The Healer (5 page)

Lynelle resisted the urge to turn and see if all the other women were staring too.

Her gaze flew upwards and collided with flint coloured eyes. She shuddered, glad her cloak hid her twisting fingers.

He’d halted at the stable entrance and she had no clue as to how long she’d spent exploring his features. Or how long he’d allowed her to.

Her cheeks heated as he slowly appraised her from head to toe. She wanted to move, but found her body had frozen. Gooseflesh erupted on every inch of her skin as his gaze climbed up to settle on her face. Though her body was totally covered, she felt as if he’d laid eyes on her bare flesh.

A shiver ripped through her at such a wicked thought.

‘Donald,’ he said, his gaze lingering on her scarred cheek. ‘Stay with the healer. When I return, we leave for home.’

How dare he look his fill and then dismiss her without a word? Lynelle squared her shoulders, grateful her quaking limbs were finally responding to her will.

‘Wait!’ she said.

The man who triggered her ire and stole her senses stopped mid-stride and turned around to look at her. Impatience radiated from his powerful frame and his fists came to rest on his plaid-clad hips.

‘What is it?’

‘My br...’ she bit down hard on her lower lip, furious with herself. The tanned skin showing through his unlaced shirt proved distracting, and she’d almost revealed Thomas was her brother. ‘Fenwick’s heir is to be released before we depart. The Elliot laird agreed. It was part of our barg... ‘

‘The lad was taken south and turned loose,
unharmed
, at dawn.’

Lynelle looked up into his eyes. ‘Thomas is gone?’

‘Aye.’

‘How do I know you speak the truth?’

His gaze darkened. ‘You don’t. You’ll just have to take me at my word. Now all that remains is for you to uphold
your
part of the agreement.’

He turned, and Lynelle stared at the breadth of his shoulders as he headed for the keep. Emptiness welled inside her.

Thomas was gone! He was free! Even now was he wrapped in his mother’s embrace, cramming sweetmeats into his mouth as he regaled his daring adventure?

She struggled to summon an ounce of delight. She’d wanted to speak with her stepbrother or at least have him see her. No one knew she’d left Fenwick, and with Thomas gone, not a soul would know what had become of her.

Her stomach churned at her selfishness. Looking about, her self-pity receded beneath mounting apprehension.

Being alone wasn’t new to her, but nothing was familiar here. Not the surroundings, nor the people. They spoke with an odd burr and the men dressed in garments that exposed their legs. Even their hair was worn much longer than that of her countrymen. Everything was different.

‘The laird doesn’t tell falsehoods, Miss.’

Lynelle jumped and spun around at the sound of the voice behind her.

‘And what of yourself?’ she asked the man of middle years, before she could still her tongue.

‘Oh, I’ve told a good number of untruths in my time,’ he said, with what appeared to be an amused twinkle in his brown eyes. ‘But only when necessary.’

Shocked at herself for speaking so freely with another person, Lynelle suddenly realized her confrontations inside the keep last night and outside this morning were the most she’d spoken with someone else besides Bernard and since Ada’s death three years ago.

‘What about you?’ The man said.

‘Me?’

‘Don’t look so worried, lass. I’m only foolin’ with you.’ He grinned. ‘The name’s Donald, and if you care to listen, I’ll give you some advice for free.’

All traces of humour vanished from his weathered face, the transformation capturing her attention.

‘Tend his brother’s injuries well and you have naught to fear from the laird. Will’s a good man, but he’s had little to feel good about of late.’

Donald’s kind eyes and gentle explanation eased her fears somewhat. She’d come here to gain freedom for Thomas, and she’d succeeded. The cost of her success was two weeks of her time. It wasn’t such a vast interlude in her uneventful life. She believed she could uphold her end of the bargain with little fuss, so long as she avoided William Kirkpatrick as much as possible.

A commotion from inside the stable entrance interrupted her musing. She and Donald shifted to the side of the doorway as a horse was led through by the burly man who’d escorted her from her chamber.

‘This is Keith,’ Donald said. ‘An ugly brute, but he has his uses.’

Keith grunted and Lynelle bobbed her head in greeting.

Attached to the horse was a flat contraption made from two long, slender tree trunks and stretched animal hides. The top end of both tree limbs were strapped to the saddle, leaving the bottom ends dragging in the dirt. The hides spanned the distance between the poles, forming a movable pallet. It would be comfortable, Lynelle decided, spying the numerous furs strewn atop the hides.

‘A litter,’ Donald informed her. ‘Young Edan’s means of travel.’

Lynelle tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. Holy Mother of God. Were the boy’s wounds so bad he couldn’t walk or sit a horse? What had she done? She may have gained Thomas’ freedom, but at what price? Her small lie could have grave consequences. She’d vowed never again to be the cause of another’s death.

‘I’ve saddled the other mounts,’ Keith said, and he disappeared inside the stable.

Panic surged. Her heart raced. She couldn’t do this. She needed to tell the truth before it was too late. Tiny black dots invaded her vision. Blinking furiously, she tried to dispel them.

‘Ah, just in time, Keith,’ Donald said, as the other man appeared once more, towing four horses in his wake. ‘Here comes Will with Edan.’

Lynelle turned quickly and fought to gain her balance. Her vision cleared and she focused on the entrance to the keep. William Kirkpatrick descended the stairs, carrying Edan. His long, graceful strides closed the distance and before she could gather her wits, he lowered his brother onto the litter.

A groan sounded and was cut short as the injured boy’s weight settled onto the bedding. Lynelle battled to keep her mouth from falling open, as Will, the hard-eyed, scowling man knelt in the dirt at his brother’s feet and adjusted the furs.

An invisible hand wrapped fingers of envy about her heart and squeezed. She missed her next two breaths, as William’s sun-browned hands carefully bunched the coverings under the boy’s head.

The brothers exchanged a few quiet words and then the elder brushed a lock of dark hair from his brother’s brow and stood, wiping the dirt from his knees. Lynelle stared at him, confused by the harsh, frowning laird she’d dealt with and the concerned older sibling she’d just witnessed coddling his brother.

He looked up from the boy and his intense gaze met hers.

‘Come.’

Lured by the gentle command, Lynelle walked forward on unsteady legs.

‘This is my brother, Edan,’ he said, pride and worry evident in his tone. ‘Edan, this is the healer who promised to restore your health.’

He didn’t use her name. A cold clamminess washed through her. She peered down at the young man, for now she could see him she realised he was past the age of being labelled a boy.

A fat bandage circled his upper left thigh and his left forearm lay in a splint, across his stomach. Though he was comfortably positioned, his body curled in on itself a fraction, as if he were protecting further hidden injuries. A small gash marked his right cheek and she almost stumbled back as clear, grey eyes, so like his brother’s, looked up into hers.

Relief swept through her. His injuries weren’t as dire as she’d imagined. Perhaps she could do this. Perhaps she could finally make use of Ada’s teachings on someone other than herself.

‘Do your wounds cause you much grief?’ she asked softly.

‘You’re English,’ he said, wide-eyed.

‘Yes.’

‘The pain is not so bad,’ Edan said, though she noted his gaze darted to her right and back again.

The man beside her made a scoffing sound before saying, ‘Iona has tended his
meagre
wounds already this morn. Your services are not needed, yet.’

Relief fluttered in her belly at her reprieve. She’d come to rescue her stepbrother, and though the event hadn’t turned out exactly as she’d envisioned, she’d been successful.

Fate had seen fit to injure young Edan and she’d sworn to return him to good health. She was needed here, and had the chance to make a difference to someone else’s life.

‘Keith,’ William said. ‘You take the lead. Donald, you take charge of the horse pulling Edan. I’ll ride at the rear.’

He retrieved two bundles from the ground at his feet and added them to the supplies on the horse that would drag his brother – a brown horse that for some reason appeared familiar to Lynelle. His task complete, he threw one last command over his shoulder. ‘Donald, help the healer mount.’

‘Come, lass. I’ll get you into your saddle,’ Donald said as he approached.

‘But...but I don’t ride.’

‘Ever?’

‘Ever,’ she said, shaking her head.

Donald scratched at his whiskered chin and then rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. ‘Will,’ he called. ‘We have a wee problem.’

Will stood beside the largest of the four horses. His gleaming sword posed a brilliant contrast to the jet-black beast it was strapped to. ‘What is it?’ he said, stroking the steed’s long, thick neck.

‘Ah, the lass...doesn’t ride.’

The laird’s head jerked up and Lynelle witnessed the thinning of his usually generous lips. ‘Come.’ He gestured her forward with his fingers, and then drew his sword. Her steps faltered. She relaxed as he sheathed his blade in the harness he wore on his back. ‘It’s past time we were gone.’

Lynelle halted before him and noticed the hue of his eyes change from pewter to pale silver as he said, ‘You’ll ride with me.’

‘I can walk.’

‘You’ll ride with me.’ His harsh tone brooked no further argument.

Large, warm hands spanned her waist, branding her flesh beneath her numerous layers of clothing. She gasped as he lifted her high in the air and set her atop his horse.

With her legs spread wide to accommodate the width of the massive beast, her skirt and cape rode high on her thighs, exposing her bare legs. She wanted to draw her garments down and cover herself, but she sat unmoving, clutching the front of the saddle for dear life.

Suddenly, the world tilted to one side and then righted itself as William mounted and sat flush against her back. Powerful legs wrapped about her own and daring to move only her eyes, she peered down at the dark hairs covering his lower thighs.

Heat flashed into her cheeks.

‘Ready?’ His voice rumbled through her back.

‘God speed,’ someone shouted from the vicinity of the keep.

‘Farewell, Lachlan,’ William called.

‘Iona sends her best,’ the Elliot laird yelled and then laughed.

‘Always the jester,’ Kirkpatrick mumbled.

Lynelle stiffened further as the body behind her pressed closer. Strong arms circled her, as he reached for the reins. Her heart drummed and her breaths came short and fast.

The enormous beast started forward, heading for the now open gates. The rest of their small travelling party passed through the opening, leaving Lynelle and William to bring up the rear.

Saint Jude, save me
.

Just when Fate finally granted her a purpose by providing someone she could aid with her healing knowledge, it threw up more hurdles. If she didn’t tumble to her death from so great a height, she feared she’d burst into flames from William Kirkpatrick’s masculine heat.

WILLIAM stretched his aching neck and peered up at the sun as it crawled ever higher in the clear blue sky. Its mellow heat announced an end to bitter-cold winter days and offered a hint at the warmth to come.

He looked away, his eyes adjusting and settling on his brother’s face. The lad slept on as he had for most of the morning, lulled by the sway of the litter and the constant clopping of unshod hooves.

Donald rode beside the laden horse, leading-rein in hand, as he held them at a steady pace and searched for the smoothest tracts of land to cross. Keith scouted ahead. His natural instinct for sensing trouble made his position in front, inevitable.

The small party followed the worn trail into a copse of silver birch. The branches angled sharply toward the sun, the tips curving downward as if all hope of reaching its brightness were lost.

The desperate need to return to Closeburn ate at William’s soul like a festering wound. He could imagine the stricken faces of his clan as they crossed themselves and stared down at Edan stretched out upon his horse-drawn pallet. Sorrowful eyes and defeated whispers would abound.

If he hadn’t whisked his brother away to escape the ill-fated murmurings, he was certain Edan would have avoided the horrible injuries he sustained. He should have eased the lad’s fears by treating the superstitious babblings as the foolish ravings they were. But he hadn’t, and the woman sitting as stiff as his blade before him was a vivid reminder.

Her rigid posture affected the joy that normally washed over him when he rode. His back and shoulders ached after only a few hours in the saddle. He lightly gripped the leather reins in his left hand, sure that his mount was content to follow the others for now. The fingers of his right hand bit into his leg.

The healer sat between his thighs, holding herself so ramrod straight to ensure none of her body touched his.

A small gust of wind wafted through the tree-enclosed passage, stealing a lock of red-gold hair from the tight knot on her head. It danced and tickled his cheek, teasing him with a faint smell of lavender.

He caught the long, stray strand and gently twined it around two fingers. The saddle creaked as his weight shifted forward. He leaned over her shoulder to murmur in her ear. ‘If you don’t relax, it’s unlikely you’ll survive the journey.’

She flinched, emitting a tiny gasp.

Tilting his head, he gazed at her gold-tipped, wide-eyed lashes and skimmed her profile with cool interest. The sprinkling of freckles on her nose and cheeks faded as her face reddened. He continued his perusal downward, past the line of her clenched jaw and skimmed the length of her slender neck.