The Healer's Gift (3 page)

A few of the council nodded as they passed by. A few clapped him on the shoulder before quitting the room. A few glanced quickly away. Aye, he’d keep his eye on all of them, but those last few he would watch most carefully.

Chapter 2

Everywhere she went, Coira could feel the attention on her. Her new sense gained strength each day, making her more sensitive to the moods around her. Simple curiosity reassured her and made her feel like she might stand a chance of becoming accepted. But some people’s anger and suspicion surrounded her like a cloak of needles, pricking her skin and making her bleed from a thousand small wounds. She braved those people as long as she could, smiling and offering no insult, but she moved away from them as quickly as was polite to do so. She could tolerate individuals for a short time, but even small groups pained her. She couldn’t imagine joining the clan in the great hall for the evening meal.

But she could not hide in her chamber forever. Logen had charged her with regaining the clan’s trust and acceptance. To do that, she must find a way to prove she could be a valuable member of the clan.

As penance for her greatest heartache, she spent a part of her day in the nursery with the infants and small children. She didn’t understand how she could have threatened a child, no matter how desperate she was for Toran’s attention or angry that he was sending her away. The person she had been seemed as foreign to her as the highlands had seemed when she first arrived there. But in helping to care for the bairns, she could, in small measure, atone for the awful thing she’d done. She fervently hoped the lass had forgotten, perhaps with Aileana’s help, that horrible night.

The nursemaid, Mhairi, welcomed her help, but there was no doubt some of the mothers did not. As soon as one left, another arrived. Their tension tightened her muscles. Their irritation felt like splinters under her skin. She breathed deeply, fighting to ignore them and remain calm, even cheerful, as she helped Mhairi feed or change or play with her charges.

The littlest bairns would fret until the current mother-guardian’s irritation faded. Coira noticed the infants breathed easier at the same time she did. She wondered if babies were born with the ability to sense the moods of others around them, but lost it as they grew.

Although the effort exhausted her, she was gaining ground with some of the mothers. They no longer glared daggers at her, simply took a seat and turned their attention to their needlework or played with the older children. Coira actually enjoyed those visits.

Her greatest ally so far was a cousin, Elizabeth, who had been a childhood friend before Coira went away, and who started spending time in the nursery with her. When Elizabeth arrived, the latest mother took her leave. Elizabeth and Coira exchanged a glance, then, as the woman exited the room, Elizabeth made a face at her retreating back.

“Watch yerself, lassie,” Mhairi chided softly.

Coira bit back a smile as Elizabeth dropped into the chair, still rocking slightly, that the other woman just vacated.

“She didna see me,” Elizabeth retorted. “And besides, this...parade...of watchers is a waste of time. It’s not like they’re doing anything to help ye, are they?”

Mhairi shrugged. “’Tis no’ their place to do so.”

“Of course it is—these are their bairns, are they no’?”

Mhairi just smiled and Coira relaxed.

“Tell me more about what I’ve missed while I’ve been away. Everything seems to be very...unsettled.”

Mhairi snorted and turned back to playing a game with the smaller children.

Elizabeth set her chair to rocking at a faster pace. “Where to begin? Deaths at Flodden—I suppose ye heard about that?”

“Aye. Who in Scotland hasna?”

“The clan has been working its way through the auld laird’s heirs, one by one. ’Tis no’ a job with much longevity, it seems.”

Coira’s heart clenched. Logen had hinted at such, but it hurt to hear it confirmed.

“So the new laird...?”

“Had best watch his back, else he’ll end up like the others and another unlucky fool will take his place. Or the wrong man with enough minions to help him hold power.”

“When did this clan turn into a nest of vipers?”

Elizabeth gestured toward a window and the battlements beyond it. “The good men, except for those few left behind to man the walls, went to fight with the king. The lazy, wastrel, cowardly...well, if they could, they remained behind. When the good men failed to return...”

“The rest began to fight over the spoils.” Coira nodded.

“And the good men left behind were outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and, eventually, outmatched.”

“Why do the troublemakers cling to a semblance of order, a laird and a council?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Ambition, I suppose. To become the rightful laird, ye must have in place a lairdship to assume and a clan to rule. Chaos serves no master.”

Coira glanced over to where Mhairi was settling her charges down for a nap. “Thank heavens for that. Or the women and bairns would be in great danger from a mob of desperate men.”

“It may yet come to that.” Elizabeth stilled her chair. “Logen didna want the job, but cooler heads prevailed and convinced him to take it. Logen is a master on the seas and an accomplished warrior. He knows how to deal with trouble from the island clans as well as the Campbells. But there are no guarantees our troubles are over. There could still be factions that hope to remove him and replace him with one of their own. It remains to be seen whether he can hold power and become the leader this clan needs. He may no’ have enough time.”

“Who is helping him?”

“So far? A handful of fishermen and men who were his friends before this came about. The women could help, but I think most want to stay out of the men’s battles lest they suffer for having chosen the wrong side.”

“We need to do something to build support within the clan.”
But what?

“And how do ye propose to do that when ye need to build support for yerself.”

“Perhaps the two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Have a care, cousin. Yer acceptance depends on building bridges, no’ burning them. To do that, ye must avoid taking sides. Remain neutral. Stay out of the power struggles. Besides, what can ye, a woman, do, when the men play politics and worse?”

Coira didn’t know how to respond to that, but she had an idea the Healer’s gift might be just the edge Logen needed.

****

Coira was tiring of mincing about the keep, smiling and staying neutral. Another week passed uneventfully. No one seemed to be hiding any anger or frustration. Many still shunned her, but after hearing some of the rumors going around about her time in the Highlands, she understood why. It pained her to know how much more work she had to do to be accepted. Still, none of the rumors were as bad as the truth, and that, at least, was still her secret to keep.

She needed a change of scenery, a diversion, or she would be the one hiding frustration and anger. Elizabeth arrived in time to keep her from pacing a rut across the floor of her chamber.

“Thank goodness, ye’re here. I’m about to go out of my mind.”

“Ye are doing well, Coira. I overheard Nan say something almost even-handed about the work ye did for her yesterday.”

Coira wasn’t sure if Elizabeth was serious or not until she broke into a grin.

“Wonderful.” Coira planted her hands on her hips. “I’m running out of ideas. What else can I do to raise opinions of me? Leave the keep?”

“I have the solution for that,” Elizabeth told her with a smirk.

“Truly?” Coira instantly felt lighter. “Where are we going? I hope ye have something interesting in mind.” Elizabeth had been taking her around the keep, reacquainting her with the nooks and crannies they’d explored as children, as well as out of the keep into the meadow and down to the beach, but never out of sight of the keep’s high walls.

“The fishing boats have been spotted on their way in. Everyone is headed for the beach to help carry the catch back up to the kitchen.”

Coira groaned. This was work she was familiar with, having done it many times as a young girl, but it was not the sort of diversion she hoped for. It was one time when every able-bodied member of the clan worked together, bringing down baskets and carrying them back up, full of fresh fish to be cooked for the evening meal, or salted and dried for later use in soups and stews. “Let’s go then.” Her mouth watered at the thought of roasting fish for dinner even as she winced at the thought of the hard, messy work to come.

They collected their baskets from the kitchen in companionable silence, then joined the line of people making their way down the cliff path to the beach. Once everyone was down the single-file path, people could begin to carry the loaded baskets back up the cliff to the keep.

Coira spotted Logen standing at the shoreline, hands on his hips, as the first boat, a small, flat-bottomed
birlinn,
beached. He moved forward to grab a net, passing its length through his hands with obvious skill. Others joined him, clearing the nets and tossing fish into small baskets. Coira’s gaze was captured by the ripple of muscle in his arms and across his broad back as he worked.

The next boat, a larger galley, beached further out in the surf. From waist-deep water, Logen pulled himself over the side and onto its deck, then bent to assist with its catch.

As Coira handed over her basket to be filled from the first boat, a sensation of hatred, like a cold wind, blew past her. Startled, she glanced up in time to see Logen trip over something on deck and tumble headfirst over the side.

Nay! She froze with fear as he rolled in mid-air. He hit the shallow water with a tremendous splash, spread-eagled rather than headfirst. The noise of that splash caught the attention of those around her, but she sensed only surprise, not satisfaction.

Logen floated for a moment, then got his feet under him and stood, water sluicing down his broad chest as he brushed wet hair out of his eyes.

“Wha’ the hell?” A voice drifted down from the deck. “What was that?”

She saw Logen glance upward and announce, “I’m fine.”

Tightly focused on him, Coira sensed his chagrin and anger as he struggled to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him when he hit the water. He was a master sailor. Surely, it was not like him to trip in the netting on deck. The way he studied the faces at the rail looking down at him told her he was trying to decide who, if anyone, had arranged his accident.

If someone had arranged it, they had failed. His neck wasn’t broken.

She suddenly longed to go to him, but dared not move. Not in this crowd. She could not be seen as trying to gain the favor of another laird after the last one had rejected her. No good would come from appearing either desperate or calculating. So she stayed where she was and continued collecting slippery fish in her basket, all the while keeping one eye on Logen as he splashed his way ashore.

She forced her attention to the men on the boat, but no sense of them came to her. Were the men’s emotions too muted now for her to detect? Too far away? Then why could she sense Logen’s? And why had she sensed cold hatred just before he fell?

Elizabeth jostled her when she picked up her basket. Coira glanced down, suddenly noting her basket was full, too. She couldn’t linger any longer. They must join the line of people making their way back up the cliff path. She took her time leaving the beach, moving slowly, pausing to greet anyone who made eye contact with her. She spoke to anyone Elizabeth spoke to, glancing about as if enjoying the day and the activity, but keeping her attention on Logen. She saw him working another small-boat catch and laying out nets to dry.

If she hadn’t felt so uneasy, the play of muscles under his wet shirt and the rough strength of his grip as he tugged heavy nets across the sand would have fascinated her. He worked comfortably with some of the men, as though nothing had happened to put his life at risk only a few minutes before. But she saw him glancing around and realized he was keeping watch, too. Logen’s gaze met hers just as she and Elizabeth started back up the path from the beach. She nodded, but he simply bent back to his work as if satisfied to know where she was.

“That was odd,” Elizabeth remarked when they were far enough up the path to be away from other ears.

Though she knew what Elizabeth had in mind, she asked the expected question. “What was?”

“Ye ken exactly what I mean. I’ve never seen Logen fall like that in my life. He was born to be on the water. And this close to shore, in the shallows?”

Coira’s belly tightened at the memory of Logen’s fall. “An accident, surely.”

“Or not.”

“It’s done and he’s fine.” Coira shook her head. They shouldn’t be discussing this here. “I wouldna think on it any more, if I were ye.”

“Aye, well, I’m sure
he
is...thinking on it, that is. If someone did that, they’ll try again.”

Coira clutched her basket tighter to her middle as a chill ran down her back. “I believe he’s aware of that.”

“For his sake, I hope so.”

They reached the top of the path and paused. Coira looked down on the scene below. Another
birlinn
had beached and Logen was in the midst of the activity, pulling nets, offloading fish and gear. Nothing alarmed her, so she let Elizabeth guide her back to the kitchen with their share of the catch. But she vowed to speak to Logen, later. She must warn him not to dismiss his fall too easily.