The Healer (16 page)

‘I miss little of the goings on at Closeburn.’ She sounded disgruntled. ‘And to be one of only two souls to have missed the day’s excitement just ties my hose in knots.’

Lynelle gaped at Mary and noted the twinkle in the older woman’s eye. ‘Forgive me for neglecting to inform you first, Mary.’ Smiling, she added, ‘I will do my best to give you warning the next time I throw myself into the loch.’

Lips twitching, Mary said, ‘See that you do, lass.’ Pausing at the door, she turned. ‘Eat now and then I will take you to Edan.’ She opened the door. ‘The lad is anxious to see another hero in the flesh and I am certain your ears will bleed from the incessant praise pouring from his mouth.’ With the click of the latch she was gone.

Lynelle paid little attention to the older woman’s final words. Her mind had fixed on visiting Edan, which entailed seeing William. She hardly needed to lay eyes on him to conjure his image. Not when she could still feel the imprint of his powerful frame against her softness.

Filling her spoon, she chewed the cold fare, barely tasting the food. She was torn by the impossible need to avoid William and desperately wanting to have her sinful dreams become reality.

***

‘ ...and it was kind of Donald to tell me everything,’ Edan continued. ‘But I’d much rather have witnessed the excitement myself.’

Edan’s constant chatter provided Lynelle with a much-needed distraction. William had been leaning against the wall by the window, his relaxed appearance belying the intensity of his regard. She’d bobbed her head in greeting before dragging her gaze away, but she could do little to stem the memories of his hands upon her. Or the feverish dreams inspired by his touch.

Absently nodding each time Edan paused to draw breath, she prepared the potion and fought the urge to look at William from beneath her lowered lashes. Her mind and body were so keenly aware of him, she knew the moment he moved. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken as he shifted to the opposite side of the bed.

Sipping the brew, she passed it across to his silent figure, struggling to hold the vessel steady. His fingers brushed hers as he took the cup, sending a frisson of sizzling heat up her arm. Her traitorous gaze snapped up and collided with his, then flared wide at the smouldering eyes fixed on her. He tilted the cup and drank.

‘It’s like someone licking a spoon dripping with honey and telling you how sweet it is.’ Edan sighed.

William slowly lowered the cup.

‘But it’s not the same as tasting it yourself,’ Edan finished.

No. Just as dreaming of kisses was a far cry from actually being kissed. Her breath locked in her throat. Fire burned in her cheeks and a shiver flashed through her as her gaze strayed to where she begged it not to.

The tip of William’s tongue played over his moist upper lip, making her want things she knew nothing about. Wrenching her gaze away, she made the mistake of looking up into William’s eyes. Knowing eyes.

Turning, she clumsily set out fresh bandages and ointment, trying to slow the pounding of her heart and ignore the tightening of her breasts.

She accepted the empty cup from Edan and placed it on the small wooden table before retrieving the pot of salve. ‘I, for one, am pleased you were not present.’ She dipped her fingertip in the ointment and swiped a smear on William’s proffered wrist, masking her shiver by quickly scooping more onto her burning finger.

She looked into Edan’s face, his expression showing confusion. Licking her dry lips, she hastened to explain. ‘Plunging into cold water will do your leg little good.’ Painting the pink, puckered flesh of his wound, she continued, ‘It is healing well and I’ve no doubt that had you been anywhere near the loch when Davy tumbled in, you would have given no thought to your own wounded state and risked all to save the boy.’

His face brightened. ‘Do you really think so?’

‘Most definitely.’

He looked thoughtful. ‘Aye. You’re probably right.’

With a nod and a secret inner smile, she bandaged his leg, checked his other injuries, packed her herbs and prepared to leave.

‘What does being a hero feel like?’ Edan asked.

Her hands stilled. ‘I do not know,’ she said quietly. Securing the top of her sack, she looked at Edan. ‘Heroes hardly need rescuing, do they?’

‘I suppose not,’ he said.

‘You should ask your brother. Today he played the hero more than once.’ Snatching up her belongings, she headed to the door, Edan’s frustrated voice following her.

‘I already asked Will, but he denies being a hero, too.’

‘Wait.’

The command halted her steps and she stared at the closed door, wishing she could melt into the thick timber. The air about her came to life as William neared. She inhaled sandalwood and him, felt his heat when he halted beside her.

‘I will escort you to your chamber.’

‘Please do not...trouble yourself’. She hated the tremor in her voice. ‘I can find my way.’ There, much better.

‘I’m certain you can.’ He opened the door. ‘But I will rest easier knowing you arrived
directly
.’

She’d kept the soft woollen blanket Mary had wrapped about her shoulders in place for modesty’s sake. She discovered it proved a useless barrier against William’s nearness as he followed her into the corridor.

‘I trust you have recovered from your noon...ordeal?’ he said.

A delicious shiver rushed down her nape and rippled across her shoulders. ‘Yes.’ She swallowed. ‘And you?’

‘Aye.’

She didn’t dare look behind to see how close he stood. But it felt as if not a whisper of air could pass between them. Why did he not open her door?

‘Davy’s parents send you their good wishes.’ She blinked at the wooden panel in surprise. ‘I too am grateful for all you have done this day.’ His voice deepened to a quiet rumble. ‘For Davy and for Edan.’

Stunned, she watched the door swing inward, revealing her cosy chamber. Resisting the ridiculous urge to sink back against him, she forced her feet to move forward into the room.

‘Despite all that has happened,’ he said, ‘You are not excused for stealing away from my keep.’

She turned around, just as the door closed softly in her face.

AFTER a night filled with dreams of torture, imprisonment and masculine heat, Lynelle returned to her chamber after giving Edan his morning tonic. The fog of weariness cloaking her every movement, her every thought, had helped lessen her reaction to seeing William. Thankfully, he hadn’t spoken a single word. No doubt he was too busy contemplating ways to punish her for escaping from his castle.

Now, slumped across the table in her room, her palms supporting her head, she stared into the last glowing embers in the grate, relieved by her confinement.

Well, it was better than being manacled to a slimy wall in the bowels of the keep, or tied to a post in the courtyard. Worse still, she could be tethered to William, forced to breathe the same air, smell his manly scent, view his dark visage and, in their bound state, accidentally brush her body against his.

Saints above. Her dreams tormented her, even when awake. Or had she fallen asleep where she sat?

A heavy fist rapped on the door. Jumping to her feet, she clutched her hands to her middle as the thick oak panel opened. She felt her stomach drop to her toes as William’s steely gaze perused the chamber.

She’d seen him dressed in plaid and shirt and leather vest, but the thick, menacing sword now dangling at his hip had been absent since they’d arrived at Closeburn. He looked every inch the warrior.

‘Don your cloak.’

Her eyes snapped up from the gleaming blade to his flint-coloured stare. Surely if he meant to sever her head he wouldn’t care if she were cold or not.

On stiff legs, she crossed to the hook and reached for the garment. She would need it, if she were to be thrown into the castle’s dungeon. Her fingers fumbled with the ties at her throat.

‘Fetch your sack of healing herbs.’

Locking gazes with him, she wondered if he was giving her the means to tend her ills while wasting away in the damp confines of his keep.

God above
. In her dazed and weary state, her imagination was rampant. She could ask his intentions, but her stubborn streak, the trait she so often kept buried, had her sinking her teeth into her tongue and holding her silence.

Retrieving her worn herb sack, resolve stiffened her shoulders. She would show no signs of fear.

‘Come.’

Lynelle refused to cower, answering his summons with a toss of her braid and an up-thrust of her chin, before marching into the dim corridor.

Holding her sack tightly against her belly, she descended the stairs. Thank God she’d eaten every morsel on her tray this morning. It could be a long while before she received further sustenance.

The sound of voices grew louder as she neared the level to the great hall. Keeping her eyes averted, she avoided searching the faces of those she knew were appraising her. They were Scots, William’s people, and she didn’t want to witness their expressions of smugness.

She focused on the rough stone wall making up part of the entrance alcove, as a sudden hush greeted their descent into the hall. Drawing a huge breath, she compelled her feet to make the turn to the left toward the dungeons, as the air in her lungs shuddered out.

A large warm hand grasped her shoulder, halting her as her foot hovered in the empty space above the first step down. Strong fingers urged her away from the shadowed stairwell, coaxing her around until her eyes rested on the centre of William’s wide chest.

It seemed she wasn’t to escape the clan’s sneering gazes. He must want the meting out of her punishment to be made public, her humiliation complete.

She lifted her chin, focusing on the muscled cords in his neck. He didn’t know she’d endured scorn her entire life. Though the people might be different, condemnation was always the same.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ William asked quietly.

His hand left her shoulder and she drew a slow breath. So he wanted her to admit her fate to all.

‘To the dungeon,’ she said loud and clear.

‘Ah. You do think me an ogre.’ He spoke softly and his devil lips that had haunted her sleep for the past two nights thinned.

Lynelle held her tongue.

‘Well, before I consign you to whatever brutal punishment you believe I have in store, there is someone who wishes to meet you.’

He stepped to the side, revealing a horde of people crowded in a half circle. She skimmed their silent faces and found two she recognized, Mary and Malcolm. The older couple smiled at her, as did the rest of the throng. Where were the narrowed eyes and condemning expressions she expected?

A man and woman stepped free from the others and stopped a slight distance from where she remained, frozen. With a small movement of her hand, the woman drew Lynelle’s attention to a little boy of two, perhaps three years of age, who tottered toward her on tiny leather-clad feet.

Beneath her furrowed brow, she watched his approach, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. The boy stopped before her and looked up, his brown lashes surrounded deeper brown eyes that matched the mop of dark hair on his head. Drawing his hand from behind his back, he thrust something toward her.

Lynelle peeled her gaze from his earnest young face and looked at his offering. Tears suddenly welled, blurring the untidy cluster of wilting flowers he strangled in his fist. He tilted his head to one side and said, ‘I, Davy.’

Awareness took hold. This was the little boy who’d fallen into the loch. Furiously blinking the moisture from her eyes, she drank in Davy’s features in wonder. He seemed to be studying her just as closely, when suddenly his fine brows lowered over his dark eyes. She eased back a fraction and glimpsed the flowers still clutched in his tiny hand.

Adjusting her hold on the herb sack, she reached forward and accepted the offering from his stubby fingers. ‘Thank you, Davy,’ she said softly and was doubly rewarded by the return of his impish smile.

Davy’s parents edged closer. ‘Bless you for saving our boy,’ Davy’s father said quietly.

Lynelle swallowed, trying to find words to explain their praise was misplaced.

Strong fingers gently curled about her upper arms, coating each limb with prickling heat. Only one person’s touch had such an effect on her. William stood almost flush against her back, far too close.

‘I believe the healer appreciates Davy’s gift and your blessings.’ Warm breath tickled her ear and washed over her cheek. Lynelle could only nod in agreement.

‘Come.’ His hold steered her to the keep’s entrance, where he plucked the flowers from her hand. ‘Mary, kindly see to these.’

Lynelle let him lead her outside into the courtyard, relieved by the touch of his guiding hand. Her encounter with Davy had drained the strength she’d mustered to face her punishment and she couldn’t seem to form a rational thought.

‘It seems my clansmen have grown lax.’ A huge sigh escaped William as he paused and searched the inner courtyard. ‘Can you see any sign of the gallows I ordered to be erected?’

‘What?’ Her gaze flew to his. Barely noticing the sun’s warmth on her face, she scoured the bailey for a hitching post.

‘Never fear,’ he said, taking her elbow and ushering her forward. ‘I’ll have the curs whipped later for their tardiness.’

As they passed through the curtain wall’s massive gates, Lynelle struggled to keep up with his purposeful stride.

‘All is not lost. There are many fine oak trees near the village. Finding a sturdy limb should prove an easy task.’ He stopped, glanced at her from head to toe, before tugging her along once more. ‘A twig would hardly bend beneath your scant weight.’

She tore her arm from his grasp and stumbled to a halt. ‘You mean to hang me?’ She stared wide-eyed, as he turned to face her. It was one thing for her to entertain thoughts of her punishment. It was quite another to hear William speak of them aloud. Her knees threatened to buckle and she had to fight to remain upright.

‘I know,’ he said, his voice resigned, though his expression appeared disappointed. ‘There’s little enjoyment to be had from a simple hanging.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘It’s over far too quickly.’