Highland Healer (16 page)

“’Tis naught but a bit of rudeness I must swallow,” she answered.

“Why do ye think ye must allow anyone to be rude to ye?” Senga asked kindly, brushing bits of green leaves from her hands and turning to regard Aileana.

“Because I’m a stranger here. And I bring strange abilities that many do not trust.”

“But in time, ye’ll no’ be a stranger, and all will learn to be glad of yer skills, dinna ye ken?”

“Not if some have their way.”

“Pah,” Senga hmmphed, waving away the idea. “Some will have far less say in the matter than they think.” After a moment, she continued. “Dinna let the likes of Coira fash ye, lass. She’s more jealous of the attention Toran has paid to ye than any fear she might have of yer talents.”

So Senga had heard—at least some of it. “That may be so, but if she calls me ‘witch’ and spreads that libel then I may never have the chance to make a place for myself here.”

“Lass, this is the Highlands. Most of us have a greater respect for the old ways here than yer folk do in the south.” Senga gathered the pile of herbs she’d crushed in her apron and brought them to the table where Aileana stood. “Coira is fostered here, didna ye ken it? She comes from the isles to the south and west, where they be too cozy with the Sassenach for my taste.” Senga worked as she talked, placing the herbs in a neat pile in front of her on the table, then dividing the pile into thirds. “And as for the Sassenach…nay, they were too long under Roman rule and have forgotten how to respect the auld ways. They give their priests too much influence over matters best left to those of us who ken the ways of the land, the healers, the seers. Wise women are respected here. Especially auld wise women,” Senga said with a wink. “Yer only problem is that ye’re no’ ancient, like me.”

At Aileana’s sniff, she said, “And dinna worry about makin’ a place for yerself here, lass. Ye’ve already done that.”

“Maybe with you, but not with everyone else. Even Toran has avoided me lately, and he brought me here.”

Senga regarded her for a moment, then moved to her store of dried herbs. “Give ’em time, lass. Give ’em time. And dinna worry about the wee laird. He’s just been a bit busy of late, what with yer former companions due to arrive on our doorstep. And once Jamie is up and around and telling the tale of how close he came to the angels, and how ye saved him, trouble like Coira wants to bring willna have a chance. Now, speakin’ o’ the laddie, do ye want to help me make this potion for him?”

“Aye.” Aileana summoned a small smile. “I’d like nothing better.”

“Take these and put them over there, then,” Senga said and held out several small pots.

Aileana moved to do her bidding.

Despite Senga’s advanced age, she always seemed to be in her garden planting, weeding, and picking, or in her herbal, drying, grinding, concocting—all the things that Aileana had helped her mother do many times. Senga’s grip might be weakened by age and her eyesight dimmed, but neither was apparent to Aileana. She still measured and mixed with the skill of a much younger healer. Aileana had watched her with growing admiration the past few days after she’d recovered enough from healing Jamie to work with the older woman. They were starting to develop a companionable connection that Aileana found a surprising source of joy.

“How long have you been healer to this clan?” Aileana asked when the older woman finally stopped muttering to herself. She was adding a pinch of this and a bit of that to the pile of herbs she was assembling for the decoction that was just starting to simmer on the brazier, giving off a bitter scent. Aileana recognized bits of willow bark among the rest.

“Many years, lass,” she answered, her bright gaze meeting Aileana’s. “Since the laird’s da became laird.” Senga stilled for a moment and looked away. It seemed to Aileana that she looked inward to that day so long ago. “Bain, the auld laird, was a fine, muckle…big…man, much like his lad,” she continued, finally. She pursed her lips before adding, “The day I became a healer was the day he became laird, and our fates were sealed.” Senga’s gaze returned to the present and met Aileana’s. “But that’s ancient history and of no interest to a young lass like yerself. Here, stir this while I add these last bits.”

Aileana moved beside her to the small iron pot on the brazier, stirred, and watched the herbs she added swirl into simmering liquid. The steam rose with a scent both fresh and pungent at the same time. “Have a care, now,” Senga cautioned. “Stir, and dinna let it boil. It must simmer for a few minutes, then be set aside to steep. Watch for the color to change from green to yellow, then take it off the fire.”

Aileana nodded and kept her eyes on her task. She heard Senga moving about the room, muttering as she put away the jars and vials her dried herbs and potions were stored in.

When she finished ordering her workplace and perched on a stool next to her, Aileana knew the time had come to ask the question that she needed but also dreaded the answer to.

She stirred the pot whose contents had faded to a pale yellow, then set it off the brazier to steep. “What do you mean, ‘your fates were sealed’? Why did you never marry, never have children of your own to follow your craft?”

“Ach, ’tis the root of the matter ye seek, then, aye?” Senga lifted her hands and spread her fingers out in front of her, then placed them, still splayed, on the tabletop. “So, it happens that long ago, I loved a young lad. But he loved another. So he married her.” Senga tapped a finger distractedly. “They had a son, a fine, braw lad he would become. But his ma died giving birth to him. My lad grieved so for his lost lady that he ne’er looked to another, but devoted himself to his son and his clan. And I remained as I am.”

“Oh, Senga, I’m so sorry,” Aileana whispered. How could a lifetime go by with no relief from such sadness, and perhaps such stubbornness? A chill skittered along her bones that past heartbreak could still be affecting them today.

“He refused you?”

“Oh, aye, that he did.” A small, sad smile played at the corner of her mouth, then disappeared as she remarked, “Loudly.”

“Do you hate him, then, the son of your love and his lost lady?”

“Hate him? Nay, lass. I love him as if he were my own. He’s a bit of my own laird, living still. Ah, there, I’ve said it, haven’t I? Now ye ken it all. I protect him as I can, with the skills that I have.”

“How long has Toran been laird?” The last of the tension in Aileana’s chest loosened at the mention of his name.

“Since Flodden. His da and brother died there. He became laird—something he never wanted. But laird he is and a good one. Fair and far-seeing. Perhaps he has a touch of the Sight, himself. He’s been forging alliances with the neighboring clans.”

“That is why he was with the MacAnalens?”

“Aye, and a good thing, too, for he brought ye to us.”

****

Toran was with the blacksmith early the next morning inspecting his repairs to shields and blades when word came that Angus MacAnalen was on the approach to the main gate, riding hard. “Let him in, quickly!” Toran ordered. “We’ll continue this later, Parlan,” he said, handing a heavy longsword back to the smith. “Keep at it; yer work is good, as always.”

“Aye,” the big man replied, and Toran took off at a run. He arrived just as Angus passed through the inner gate into the outer bailey.

“Lathan,” he hailed Toran as several lads ran up to take his horse.

Toran stood with fists on hips as Angus approached. “What brings ye?” Toran asked. “Is there more trouble?”

“Aye,” Angus answered. “And good news, as well.” He dismounted and handed the reins to one of the lads who stood by. “Walk him to cool him down,” he said with a nod to the groom.

“Let’s go inside where ye can fill me in over a cup,” Toran offered, and began moving toward the gate to the inner bailey. “The lads will see yer mount cared for.”

“I must get back as quickly as I can,” Angus said, pacing alongside Toran. “The MacAnalen’s life depends on it.”

“The MacAnalen? Ye found him alive?”

“Aye, more dead than alive, but still breathing. I’m here to ask a boon, Laird Lathan. My hope is that the Healer can save him.”

Toran froze in his tracks. “She canna leave here.”

“Without the Healer, he will die, and soon.”

“There’s naught yer healer can do for him?”

“He’s tried everything he kens. That the laird still breathes speaks well of Craig’s skill, but he lies in a deep sleep and we canna rouse him. After the tales we heard in the camp, I’m thinking her ways may be different enough to succeed where my healer has failed.”

A chill swept over Toran and he resumed leading Angus into the keep. Events such as this—aid rendered or denied—could set the course of relations between clans for generations. This was more than a simple request to borrow a skilled member of Clan Lathan. It was an appeal from one chieftain to the laird of an ally. Denial of the appeal could mean war.

But to risk Aileana? How could he? And how could Angus ask that of him? She was safe behind the Aerie’s walls. A journey to Augus’s hideout meant avoiding enemy patrols, something a party large enough to protect her would have difficulty doing. If they kept the group small enough to avoid detection and luck turned against them, there would be little chance of keeping the Healer out of Colbridge’s hands.

Inside the Great Hall, Toran signaled for ale as Angus settled onto a bench close by the fire.

“Ah, warmth!” he sighed. Toran took a seat across from him. They both took cups from the serving girl.

“Hungry?” Toran asked while she waited.

“A bite would not go amiss,” Angus replied and Toran sent the girl for a tray.

“The MacAnalen’s condition must be grim for you to risk running Colbridge’s lines in broad daylight to get here,” Toran said.

“Aye,” he agreed. “I waited until their patrol was well gone before making a break for the gate. ’Tis unlikely I’ll be able to do that twice. And we’ve seen patrols in the area near the caves. They may be looking for us or for deserters from their camp. We’ve spotted strangers heading south alone or in small groups, two or three at a time.” He took a sip. “We’ve talked to a few then let them pass. They’re eager to escape our winter weather, it seems. And traveling back the way they came is the only path they ken out of the mountains.” He set the cup aside, leaned forward and continued. “Since our escape, Colbridge has few horses left. He uses those for his patrols. So the men desperate enough to escape do so on foot. If they make it out of the mountains, they might survive.”

“There are many ways to get lost in these mountains. Most willna make it.”

“We’ve followed a few of them for a couple o’ days to see them well on their way. They’re worn, but they’re tough, and they havena turned back. That’s the good news. Colbridge is losing men every day that the siege continues. The deserters say that rations are short in that camp and Colbridge’s temper is worse by the hour. But the men he has left are ranging close to our hideout. As it is, we havena dared a fire. Smoke would be seen during the day and the glow at night. We’re living on bannocks and bring the horses into the cave at night for warmth.”

“Are the women and weans with ye?”

“Nay, I sent them on to Iain MacIntosh right away. That was a fight, let me tell ye,” Angus said with a quick but mirthless chuckle. “Some o’ the lasses were eager to pick up a sword. But they went for the good of the bairns. And to carry news of the invaders to Iain.”

“Aye, that was well done.”

“I had little choice. We couldna risk them.”

“What about sending the MacAnalen to him?”

Angus took a pensive sip. “Iain is too far away. The MacAnalen wouldna survive the trip.”

“Perhaps there’s another answer,” Toran hedged. “Ye ken the risk to all of us if Aileana were to fall into Colbridge’s hands again.”

Angus could only nod. “I ken what I’m asking. But ye ken what it means to my clan, do ye no’?”

“Aye, Angus. I’m afraid I do.”

“How goes it here?” Angus changed the subject as the tray of food arrived. “Ah, hot stew and real bread! I canna tell ye how tired I am of oat cakes.” He put a thick slab of cheese on a piece of bread and eagerly bit in. A bite of the meaty stew followed immediately.

“Well enough,” Toran said while Angus groaned his appreciation. “If ye think it safe, start moving yer men here at night. We’ll make room for the lot of ye.”

“It’ll have to be done a few at a time,” Angus agreed when he finished chewing. “Unless ye’re ready to end the siege and attack the camp?”

“Nay. With the cold coming on, and what ye said about deserters, the longer we wait, the fewer men he has to fight with and the better for us.”

“Verra well. Brodric will come with a few of my men first. Ye ken him, and he can identify any MacAnalen ye havena’ already met. We wouldna want any of Colbridge’s men to sneak in among ’em.”

“That’ll do. In the meantime, ye can rest in comfort and enjoy another hot meal. I’ve been sending patrols out at odd hours. One will go out tonight.”

“So ye’ll send the Healer back with me?”

Toran shook his head, making the decision that he had no doubt he’d come to regret. “Nay.” At Angus’s stricken look, he continued quickly, “I willna send her, but I will take her. I’ll come, along with enough of my men to keep her safe. But we must wait until dark.”

“Aye.” Relief was evident in the sudden drop of Angus’s shoulders. “There’s no way we’ll get out past the invaders in daylight now that they’ve seen me arrive.” Angus took another bite and chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes. Toran left him in peace. Whatever he had left to say, he’d say soon enough.

“Now that I mention Brodric, well, he told me a bit of a strange tale after we got free.”

Toran kept his face impassive, remembering Brodric’s performance of his feigned illness that drew Aileana among the prisoners and allowed Toran to steal her from the camp. But he suspected that he knew what Angus was about to say.

Hearing no comment, Angus continued, “He told me that after the Healer did, well, whatever it was that she did to him, he felt better than he has in months. And he’s no’ been plagued by the pain in his hip that has been with him since a fall from his horse early this summer.”