The Healer (7 page)

He removed the stopper and handed her the skin. She poured the wine into the cup, a little more than half way and then used the pestle to mix the ingredients.

Satisfied she’d done everything correctly, she lifted the drinking vessel and offered it to Edan. A tide of warmth ran through her. She was doing something good for another, finally putting her knowledge to use.

‘You, first,’ William said.

She looked at him and his gaze slid from the cup she held to meet hers.

‘You will sample it first,’ he said.

‘I have no need –’

‘Do you fear tasting your own mixture?’

Her confusion mounted. ‘No, but –’

‘Then do it,’ he said.

Concealing an odd sense of hurt, she flicked a glance at Edan and found him watching the exchange in silence. She brought the wooden cup to her lips, her mind awhirl.

The herb’s natural strong scent had diminished when combined with the water and wine. Tilting the cup, she sipped and was not displeased by the flavour. She swallowed and turned puzzled eyes to William.

He studied her face intensely, as if waiting for some kind of reaction. She stared at him with a calmness she didn’t feel. And waited.

‘Now, ‘tis my turn,’ he said, reaching for the cup.

Lynelle gasped as his fingers brushed hers. She released the vessel, surprised when it didn’t fall to the earth. His hand already firmly wrapped about it.

‘Ah, Will,’ Edan said. ‘You don’t need to test it.’

William ignored his brother, looked at Lynelle and took a drink from the cup. His eyes never wavered from hers. Understanding swept through her.

He didn’t trust her. Didn’t believe in her. The burgeoning hope, so new, shrivelled inside her.

He passed the potion to Edan and she watched him swallow it down without hesitation.

‘Any mixture or salve you make must first be sampled by you and then me before it touches my brother,’ William said.

Feeling numb and weighted by a great sadness, Lynelle heard but didn’t reply.

‘Do you understand?’

She turned to face William. His steel-edged tone matched the determined look in his cold, grey eyes.

Her voice was lost to her. She nodded in answer and it was as if the movement displaced her dejection. Anger rushed in to take its place.

All her energy suddenly centred on Ada’s teachings of herbs. Which one could bring on an ailment of the stomach? Unfortunately, having to taste the potion first, she’d have to suffer the illness too. But it would be worth it, just to see this man laid low for crushing her fledgling spirit.

WILLIAM ignored the desolation clouding the healer’s expressive blue eyes. He’d expected the same insulted reaction Lachlan’s healer, Iona, had displayed. Not sadness. But Edan’s welfare took precedence over everything. If he happened to harm anyone’s sensibilities in the process, so be it.

A glimmer of defiance suddenly flared in her gaze and relief filled him. Her hostility was easier to dismiss than her despair.

Rising, he gave the order to resume their journey and secured the sacks on the borrowed horse. Edan nodded in response to his questioning look and settled back into the furs. William mounted Black and looked down at the woman clutching the ill-fitting cloak around her.

She stood rigid, chin raised, staring off into the distance, her bearing almost regal. But her mouth, usually soft in appearance, looked uneven as she chewed her lower lip. She obviously wished to be anywhere but here. Why had she come alone to rescue Fenwick’s heir?

‘Come.’ He held out his hand to her, cutting off the multitude of questions crowding his mind. Her healing skills were all that mattered. ‘Place your right foot on top of mine and give me your right hand.’

Her tongue peeked out to tease her upper lip as she contemplated his foot and then his outstretched hand. Heat rushed to his loins at the innocent gesture. Or was she practiced in the arts of enticing a man as well as herbal lore?

‘Your right foot is the one furthest away from Black.’

‘I know the difference between left and right,’ she said.

‘Then keep your tongue in your mouth and do as I said.’ His voice sounded gruff.

Her lips thinned. She stepped forward and flung up her hand, the folds of her cloak parting as she lifted her leg. The moment her foot touched his, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up, twisting her about so she sat across his thighs.

He ignored her muffled oath as she landed in his lap. Leaning forward, his arm brushed the soft mounds beneath her cloak as he grasped the reins. He heard her sudden indrawn breath, as heat burned his ears.

William straightened and glanced at Edan, who lay watching them with a faint smile on his face. He looked at Donald and found a similar expression on the older man’s face. William scowled, giving Donald the signal to move, annoyed the woman made him appear the fool before his brother and clansman.

They resumed their journey, holding to the same steady pace. William concentrated on Edan and the land they traversed, doing his best to ignore the woman wriggling in his lap. Impossible.

‘God’s teeth, woman. Keep still.’

‘I can’t. I’m going to fall.’

‘You won’t fall,’ he said, tightening his hold.

She jerked forward, and her weight slid from his left thigh to the saddle between his legs.

He stifled a groan, silently berating himself for his unwarranted concern. Riding astride had been painful for her and he’d draped her sideways to minimize her discomfort. He frowned. Why was her comfort so important to him? At least she’d stopped squirming.

Had he frightened her when he’d shifted his arm or had she reacted to his touch?

She sat stiff and unyielding, the delicate line of her throat exposed as she stared ahead. Her appearance was of a woman calm and confident in her situation, but William had noted the little contradictory signs. Her cloak had fallen open, revealing white fingers clasped tightly together in her lap.

Were false impressions a façade she used often? Or only when she traded herself to free an English heir and was forced to tend an injured young Scot?

‘Why didn’t Fenwick come for his heir?’ William wanted to slice out his tongue the moment the words slipped free. It wasn’t his habit to ask questions. He always weighed a situation, made a decision and then acted upon it.

‘Why did you kidnap him in the first place?’ she said.

‘Do you always answer a question with a question?’ William silently groaned. Another question. But his curiosity was roused.

‘No. My...Lord Fenwick wasn’t there. He doesn’t know his son was taken.’

‘Where is the lad’s father?’

‘It was Truce Day.’

‘At Rockcliffe?’

‘Yes.’

William knew of Truce Day. In the future, he’d likely have to participate in the proceedings, now he was laird. As the second son, he’d been tutored in sword fighting and defence, not crime and politics as his older brother Roger had been.

But Roger was dead and the responsibilities of his clan now rested squarely on his shoulders.

‘Why did you kidnap Thomas?’

Her soft-spoken enquiry broke into his thoughts.

‘The boy was there for the taking,’ he said, repeating Lachlan’s response when he’d asked the same question. ‘He was returned, unharmed, as promised,’ he said, annoyed by the need to reassure her.

‘So you said.’

Did she doubt his word? Her opinion of him shouldn’t matter, but he found it did. William fought the anger swelling inside him. He’d no need to defend himself to this Englishwoman.

‘Fenwick will no doubt reward you handsomely for rescuing his heir from the
savage Scots
,’ he said unkindly.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Her response surprised him, again. It wasn’t only how swiftly she’d admitted to anticipating a prize for rescuing Fenwick’s heir, something many people would deny. It was the fervent hope she’d instilled in the single, softly spoken word.

William clamped his jaw and fought the need to ask what fee she’d demand, in return for telling him exactly what reward she hoped to gain.

***

He asked no more questions, for which Lynelle was infinitely grateful. Her father’s approval was the reward she desired most, but William didn’t need to know. She had no desire to share her secrets with him, didn’t want to reveal
anything
about herself if she could help it.

William’s muscled thighs flexed and tightened around her. She’d heard anger in his voice when he’d made his final statement about her gaining a reward.

She hadn’t meant to anger him and was confused as to how she’d managed it. She’d said very little, really. She’d given him honest answers and asked only a single question in return.

She’d tried to hold her tongue, a trait she’d mastered over the years – until now. It was as if she’d become a different person since setting foot on Scottish soil, as if the real Lynelle, buried deep inside for so many years, had finally awakened. She discovered she wanted to be her true self immensely.

She was a prisoner, and yet ahead of her lay fourteen days of freedom. Freedom to ask questions, to speak her mind, and use her healing knowledge to aid the sick. Two weeks of living among strangers, people who knew her as Lynelle the healer, not Lynelle the cursed.

Two whole weeks with William Kirkpatrick.

Lynelle swallowed, forcing her thoughts away from him to study the landscape ahead. The beauty of the gentle rolling hills in the distance and the haunting cry of an osprey overhead failed to provide the distraction she hoped for. It was impossible with her bottom imprisoned in his lap and his body heat seeping through her clothes, warming her skin.

They stopped beside a trickling stream and Donald helped her to the ground. The older man’s hands at her waist didn’t cause the burning sensation she’d experienced when William had lifted her earlier. Why was it William’s touch had such a profound and lingering effect when Donald’s did not? She tucked the confusing thought away for later.

Slowly making her way to Edan’s side, she marvelled at how her legs and buttocks were less sore this time.

‘How is your leg?’ she said, crouching down before Edan.

‘Whatever you gave me has helped with the pain,’ he said with a smile. ‘Thank you, Lynelle.’

Lost for words, Lynelle returned the smile, as a feeling of warmth and wonder unfurled inside her. This must be the pleasure Ada had so often spoken of when she’d eased someone’s suffering.

A shadow fell across Edan’s form. She didn’t need to look up to see who it was. Gooseflesh erupted on her skin and it suddenly seemed harder to breathe.

‘Hungry, Edan?’

The sound of William’s deep voice rained down around her.

‘A little,’ Edan said.

‘Good. We’ll eat now and then press on.’

William moved away and Lynelle drew a full breath. Glancing up, she watched him converse with Donald while he unpacked bundles of food from one of the sacks.

‘My brother won’t hurt you.’

Lynelle’s eyes darted back to Edan’s face. What expression must she have worn for him to make such a statement?

‘Mother taught us to be gentle with women,’ Edan said.

Lynelle noted the wistfulness in his voice. ‘Your mother is dead?’

The young man nodded.

‘And your father?’

Edan lowered his lashes, but not quickly enough to hide the flash of pain in his eyes.

‘I never knew him,’ he said softly. ‘He died three months before I was born.’

Lynelle’s heart clenched within her chest. Edan would never know his father. Yet she had the chance to know hers, if only her father would allow it.

‘From what I’ve been told, father’s ideas were the same as mother’s. He was an honourable man and died a hero.’

‘How did he die?’ Lynelle couldn’t help asking.

‘He was struck down by some English dog at Otterburn. He didn’t survive his wounds, but he fought bravely, just like the Earl of Douglas.’

Lynelle noted Edan’s anger and distress. It might have been a Scottish victory, but not for this young man.

‘Perhaps my being English is the reason your brother isn’t fond of me,’ she said.

‘I believe it makes little difference to William where you come from. Being a healer is the reason my brother is wary of you.’

Lynelle stared into the serious grey eyes observing her. ‘He doesn’t trust healers?’

‘Nae,’ Edan said.

Before she could ask why, a footfall sounded. She glanced up to find the topic of their conversation striding toward them, carrying a platter of food.

Lynelle stood and looked down at the injured young man. ‘I will leave you to your meal. I need to wash.’

She headed to the stream and knelt to splash her face and hands with the cold water. Satisfied she’d removed the dust from her face and the smell of horse from her hands, she walked back and sat on a grassy mound a slight distance away from the others.

Donald brought her a wooden cup of wine and a platter piled with bread, a chunk of cheese and several slices of smoked ham. She thanked him and he returned to sit with Edan and William to eat his repast.

As she nibbled brown, grainy bread, she watched the others. It was a pastime on which she’d spent hundreds of hours during the course of her life.

Keith sat a little way downstream, where the horses lazily drank the cool, running water and rested. He seemed more comfortable with the four-legged creatures than with the two-legged kind.

Her gaze wandered to the three men sitting together. Donald chewed and chatted with his mouth full, his lined face breaking into a grin at something he’d said. She watched Edan, pleased his wounds hadn’t interfered with his appetite.

Soon she’d have to unravel and remove Iona’s dressings and see to Edan’s wounds herself. A knot of apprehension blossomed low in her stomach. It would be the first real test of her healing knowledge, and one she prayed she wouldn’t fail.

She tried to avoid looking at the third man in the group, but her traitorous eyes settled on him despite her efforts. Even sitting on the ground consuming slices of ham, the man exuded power. He sat side on to her, his dark, shoulder-length hair hiding most of his handsome face. His back remained straight, his every movement one of purpose.