The Healer (22 page)

She wanted more.

A knock sounded. She stiffened. Pressing a hand to her middle, seeking to calm the fluttering in her belly, she smoothed the fabric of her gown for the hundredth time.

Anticipation shivered through her.

She freed her hand from beneath her cloak, stepped forward and unlatched the door. William filled the opening, his fresh, masculine scent filling her next breath.

She sank her teeth into her tongue and met his dark gaze. Heat flooded her cheeks and she grasped the edges of her cloak to stop the need to fan herself.

I want to taste you again
.

The words he’d spoken last evening shone clearly in his eyes.

Her breath caught. Lowering her lashes, she stared at his mouth, his lips, up-tilted slightly at the corners. She struggled to appear composed.

‘How is Edan?’ she said, studying the square line of his jaw, wondering if the faint shadow would rasp against her skin.

‘Edan is well.’ He shifted. ‘Come. Others await your skills in the village.’

Inhaling deeply, she moved past him into the corridor and forced her legs to keep moving as a hand cupped her elbow. Her cloak proved no barrier to the warmth racing up and down her arm.

As they descended into the great hall, he released his hold and her blood seemed to slow within her veins. Servants stopped clearing the tables from the morning meal to throw glances their way. She returned their smiles, buoyed by their friendliness.

They stepped out into the sunlight, and William’s hand settled on the small of her back. His fingers softly stroked her sensitive flesh like a bard strumming his lute. His touch sent tendrils of heat sparking along the length of her spine as he guided her through the gates and down to the pier.

He ceased playing her as she climbed into the boat and her senses started to reassemble, only to scatter the moment he sat beside her on the bench seat, his hip and thigh pressing against hers.

Why did his caresses linger today, when he’d previously avoided touching her? Did he simply taunt her, or was he too hoping for more?

She turned and peered into the water as the vessel glided across the loch, the surface rippling in their wake. God help her. If she planned to savour his taste when he kissed her again, she needed to find a way to remain coherent. In her present state, she feared her body would soon resemble a steaming puddle in the bottom of the boat.

A bird cried overhead and she stared at the osprey’s white underbelly. What would it be like to know such freedom? Freedom to be herself, freedom to feel. She continued to watch the bird until it flew from sight.

Climbing ashore, she accepted the hand William offered. As her fingers wrapped around his, sparks rushed up her arm, but she drew strength from the sensation and welcomed the quickening of her blood.

She turned to the boatman. ‘Thank you, Geordie.’ Her voice rang clear and loud, despite her inner turmoil.

Geordie responded with a nod and his weathered cheeks coloured slightly.

A gentle tug on her hand had her turning about and together she and William struck out towards the village.

He released her hand, but his fingers slid along the tender skin of her wrist, where they stopped to encircle her lower arm. He remained silent and she wondered if he were speaking to her with his touch rather than words. Her mouth grew dry and she could feel herself sinking into oblivion again.

‘Tell me about the swans.’ Her question broke the serenity and his leisurely stride. His fingers firmed a fraction before slowly lowering her arm to her side and letting go.

‘Do you believe in myth and magic, curses and legends?’ he asked softly.

Lynelle’s stomach clenched. People said she was cursed, and blamed her for everything that went wrong. Even her own father shunned her.

‘I believe people seek answers from wherever they can when deeply troubled or hurt,’ she said.

‘It is easier to accuse something that has been whispered about for a hundred years,’ William said. ‘A story that holds nae truth, but saves those responsible because of who they are.’

‘A story told for so long must hold some truth,’ she said. ‘How did it begin?’

William sighed and she feared he’d refuse to tell her the tale.

‘‘Tis said many years ago, two swans used to visit Closeburn Castle. At least twice their appearance heralded the miraculous recovery for ill members of our family.’

Lynelle’s heart warmed at the notion.

‘The swans came to be regarded as tokens of good luck,’ William continued. ‘That was until one of my ancestors, it is said, cruelly shot one through the breast with a crossbow bolt.’

Lynelle gasped and looked at William. He strode on as if unaffected.

‘Thereafter, the apparition of a swan with a bleeding breast foretold a death or misfortune for the Kirkpatrick clan.’

Angels above
.

‘Has anyone ever seen the bleeding swan?’

‘A few believe they have.’

‘Have you?’ Lynelle couldn’t take her eyes off William as she awaited his response. But from the rigid set of his jaw, she already knew his answer.

‘Nae.’

‘But why would they lie about seeing – ‘

He stopped and turned to her. ‘People see what they want to see when grieving. It is easier to blame an ancestor long gone, instead of accusing those who still live and are really at fault.’

His strained expression and pain-filled eyes told her more than anything he could say. He’d banished Jinny but bore the guilt for his family’s demise himself.

Reaching out, she grasped his fist and gently squeezed. ‘You are not to blame for their deaths, William.’

He shook free of her hold and his eyes narrowed. ‘You are now a seer as well as a healer?’

‘No.’

‘Then you speak out of turn.’

His harsh tone silenced her for a moment, but the despair in his eyes loosened her tongue.

‘In your grief, you sent Jinny away. You needed someone to blame and should not feel guilty.’

His expression turned to stone. His eyes glittered darkly. An aura of barely leashed anger surrounded him as he stood in silent fury before her.

‘You know nothing of my grief. Or guilt.’

Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away.

‘I may know nothing of yours, but I carry my own.’ The words spilled free, without thought, and she suddenly knew she wasn’t to blame for surviving her birth when her mother and twin brother had died. How could a newborn babe be responsible for another’s death?

But why had she lived when they hadn’t?

‘You said you weren’t born or raised to be laird, but what if you were meant to be leader of your clan?’

‘I would rather have my family back.’

‘Of course, but do you not think things happen for a reason?’

‘Nae. Things happen because we grow lax and allow them to.’

‘But–?’

‘Enough.’ He speared his fingers through his hair. ‘Come. The day passes and we’ve done naught but talk nonsense.’

Lynelle stared at William’s rigid back as she followed him the rest of the way to the village. For her, it hadn’t been nonsense, but a revelation.

In her father’s grief, he’d needed to focus his pain and suffering on someone. That someone had been her. The people of Fenwick had followed his example and though she’d borne their condemnation, she at least now understood why.

If William had suffered because he was meant to be laird, why had she survived? Could it be her whole cursed existence led her to this place, to William? If so, what was her true purpose here?

Was it to become the healer she claimed to be by aiding the sick? Was she meant to restore William’s faith in healers? Or was she here to experience life as she’d never known it before?

GOD above. Was the healer trying to absolve him of his guilt while he’d been attempting to seduce her?

Her view of why his family had died, while he yet lived, cast a little light on his shadowed soul. Then again, perhaps it had only been a reflection of her goodness.

Was she right? Had he always been meant to be laird?

The thought persisted as he helped Ian form dirt mounds and lay seed for Keita’s family. Once done, they visited the other cottages and aided the men with their spring planting. It was a task he’d often performed before Roger’s death, after which other matters had consumed his time and stolen his peace of mind.

Now, as he stood alongside his clansmen and appraised their handiwork, a sense of pride washed over him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the manual labour and the satisfaction it granted.

He had a good comradeship with the clan folk and was respected by Closeburn’s men-at-arms. He also felt responsible for every soul living within the castle and village confines.

But he’d never believed he was born to be laird. Feeling responsible and actually being accountable were two different things entirely. The first was a choice. The second was an expected duty.

Feminine voices drifted on the breeze, dragging him back from his reverie. Sunlight glinted red in Lynelle’s golden hair as she approached with Keita. His body tensed. Christ! When had he started thinking of her as Lynelle?

When you kissed her
.

‘Are you returning to the castle now, laird?’

William turned at the sound of Ian’s voice.

‘Aye.’

‘Can I walk with you? I need to see my father.’

‘I welcome your company, Ian.’ He told himself his agreement had nothing to do with the sudden need to avoid Lynelle’s probing questions.

They bid the villagers farewell and started back along the path. Despite Ian’s presence, the woman walking beside him proved a constant distraction.

There was something different about her. An air of confidence and certainty shimmered around her, as if she’d discovered a well-kept secret. He could think of many ways to encourage Lynelle to share her knowledge with him, but doing so would mean being alone with her.

The short journey across Castle Loch seemed to take forever. Though he stared at the rippling water, he remained acutely aware of every word Lynelle spoke, every gesture she made. Relief ploughed through him as the boat bumped into the pier.

William kept a slight distance between them as he escorted Lynelle into the keep. No words passed between them, but her gaze locked with his for a whisper of time before she descended to the healing room below, and he took the wide stairs up to Edan’s chamber two at a time.

***

‘I win!’

William groaned inwardly. Not again. How could Edan win the second game of draughts with such ease? Seated in the bailey, enjoying the mild sunshine, William was having trouble concentrating.

Edan’s triumphant grin widened as a group of giggling young serving maids approached. They spouted on about Edan’s daring and bravery, causing his underdeveloped chest to swell.

Standing, William offered his seat to the bright-eyed maids, allowing Edan some privacy to soak up their praise.

William strode around to the back of keep, drawn by the sound of steel clashing with steel. Donald had kept up the men’s training since William had become laird, though it was a duty he’d previously enjoyed. Removing his shirt and picking up a heavy sword, he sparred with several of the men, relishing the physical exertions placed on his body.

After splashing his face and upper body with cool water, he left Donald to guide the aspiring swordsmen. Today, he lacked the clear-headed concentration required to hone their skills.

Donning his shirt, he sought out Malcolm, Closeburn’s steward. Food stores of fresh meat were low and William decided to organize a hunt in a week or two to replenish the larder. As they spoke, his gaze constantly drifted upward to the keep’s highest level and the window that no eyes had peered out of for half a year.

The sun hung low in the west by the time William sought out Edan. He patiently waited for Edan’s flock of admirers to disperse, then carried his grumbling brother back to his chamber.

William teased Edan about the young lasses vying for his attention as they shared the evening meal. Edan repaid him by beating him at draughts for a third time.

‘What’s troubling you, Will? You’ve hardly eaten and I’ve never bested you at draughts three times.’

Pushing out of the chair he’d placed beside the bed, William paced the length of the chamber. He halted at the far side of the room and looked at his brother’s concerned face.

‘Tell me, Edan. If there was nae such thing as the curse of the bleeding swan, who would you blame for the deaths of our loved ones?’

All colour drained from Edan’s cheeks.

A flash of pain seared William’s chest as his brother lowered his gaze to the coverlet. He desperately wished he’d held his tongue.

‘Forget I spoke, lad. It was a foolish question.’

‘Nae! It wasn’t.’ Strong emotion shone in his brother’s eyes. ‘Do you think me too young to have shared similar thoughts?’

Aye, he had. William approached the bed and resumed his seat. ‘Then tell me.’

Edan looked at him. ‘The hurt was so great I believed I would die along with them.’ He swallowed. ‘But I didn’t, and then I grew angry with each of them for leaving me.’

William understood such anger. He’d suffered the same burning fury.

‘Then I was glad I wasn’t struck down with the ague, and relieved I hadn’t gone out in the boat with Roger that day. I hadn’t died, but my selfishness caused the most pain of all.’

‘It isn’t selfish to want to live, Edan.’

‘Then why do I feel guilty for being alive?’ Anguish almost robbed him of his voice.

William’s heart constricted. Reaching forward, he gripped Edan’s hand and squeezed. ‘I haven’t the answer as to why, lad, but I assure you, you don’t suffer alone.’ William tightened his hold on his brother’s hand.

‘The swan curse was an easy choice and saved me having to find fault with anyone,’ Edan said. ‘But after being wounded, I’ve had plenty of time while lying here to think about who is to blame.’

William stiffened, fearing Edan’s next words.

Grey eyes lifted to meet his.

‘Nae one is to blame, Will. Not Jinny, not me and certainly not you.’