The Healer's Gift
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
The Healer’s
Gift
by
Willa Blair
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Healer’s Gift
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Linda Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Tina Lynn Stout
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2014
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-366-7
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-389-6
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Willa Blair
“Willa Blair delivers sizzling romance and adventure.”
~Rebecca York, bestselling author
“If you love romance, Scotland, and mystical happenings, Willa Blair is for you.”
~Mary Hart Perry, award-winning author
“
THE HEALER’S GIFT
is another captivating tale from Willa Blair, who brews fabulous Highland stories filled with love, adventure and magic.”
~Toby Devens, author
“Willa Blair is a wonderful story-teller!”
~Elizabeth Ashtree, RITA® finalist
“Looking for spellbinding Highland romance? Willa Blair delivers.”
~Chassie West, Edgar- and Anthony-nominated author
~~*~~
Don't miss the rest of Willa Blair's
bestselling, award-winning Highland Talents series:
HIGHLAND HEALER
(Highland Talents, Book 1)
“This is a great novel. Lovers of Hannah Howell’s highland novels will love this just as well.”
~Romancing the Book (4 Stars)
“The wonderful setting in the Scottish highlands, along with the mix of valiant characters and a creatively robust storyline succeed in making it enjoyable.”
~InD’Tale Magazine (3.5 Stars, heat level 4)
“Action-packed and full of twists and turns…fast-paced and…a sweet romance that will warm your heart. Well written and full of imagination, this story is a must read for historical romance fans!”
~The Romance Reviews (5 Stars, Top Pick)
“Fast paced with strong characters and an intriguing plot.”
~My Book Addiction Reviews (4.5 Stars)
“A rich, enjoyable read.”
~Satin Sheets Romance Reviews (4 Satin Pillows)
~*~
HIGHLAND SEER
(Highland Talents, Book 2)
“This is different enough from other Highland romances to stand out from the pack, and I will definitely read the others in this series. Ms. Blair’s writing style is natural and evocative...”
~Romantic Historical Reviews (3.5 Stars)
“[Sixteen]th-century intrigue, muscled men with claymores and a doomed romance—is it any wonder I was reluctant to leave the rich, riveting world of
HIGHLAND SEER
? Good thing I can make my way back easily enough—all I have to do is treat myself to Blair’s celebrated debut,
HIGHLAND HEALER
.”
~USAToday HEA
“The lilting dialogue, the portrayal of life in early 1500s Scotland and the wonderful description of the vast and beautiful highlands really puts one in the center of the story…a delightful highland romance!”
~InD’Tale Magazine (4.5 Stars)
Dedication
This one is for my husband,
who is rock-steady to my flights of fancy,
and party animal to my wallflower.
He has friends wherever he goes.
I’m glad he crossed paths with me.
Chapter 1
“The laird summons ye.”
Coira MacDugall frowned at the waves rolling onto the beach below the cliff where she stood. Though the lad’s breathless voice disturbed her, neither his arrival nor his announcement surprised her. She’d been aware of him moments before he spoke.
It had happened again.
She schooled her features into an unreadable mask and glanced over her shoulder, intending to acknowledge the summons, but the lad was already running back toward the keep as if the devil chased after him. Her heart sank.
Today, she would finally face the judgment of her clan.
Coira inhaled the moist sea air, hoping to relieve the sudden dryness in her throat. Everything seemed strange, as though she was seeing through someone else’s eyes. Since she’d returned to MacDugall lands from the Highlands, everything looked the same—the same stone keep, the same mountains of the distant isles to the west, the same beach below her feet. But everything had changed.
What had happened to the pampered lass who had suitors falling at her feet, yet spurned them all? Where was the fury, the dismay, the fear that had led her to violence in the Lathan hall? Was she so different?
She remembered it all with perfect clarity, though numbly, as if it had happened to someone else. When the Lathan laird announced his marriage to the Healer, Coira vowed to put an end to it. But when she learned he’d ordered her sent home, her last illusion died. She had failed to make a place for herself among her own people, then failed again at the Lathan keep. She was unwanted. Unloved. Unloveable. But the blame was hers to bear.
At the wedding celebration feast, mad with her grief and anger at being set aside for the lowland Healer, she’d held a young lass before her, a knife to the bairn’s throat. She had taunted Toran Lathan, and then stabbed his new wife. Stabbing the Healer had been bad enough, but threatening a child in order to force the Healer within reach was something she would never forgive of herself. That she’d done it all over losing the laird’s affections to his new bride—affections she realized she’d never enjoyed and never would have—shamed her past enduring. Toran, had tolerated her, but never cared for her, not as a man cared for a woman he wished to take to wife.
She remembered the cold steel of his blade at her throat. He tried to stop her to protect his lady, not to kill her. The hot bite of the arms master’s blade in her side was meant to kill, but hurt no worse than those two all-important words applied to someone else, not to her.
His lady.
Coira knew she would have been dead in moments, save for her victim. She’d been told Aileana fought free of her husband’s grasp and dropped to Coira’s side, pausing only long enough to stanch the bleeding wound Coira had inflicted in her breast.
After all that, Coira’s only punishment had been to be sent home in disgrace. Banished, but with her life, which could easily have ended there in that hall, save for the gift of the Healer.
The gift of her life…and perhaps, more.
Coira ran a hand over the scar hidden beneath her clothing. The scar left by Donal MacNabb’s blade. In the few short weeks since the wound had been inflicted, it should have pained her, been sore, or itched. But nay, the Healer’s work left no discomfort. None in her side, at least. But in her soul?
Early glimmerings of the change within her had started on the journey home. Strange sensations raised the hair on the back of her neck but subsided as quickly as she noticed them. At first, she’d blamed them on her growing anxiety over her homecoming as she and her Lathan escort made their way carefully through Campbell lands and drew closer to the coast and MacDugall territory. She felt moods she could not claim as her own—gone as quickly as she recognized them. She’d assumed she was still in the grip of her madness, certain her own emotions plagued her, changing wildly from numbness to disgust, amusement, even satisfaction. She’d been surrounded by people on arrival, and she blamed what she felt then on exhaustion from her journey. But nay. The idea had come to her, slowly. She somehow sensed the emotions of her escort and the crowd.
The MacDugall healer had recommended a time of quiet reflection to soothe her before she rejoined the life of the clan, so she’d spent much of her time in her chamber, or walking these cliffs and down to the beach, alone, undisturbed, wrapped in the numbness that had protected her since leaving the Aerie.
She turned her face into the wind and let it blow her hair in a stream behind her. A few strands whipped around her nose and mouth in quick, irritating flicks, like the hints of emotion that she got from others. Lately, she realized she knew when someone was nearby, even if she did not see or hear them.
Nothing was the same.
She was not the same person she’d been only weeks ago, but she must answer for what she’d done.
What would the MacDugall decide? To hang her from the Dule Tree, there at the edge of the woods beyond the keep, where the clan’s criminals traditionally met their fate? Her hand pressed against the smooth skin of her throat. Perhaps they would not hang her, rather merely finish the job Donal MacNabb’s blade had begun.
Nay, they would do nothing so drastic. Thankfully, her victim had not died, or death
would
have been her fate as well—if she’d survived Lathan blades. Without Healer Aileana’s intervention, she would not be standing here now.
Time in the dungeon, then. Or as a scullery maid. Or put to cleaning chamber pots. Or...
Where was her anger? How could she face such a future without emotion?
The sun peeked from behind tattered clouds. She shielded her eyes from the glare. Today was considered a calm day on the coast. But the wind off the water had a chilling bite along with the salty tang. Midwinter was still more than a month away, but the sea air carried nearly as much cold as the air at the higher elevation and more northerly climate of the highlands. Shivering, she gathered her shawl tightly around her shoulders. Perhaps it was more than the cold? Was it nerves or fear that had her insides quaking? Perhaps she’d finally come to her senses.
Sea birds wheeled and screeched above her. Would she hear their cries after today?
She hoped so. Something else had changed that gave her a glimmer of hope. The old laird who’d sent her to the Lathans as a prospective bride had died while she was away. He would have been outraged by her crime, but would have deemed the worst part of her betrayal her failure to secure a marriage. He had wanted an alliance to benefit the clan in its constant struggle with the Campbells.
People she overheard in the halls still spoke of the years of unrest and successive battles as factions in the clan fought for control. That strife lasted until the old laird’s nephew, a distant cousin of hers, had been named laird just a few weeks before her return. She hadn’t seen him yet, but she would today. She’d been summoned to face the consequences of her actions and accept the punishment of her clan.
Who would attend her audience with the laird? How many emotions would bombard her newfound sense with disgust, anger, and embarrassment?
It mattered not. She straightened her shoulders and regarded the stone edifice looming over her. Like it, she was proud and strong.
And changed.
The old Coira would have stood her ground and glared her contempt at any who dared to judge her. Her breath faltered. Would she be able to maintain her dignity? Or would she be reduced to pleading for the laird’s mercy? What would the new Coira do?
For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut against the humiliating scene she imagined. Nay, she would bear whatever came to her. Nothing they could do to her would make up for what she had done in the Highlands. Chin lifted, she followed the path back to the gates. It was time to face her past.
****
After the windy cliffside, the solar’s warmth seemed oddly welcoming to Coira. Sunlight streamed through mullioned windows, and a fire glowed in the hearth. She inhaled the scents of leather, books, and peat smoke, familiar and heady after the astringent salt air.
She was alone in the chamber, which surprised her. She’d grown up in this keep and knew where to find the laird’s solar. Since no one had been sent to escort her, perhaps she had arrived more quickly than expected. But nay, the angle of the sun’s rays told her she’d arrived on time.
