feeling then, but even the brief touch he’d allowed her had helped heal the worst of the damage inflicted by the leather. In hindsight, he should have let her finish the job. He’d be in better shape, and he might have a better understanding of what exactly she could do.

Or perhaps not. If she used magic, her methods would be past his kenning. But if she truly used magic, surely it was benign or even good magic used to heal and help, despite the warlike setting. Perhaps her life depended on providing aid the invader by keeping his troops sound. If so, why was he, a captive, given to her to heal? Ah, the torc. If they thought he ruled as laird here, they would think he kenned a great deal about the lay of the land and the capabilities of nearby clans. Indeed. The invader wanted to learn more about the area.

Several hours passed. The guards handed out a midday meal. While they ate, Toran questioned the men around him about the battle the day before and the invaders who now held them.

“No one has seen the MacAnalen since the battle,” Angus told him, grief plain on his handsome face. “He’s the only brother left to me and I fear he’s among the dead. The men are calm for now, but their rage over their losses will not be denied much longer. When your men come, the fighting could start again.”

“Nay,” Toran advised, “there are not enough of us to take them all. We need to get away so that we can return to fight on our own terms. Where are they keeping their horses?”

“On the other side of camp,” Angus replied. I saw a line of them tied out in the trees when I was brought here.”

“All together? That’s convenient, and sloppy. It will be easier to cut them loose. Steal those ye can. Scatter the rest. If ye make for the hills, ye can hide out where ye can re-arm and strike at a time of yer choosing. We’ll stand with ye o’course. But it may be as ye said. With their leader out of action, or dead, this army may disperse on its own, saving us all the trouble.”

“Ye speak sense. We’ll be glad of the chance to chase them south into the arms of the Sassenach.”

“And if they won’t go, we’ll take care of them, together.”

Angus, thoughtful, nodded before speaking again. “Most of these guards pay little attention to us, preferring to stay by the fire. We could let the men farthest from them start to slip into the woods when they get free of their bonds.”

“Nay,” Toran answered. “The risk is too great. If they’re seen, the guards will stay closer and more alert. Better the guards are lax in their duties. Donal will have time to cut several loose to help the others before we’re noticed. And my men will be armed and able to defend us.”

“Aye, that’s sensible,” Angus agreed, still tugging and twisting his bonds to stretch and loosen them.

Toran approved of the young MacAnalen lieutenant. If the MacAnalen was truly among the dead, Angus would be a suitable successor to lead his clan, though that must be confirmed by what remained of his people—if they could win free from the muddle they were in now.

Toran’s thoughts returned to his own situation and that of his home half a day’s ride away. The fact that the invader chief languished here meant he had not been able to carry the battle on to the Aerie in Toran’s absence. That would be ironic indeed, to waste his effort attacking its walls, when he already held its laird, and did not know it.

****

Though he fought to stay alert, Toran was nearly dozing from fatigue when the sudden flicker of shadows in the trees at the edge of the encampment caught his attention. Under half-closed eyelids, he began to study the perimeter of the camp, watching for the tiniest hint of movement in the weak sunlight of early afternoon.

Nothing happened. He began to think it had been only a stray breeze, when the leather thong binding him to the tree suddenly went slack. Donal’s familiar low whistle sounded behind him in the brush. Toran carefully studied the guards at their fire. They were paying no attention to the cluster of prisoners. The rest of the camp seemed quiet. It was time to go.

“Angus,” he hissed. “Tell Brodric to start.”

Angus straightened up and glanced around. “Donal?”

“Aye.” Donal’s whisper came from the brush at their backs.

Toran motioned for silence as a guard started in their direction. But after only a few paces, the man turned back to the fire, called by his compatriots to answer a question. Toran exhaled.

“Donal, send one of the men to cut the lines to their horses and lead them quietly into the trees,” Toran ordered. “Angus’s men will retrieve them. And stay put where ye are until I signal.”

“Already done, Lathan,” Donal responded dryly. In other circumstances, Toran would have chuckled. But there was too much at stake now.

“Always a step ahead of me, are ye?”

“Who trained ye, lad?” Donal answered simply.

At that moment, Brodric, only a dozen feet away from Toran, began to moan then doubled over, feigning agony. Others in the group called for a healer. Toran leaned back against the tree he was supposed to be tied to. One of the male healers approached with the same three guards.

“Here, now. What’s this?” the man demanded. He bent to examine his moaning patient, and Brodric’s cries of pain escalated. The healer sent one of the guards away and Toran’s pulse quickened. Angus slanted him a look, then went back to watching their drama play out. The healer continued his examination for another moment, then sat back on his heels, waiting, while Brodric writhed and moaned.

Soon she approached. The Healer. Toran’s senses went on immediate alert. He studied her as she hurried up, noting how the sunlight brightened the red in her hair, how gracefully she moved, even in haste. Even the guards by the fire turned to watch her pass, Toran noted. That worried him until most of them turned back to the fire, used to her presence.

As she passed under the trees, she flipped her heavy braid over her shoulder and down her back before kneeling by the groaning man. Toran’s palms itched with the desire to unbraid that wealth of hair and fill his hands with it. Mayhap he’d have the opportunity, once they returned to the Aerie. That thought cheered him as much as the knowledge that Donal waited behind him for the right moment to make his move.

Toran watched for long minutes as she ran her hands lightly over the torso of her patient, pausing as if to listen, before continuing her odd regimen of stroking, then pausing again, occasionally looking puzzled. It was a strange thing to see, but Brodric quieted as if she was having some effect, and she coaxed him to uncurl. Two guards, bored with the process, left. The male healer followed on their heels to the fire. Only one guard remained with the prisoners.

Toran nodded. Better and better.

Brodric sat up suddenly, red-cheeked and smiling. He reached out to grasp the Healer’s hand. If he was playacting, Toran thought, he excelled at it. He seemed genuinely relieved of pain. The Healer quickly pulled her hand away, frowned, and stepped out of his reach, but closer to Toran. “My pardon, lady,” he said. “I only meant to thank ye.”

She nodded and spoke to him, so quietly that Toran had to strain to hear her. “No one touches the Healer, man. Rest well.” She turned to step away.

Toran gestured urgently for Donal to move, and the snap of a twig broke the stillness. The undergrowth around the prisoners suddenly sprouted six armed men. Donal’s gruff greeting sounded sweet as he darted around the tree to cut Toran’s hands and feet free. So did the sight of the men he’d feared killed in the fight yesterday. They’d gotten away and brought help. One of them, Callum, silenced the guard behind Aileana, then moved to cut Angus’s bonds.

“Get moving, lad,” Donal hissed. “We’ve only these few to break ye out and hie to the hills, not an army to take on this whole damned camp.”

But the Healer still stood only a few feet away, wide-eyed, frozen in place by the abrupt appearance of dirk-wielding strangers. The opportunity was just the one Toran had planned for. He gained his feet, then scooped her up, clamping one hand over her mouth to stifle any scream before she attracted the attention of the guards and roused the rest of the camp.

“Quiet,” he warned her. “Ye ken what will happen if we don’t get out of here. Colbridge will kill us all.” Still stunned, she nodded.

Some of Angus’s men slipped their bonds from their wrists and bent to untie their feet. “Donal,” he hissed, “cut Angus and the rest of his men loose. Arm them as best ye can and silence the guards.”

“Aye,” Donal answered, motioning to the Lathan men. “Kyle’s waiting in the trees with the mounts. Take the lass and go.”

“Nay, I’ll hand her to Kyle and bring back more weapons.” With that, he ran into the trees as hard and fast as he could with the burden of the dazed woman in his arms.

“Toran,” he heard Kyle call softly, “this way!” He dodged small saplings and ran into Kyle, already mounted and holding two other horses—Donal’s and his. More horses waited just beyond Kyle in the trees. Toran was happy to see extra swords in scabbards tied onto several of them.

“What have ye there, Laird?” Kyle asked.

Finally, to Toran’s amusement, the woman found her voice.

“Put me down! What do you think you’re doing? I’m a Healer. You can’t take me hostage!”