The Healer (31 page)

Bending his knees, trying to erase the agonizing image of Lynelle’s body causing the obstruction, he pressed his shoulder to the wood and forced the door open.

He stepped through the gap and found Lynelle lying face down on the earthen floor, the skin of her bare legs and arms tinged blue.

Stabbing pain pierced his heart and he fell to his knees beside her. He turned her over and gathered her against his chest. Her head lolled over the back of his arm. Placing unsteady fingers on the cold flesh of her neck, he strained to feel any sign of life. A faint fluttering tickled his fingertips and a relieved groan shuddered from his lips.

He searched her body for any of the symptoms Mary had told him were common in those afflicted by the plague. Finding none, he wrapped her threadbare cloak around her and bundled her into the old woollen blanket.

Footsteps sounded from outside. The door slowly opened to reveal Ian and Geordie.

‘How is she?’ Ian asked.

‘Lynelle lives, but barely, and there are no signs of the illness.’ Father and son crept closer. ‘She is as cold as a loch in winter and I need one of you to strike a fire.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Ian said, walking straight to the stones in the centre of the cottage.

‘I need you to hold her and watch her, Geordie. There is something I have to do.’

Geordie nodded and sat near the fire his son deftly kindled. William brushed stray wisps of hair from Lynelle’s pale face, wishing with all his might that she would open her eyes and look at him. She remained still and lifeless.

Pressing a kiss on her cool brow, he settled her into Geordie’s waiting arms and ran out the door. Leaping onto his horse, he drew Black around and raced to the bend in the path. Once there, he cut through the oak forest, the thickly leafed branches threatening to tear him from the saddle. Breaking into the meadow on the other side, he spurred Black on to the north.

They galloped over a few rolling hills and through a heather-swathed glen, eating up the single mile between Closeburn and their destination. The length of the journey didn’t trouble William. He had to find the one person he trusted to heal Lynelle, and convince her to help him.

He slowed his mount to a canter as they entered the small town of Thornhill. Early morning sunlight washed over the thatched roofs of at least thirty homes. He interrupted two women talking in front of one of the cottages in the town’s centre and made his enquiry. Thanking them, he whirled Black around the way they’d come and pulled to a stop at the third cottage on the right.

Leaving the reins trailing, he rushed to the door. It might have been wiser to send Ian in his place. But Ian was a good lad, or perhaps he wasn’t as desperate as William, and he wouldn’t dare throw the woman across his saddle and force her to come back with him.

Praying she’d forgive him, he knocked and waited, wondering if he’d notice any changes in her over the last half year.

The door opened and he stared at a sturdy woman with greying red hair.

‘William,’ she said in surprise.

He drew a deep breath. ‘Forgive me, Jinny. I need your help.’

LYNELLE clawed her way up from the pit of blackness, fighting to reach the surface. Sandalwood. Lavender. The smells she’d inhaled before, though this time a brightness teased the darkness behind her heavy lids and William’s deep voice rumbled through her dream. With her heart fluttering, she strained toward the light.

‘Come to me, Lynelle.’

I’m coming
, she wanted to tell him, but the words were trapped, her voice lost. Her skin tingled, as if she could feel the warmth of his embrace. Never had a dream seemed so real. Never had she been taken to the place she most wanted to be – cradled in William’s arms.

Lynelle pushed forward, and the murky fog surrounding her thinned to a swirling mist.

‘Jinny. She stirs again.’

William’s low words spurred her on.

‘Patience, lad. Give her time.’

A woman’s lilting tone, unfamiliar yet soothing. Scratches of light flickered between her lashes, beckoning. She forced her weighted lids to open.

‘Lynelle.’

Her heart clenched at the sound of William’s hoarse whisper. Her pulse skittered at the sight of his beloved face. Dear God. He looked so real.

She lifted her hand, wanting to touch him, afraid he’d disappear, afraid not to try. Dark bristles scored her fingertips.

‘William?’ Her voice croaked.

‘Welcome back, lass.’

Lynelle blinked, and stared into shimmering silver eyes.

‘Here, William,’ the woman with the unknown voice said. ‘Encourage the lass to drink, while I assure the others all will be well.’

‘Thank you, Jinny,’ William said quietly. ‘For everything.’

Lynelle sipped from the cup William held to her lips, savouring the cool water as it slid down her parched throat.

‘You came,’ Lynelle said in wonder.

‘I had to see you,’ William said. ‘I couldn’t stay away.’

‘But the sickness...’

‘Rest easy, Lynelle. Nae others have taken ill.’ Gentle fingers caressed her brow, her cheek. ‘You stopped the plague from spreading. Many more might have died if not for you.’

Memories flooded back and a chill swept through her. She clutched his shirt. ‘Elspeth ‘

‘Hush, lass.’ The pad of one finger settled on her lips. ‘I know you did all you could.’ Sorrow filled his eyes. ‘Perhaps they weren’t meant to be saved.’

It hadn’t been enough, but she had done everything within her power. A shuddering breath escaped her, and the guilt holding her rigid slowly drained from her body.

‘The villagers constantly praise your efforts,’ William said, breaking into her pain-filled thoughts. ‘Jinny had to bar the door to keep them out, while they argued over who should tend you.’

‘Jinny?’

‘She was the only one I trusted to care for you.’

‘You trust Jinny?’

‘Aye. Thanks to you, I finally realized healers are people, and can die too.’ He took her hand and pressed his mouth into her palm. ‘I was wrong to blame Jinny for the loss of my family. My inability to aid those I love blinded me, and Jinny suffered for my helplessness.’

Warmth pooled in her belly, knowing he’d made peace with Jinny and himself.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. ‘Though I did find it difficult not to sample each potion Jinny brewed, before giving them to you.’

‘You would do that...for me?’

‘I’d do anything to keep you here with me.’

Tears welled, and seeped from her eyes.

‘What is it, Lynelle?’

She swallowed, relishing his touch as he wiped the moisture from her cheeks. ‘I have been cursed all my life, yet you risk your life to care for me.’

‘I don’t believe in curses, lass.’ His hand cupped her face and he looked into her eyes. ‘But I believe in you.’

Lynelle’s breath caught. ‘But...my father?’

‘Doesn’t deserve a daughter such as you.’

A wisp of pity for her father rose inside her. ‘My father still grieves. He lost his wife the day I was born, and his son.’ William frowned. ‘I am a twin,’ she said softly.

‘Ah.’ His brows lifted. ‘You truly are special,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘Blessed with strength and courage, even then. More reason your father should have cherished you.’

She searched his handsome face, struggling to believe she lay in his arms. Dark circles smudged the skin beneath his eyes.

‘How long...?’

‘How long have the villagers despaired of hearing you would live?’ His fingers skimmed her cheek. ‘Three days.’

Three days?

His eyes locked with hers. ‘But it seems I have waited forever to say, I love you, Lynelle.’

Her heart soared, and a fresh bout of tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away.

‘I love you, William,’ she whispered.

A slow smile tilted the corners of his mouth as he gazed down at her. ‘One more thing, my precious little fool.’

The endearment washed over her, warming her soul.

‘Will you marry me, Lynelle?’

She stared into sparkling-grey eyes, finally discovering the place where she belonged.

‘Aye, William,’ she said softly, as her heart overflowed with joy.

‘But first, I have a request, my handsome, brooding laird.’

‘What is your wish?’ William asked as his thumb traced her mouth.

‘A kiss.’

William’s eyes darkened and a grin stole over his face. ‘I must warn you, Lynelle. Once we are wed, I won’t stop at a single kiss.’

Reaching up, she curled her fingers about his nape. ‘Praise Saint Jude,’ she said with a smile, and pulled his mouth down to hers.

Nominated for the 2014 RITA Award for Best Historical Romance

Euan McArthur is a chieftain in need of an heir
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