The Healer (3 page)

‘Ah, William,’ a voice rose above the din of slumbering noises. ‘Come sit and tell me how your brother fares.’

William searched the hall and found the Elliot laird lounging in his chair, booted feet crossed and propped on the table’s top. Surprisingly, he was alone.

‘‘Tis late. Why is it nae fair lass has lured you to your bed?’ William teased, surprising both his target and himself. Drawing out the chair closest to where his handsome, fair-haired friend sprawled, he watched as a grin stole over Lachlan’s features.

‘I fear I’ve worn them all out.’

But William noted the smile didn’t reach Lachlan’s blue eyes, and he remembered no village woman vying for his attention the previous night either.

‘Enough of me,’ Lachlan said. ‘How is young Edan?’

William sat and accepted the goblet of ale his friend slid toward him. He sipped, swirling the ale in his mouth to eradicate the bitter taste of the sleeping potion he’d sampled before it passed Edan’s lips. He wondered if Iona had rinsed her mouth the moment he’d sent her from the chamber.

‘Two, perhaps three ribs are broken,’ he began.

He drank deeply before naming the rest of the injuries his brother sustained. Edan had fallen from his horse. He’d landed awkwardly on a pile of deadwood within the small forest they’d rescued him from.

‘A small gash marks his face. His left arm is broken below the elbow and his body will soon rival the hue of a thundercloud.’ William drained his goblet and made no protest when Lachlan refilled it. ‘But it’s the wound to his left leg that concerns me most.’ He tried to erase the image of the rotted wood jutting out of Edan’s bloodied thigh. ‘What of Caelan?’

‘Caelan is the luckier of the two.’ Lachlan shifted and recrossed his booted feet. ‘He told me the tale of their adventure, and now I suspect his banishment from the stables until summer and cleaning every stone of the curtain wall to the south will hurt more than the few scrapes he sustained.’

‘He alone is not to blame for their foolishness.’

‘You and your brother are
my
guests, Will. Your safety is
my
responsibility while you’re here. Caelan knows the Borders are a dangerous place. Crossing into England is forbidden and the lad knows it. Being barred from the horses and a spot of cleaning is little to suffer for his crime.’

‘Have you not led your men across the border a time or two?’ Will asked with mock innocence.

‘Aye. It is my duty as a Border laird to wreak havoc on the English scum. Bring some excitement into their dull, witless lives.’ A frown replaced Lachlan’s smile. ‘But never were we ill prepared or outnumbered, as our brothers were today.’

William nodded and sipped his ale. Both lads bore injuries, but they had escaped with their lives. For that he was grateful. The lads, both fourteen, had not been seen since dawn when they’d fetched horses from the stable and ridden south toward the border. Lachlan had immediately rounded up ten of his men, he and William making their party twelve. They had ridden over the ridge to search for their brothers.

Caelan and Edan hadn’t gone far into English territory. They’d even managed to avoid any confrontation with the English. But a startled rabbit had spooked their horses and unseated both young riders.

‘How did you know where to find them?’ William asked.

‘Caelan believes the west wood is haunted. Tales of ghosties and goblins have kept him away until today. I heard Caelan telling Edan the very same stories last eve and suspect they found the courage to explore the wood together.’

William nodded in understanding. ‘What of the lad you brought back? Who is he?’

‘He claims to be Lord Fenwick’s whelp.’

‘Was it necessary to bring him along?’

A mischievous grin dawned on Lachlan’s face, this one reaching his eyes. ‘Nae, but it was too good an opportunity to pass. It has been months since we harassed our English neighbours and the lad
was
there for the taking.’

‘What will you do with him?’ William saw his younger brother as a lad, when at fourteen he was more a man. But the boy Lachlan had taken hostage was just that, a boy.

‘Ah, the lad.’ Lachlan took a swill of his ale and said, ‘Torture comes to mind.’

William stared at Lachlan, trying to see beneath his friend’s set features. ‘You jest?’

Lachlan burst out laughing. ‘Aye, Will,’ he said between bouts of laughter. ‘We will keep the lad for the night and release him, unharmed, come the morn.’

William slammed his goblet on the table and stood.

‘Come now, Will. You’ve grown too severe over the years, man. Where’s your sense of mirth?’

‘I leave early for home. ‘Tis time I sought my bed.’

‘Is Edan well enough to make the journey?’ Lachlan asked as he too got to his feet.

William ran a worried hand through his hair. His concern for Edan’s health weighed heavily on his mind. He’d been gone from Closeburn for only two days, but the sudden need to return home swamped him.

‘It is less than two days’ ride from here. Your healer believes Edan will survive if the pace is slow and his wounds are constantly tended.’

Lachlan nodded. ‘Iona knows what she’s about. ‘Tis a pity her aging, twisted bones make her unfit to accompany you home.’

‘I believe she’d rather keep her distance from me.’

William glanced at his friend and found the man grinning widely.

‘Have you offended the woman who has pieced me back together more times than I care to think?’

‘Aye. Iona didn’t like having to test each salve on her own skin and then mine before applying it to Edan’s broken flesh. But I think it was tasting the sleeping potion that sealed her hatred of me.’

Lachlan laughed and shook his head. ‘Take care while you’re here then, Will. Iona has a long memory and will probably watch you bleed to death before raising a disfigured hand to aid you.’

William nodded and turned for the stairs. His visit with Lachlan hadn’t been long, but he needed to look in on Edan again.

‘I could always ransom the English lad,’ Lachlan called out.

William ignored him, knowing his friend was goading him. Skirting the sleeping horde, he picked a path where no unsuspecting fingers would be crushed beneath his boots. Thoughts of treating his brother’s injuries on the journey home filled his mind.

He’d almost reached the first step when Lachlan’s next words stopped him in his tracks. ‘You need a woman, Will.’

William turned and stared at his friend. ‘Nae, I need a healer. One I can trust. I bid you good night.’ Spinning about, he climbed the stairs two at a time.

William strode to the guest chamber he shared with his brother and quietly slipped inside. The pungent aroma of herbs filled the air. He searched Edan’s face, relieved to see the lad still slept deeply.

He eyed his brother’s pallet, now his bed for the night, but William knew he wouldn’t sleep. The room suddenly seemed overcrowded, stifling.

He quietly left the chamber, leaving the door ajar. The cool air in the hallway brushed his heated skin and he drew several deep breaths to clear his senses. He crossed the corridor and peered at the night sky through the slit in the stone.

Lachlan’s comment about needing a woman filled his thoughts, though this time a flash of remembrance came with it. The picture of a lone woman standing high on the English battlements blinded him to the twinkling stars outside. Her red-gold hair seemed to catch fire beneath the sun’s warm rays. Her face had been hidden from view by the slender hand shading her eyes.

She’d been the perfect target for a bowman’s arrow. Unexpected anger had bubbled inside him. He’d glared at her, willing her to move back and find shelter. The pack of mounted men he rode with had changed direction, veering away from the fortress. He and Lachlan continued riding straight for the west wood, while the others altered their course again. From then he had been consumed by Edan’s welfare.

A commotion outside drew him back to the present. He tried to see what was happening in the darkness below, but found it impossible to view much at all. Heavy footfalls ran through the hall downstairs, then swiftly echoed up the stairway.

A fist pounded on the laird’s door. William glanced in on his brother and closed the door on the gentle snores coming from the bed. His curiosity piqued, he made his way along the corridor to the top of the stairs and halted in the shadows, watching and waiting for Lachlan to answer the knock.

The door suddenly flew inward. ‘What is it? Lachlan asked.

The guard mumbled something too softly for William to hear. But Lachlan’s response was no doubt heard in the next glen.

‘God curse the bloody English! Fetch me some ale while I dress,’ he shouted before slamming the door. The day’s unfortunate events had troubled Lachlan more than he’d admitted or allowed others to see.

William followed the guard down into the hall and slipped into the corner near the laird’s table. Propping a shoulder against the wall, he waited for his friend to appear.

A sleepy-eyed servant dashed off to fetch the requested ale while others scurried about lighting torches. The rest of the castle-folk scrambled to line the hall’s perimeter, blinking wearily as they dragged their pallets with them.

Lachlan had never been at his best when awoken from sleep. Apparently he hadn’t changed and his people knew him well. It was the only time the man lacked a grin on his face. Witnessing his friend’s bout of unusual annoyance made William smile. It also gave him something aside from his own worries to think about.

The servant dashed out of the kitchens and deposited a jug of ale and a goblet on the laird’s table. Lachlan stormed down the steps, dressed but looking dishevelled.

William’s smile widened.

Lachlan poured a measure of ale into his cup and took a long swallow before wiping the back of one hand across his mouth.

Deeming it safe to speak, William said, ‘So they’ve come for the lad?’

Lachlan’s head snapped to his left, searching the shadows. William moved a fraction, allowing his friend to see where he was before settling back against the wall.

‘Aye, the inconsiderate curs,’ Lachlan said. ‘They must want him badly for they couldn’t even wait till the bloody morn.’

‘How did they know to come here to find him?’

‘We are one of their closest neighbours across the border and it’s usually we Elliots who cause the Fenwicks the most grief,’ Lachlan said proudly before tilting the cup to his lips once more.

‘‘Tis not they, laird, but a single woman,’ announced the guard who’d woken his laird.

‘What?’ Lachlan demanded.

‘Your reputation is fierce indeed if the English send a lone woman to rescue the heir,’ William said.

Lachlan glared at him, obviously not sharing his sense of humour.

Turning back to the guard he asked, ‘Where is this woman?’

‘She awaits you in the bailey, laird,’ his clansman said.

Lachlan slammed his cup down and stalked the length of the table. Reaching the far end, he said, ‘Bring the wench to me.’

The guard ran from the hall to do his laird’s bidding.

William’s wide smile became a grin as he watched Lachlan’s fumbling attempts to straighten his attire. ‘Are you planning to interrogate the woman or bed her?’

Lachlan spared a glance William’s way before muttering, ‘I thought you needed your bed.’

William chuckled. ‘And miss the mighty Elliot vanquish his enemy? I think not.’

Lachlan’s chest swelled as he sucked in a breath. ‘You may stay and learn, but only if you hold your tongue.’

William’s quiet laughter trailed off as the double doors to the great hall opened. A gust of night air bent the flames in the wall sconces sideways, freshening the crowded chamber. A small, cloaked and hooded figure entered, surrounded by half a dozen Elliots.

William remained at ease, knowing the flickering torches did not penetrate the space he occupied. He could watch the drama unfold without detection.

With hesitant steps the English lad’s saviour moved into the hall. Not a wisp of hair or flesh showed of the darkly clad form. William’s curiosity lifted a notch. What kind of woman dared to enter an enemy’s domain alone to rescue a boy?

She is either a fool, or foolishly brave
.

The woman stopped an arm’s length from the laird’s table and William absently measured her height compared to his. The top of her head would barely reach his shoulder.

‘Tell me your name and why you have come at such an ungodly hour,’ Lachlan said in his best laird’s voice.

William saw the cloaked figure start. Small, pale hands emerged from the confining cloak and pushed back the hood to reveal the woman.

‘I am Lynelle,’ she said in a tremulous voice. ‘I have come for Thomas, Lord Fenwick’s heir.’

The glowing light from the torches fell on the woman’s hair, turning it red-gold. Recognition hit William like a blow to his gut. Anger swelled inside him.

He surged forward, away from the wall. For the first time in his twenty-six years, William Kirkpatrick was furious without actually knowing why.

‘LITTLE fool.’

Lynelle flinched and looked to where the harsh whisper exploded. She gasped as blazing eyes fixed on her.

Dear God, it was
him
.

She would know the dark-haired man’s burning gaze anywhere. It stole her breath and heated her body from inside out. A shiver ripped through her. Beneath her cloak she pressed clenched hands to her middle.

She’d been called many heinous things, but never in her life had she been named a fool. He did not know her, yet he branded her. How dare he!

The melting feeling disappeared. Her initial fear at confronting Thomas’ kidnappers ebbed. Driving her fists deeper into her stomach, she drew strength from her building anger. She glared back at him.

‘How do you know we have Fenwick’s heir?’ The fair-haired man behind the long trestle asked.

Lynelle dragged her eyes away from the source of her sudden ire and focused on the man who spoke. He was looking at her, but unlike the man standing half in the shadows, he radiated not an ounce of judgment, only curiosity.