Torrian (The Highland Clan Book 2)

Heather of Preston jolted up as soon as she was able to clear the sleep from her brain. Nellie, wee Nellie, where was she? She crawled across the cold stone floor until she found her daughter of four summers. Gathering the lassie into her arms, she pressed her cheek to her forehead, her heart hopeful. The heat from her wee one’s tender skin shattered that hope in an instant. Still, she crooned to the lassie and shook her ever so slightly to see if she could wake her.

She could not. After three days, her daughter’s fever had not abated. Heather carried her out of the hidden cave, hoping the early dawn light would rouse her. Nellie’s fair locks, normally shining from the sun, hung limp around her face, and the skin across her cheekbones was dry and dusky. Her eyes had not opened in two days, and her breathing was even shallower than it had been the day before.

Heather had to do something. Afraid to move Nellie and even more afraid she would be unable to carry her far, she took the lassie back into the cave they had lived in for the past three summers, covered her with a warm plaid, kissed her cheek, and struggled to keep the tears from running down her face. “Mama loves you, sweeting. I must go for help. ‘Tis time to go to the greatest healer in the Highlands. You know we’ve watched her for many moons. She’ll know what to do.”

A sickening feeling welled in her gut at the thought of leaving Nellie, but there was no choice. After strapping her bow and quiver to her back, she tied on her boots and set off toward the Ramsay clan.

Just move one foot in front of the other and you will get there.

She continued her mantra as she raced through the forest, thankful it was early spring so she did not have to run through heavy snow. In her heart, she feared she would not be successful. It was a trek, especially since she hadn’t eaten much of late for fear of leaving Nellie to hunt, but her daughter meant more to her than aught in the world. Neither beast nor man would impede her effort to reach Brenna of the Ramsays. She would not allow her fears to get the best of her.

When she finally reached the meadow, her ragged breathing was audible above the sounds of the morning birds.
Please God, please God, save my daughter, she is everything to me.

She’d watched the Ramsays from afar for many moons, admiring the clan’s tenacity and hard work. There was one lass who was an amazing archer, and Heather had watched and listened as she trained the youngest members of the clan. Using the lass’s lessons as a guide, she had crafted her own bow. It had taken her a long time, but it was worth it to have another weapon besides her dagger.

Why hadn’t she hunted for food before leaving? The grumbling deep in her belly reminded her how long it had been since she’d eaten. She could feel her legs weakening beneath her, but her will would prevail. Of that, she was certain.

She had to save her daughter, she just had to.

***

Torrian Ramsay, first son of the Ramsay chieftain, stood near the gate of the Ramsay curtain wall, conversing with two of the guards and his friend and age-mate, Kyle.

“Aye, Torrian,” Kyle said, “‘tis time for you to marry. Your sire wishes it, Brenna wishes it, just pick one. Why not that saucy wench who was clinging to you the other eve? She had plenty of…attributes.” The guards laughed right along with Kyle, but Torrian took it in stride.

“When I find the right lass, I’ll marry. Until then, worry about the lasses in your own beds.” His sire and his uncle told him it was the way of men to tease each other about their sexual exploits, and Uncle Logan had taught him how to spar with words. No one needed to know that he preferred not to keep company with promiscuous women.

The sound of heavy, ragged breathing reached his ears, and he turned his head just in time to see a frenzied lass running straight for them, coming from the meadow, not the village. Though she was fleet of foot, she seemed weak.

One of the guards started to make a quip, but Torrian cut him off. “Is your tongue so busy you have forgotten to do your duty?” He pointed to the lass and then launched himself in her direction, Kyle fast behind him. He made it to the meadow behind the row of cottages just in time to catch her before her head hit the ground.

He scooped her into his arms and headed back to the castle, intent on finding his stepmother, Brenna, the Ramsay clan’s healer, but her eyes flew open and she shoved her wee fists against Torrian’s large chest.

To his bafflement, he realized he’d seen her before on Ramsay land. He’d tried to speak to her, but she had run from him as soon as their eyes met. There was no mistaking her, for she had one blue eye and one green eye. The only other person he’d ever seen with eyes like that was his cousin, Loki Grant. The Grant family had adopted Loki after he was found living behind an inn at the royal burgh. Did the shared eye color mean they were related? He had no idea, but he would be sure to ask his cousin the next time they met.

“Nay, the healer,” the lass shouted, breaking him out of his daze. “Find the healer. I need her.”

“I can see that, lass. I’m taking you to our healer, Lady Brenna.” Torrian could tell the lass searched for his stepmother, the person who’d healed him and married his sire. He used to call her mama, but now, he called her by name. Lily, his sister, still used both depending on the occasion.

“Nay, not for me.” She gasped for breath, but managed to continue. “Not for me. I need the healer for my daughter. Please. My daughter. She’s dying. Help me.” Her eyes closed, and her head fell back against Torrian.

Kyle ran ahead, yelling back over his shoulder. “I’ll find Lady Brenna and bring her to you.”

At the sound of his voice, the lass’s eyes flew open again, and she said, “Stop, please stop!”

Torrian found a nearby bench and set her down. Her eyes were so full of worry, he would have done aught to comfort her. “We’ll wait here until the healer arrives.”

“Aye, please, the mistress of the castle, Lady Brenna. I need her. She can save my daughter.” She paused to catch her breath, her fingers still gripping Torrian’s tunic.

“What is your name?

“Heather. Please, my daughter, my Nellie, is dying.”

“Where is Nellie?”

“In my cave. We live in a cave.” Her breathing became more labored. “Not far. She is dying.”

“What happened to her?” He brushed her golden locks back from her eyes, the wind having almost completely undone her plait. Not only were her eyes unique, her entire countenance was different from most of the lasses he knew. Dressed more like a lad than a lass, with a bow strapped to her back, she reminded Torrian a little of fierce Aunt Gwyneth, Uncle Logan’s wife.

Brenna came running toward them from the gate, Kyle following at her side. “What is it, Torrian? What’s wrong with her?” Lily was directly behind her.

Both he and the lass turned toward Brenna and Lily at the same time. Mindful of her ragged breathing, Torrian answered for her. “She says she’s not hurt. She came to seek help for her daughter, who has taken ill. The lassie is in a cave not far from here.”

“Please come with me?” Heather’s hopeful gaze locked on Brenna just as the older woman nodded her head.

“Of course, I’ll come with you. Help me decide what to bring. What kind of problem is your daughter having?”

“Fever. She’s had a fever for several days,” Heather gasped out. “Now she won’t stir at all. I cannot get her to drink or eat aught.” She still held a tight grip on Torrian’s forearms, as if she were afraid he would run away, and for some odd reason, Torrian found that he quite liked her touch. Her scent was fresh—the wind, the trees, everything outdoors. Heather was the perfect name for her, for she looked like a wildflower in the meadow. Her skin was lightly bronzed from spending time in the sun, but it was flawless and beautiful.

Brenna issued instructions and everyone headed off to do as they were bid. “Torrian, get the lass on a horse with you and have another one saddled for me. Kyle, tell my husband what we are doing and find a few more guards to travel with us. Lily, I’m glad you’re here. Please run to Cook and find some oatcakes and fruit we can take along. The lass looks as if she hasn’t eaten in days. We’ll meet at the stables.”

As soon as she moved away, Heather locked gazes with Torrian. “Is she the one?”

“The one?”

“Is she the healer? The one who’s healed so many?”

Torrian lifted her into his arms and started toward the stables to do his part. Brenna was right, she did not weigh much at all. “Aye, she and her sister Jennie, who lives near the abbey, are the best healers in the land.”

“Are you sure? Nellie needs the best.”

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t be here if not for her skills.” Torrian had a flashback of the many days he’d spent hidden in a distant cottage, so ill he couldn’t get off his pallet. As a bairn, he had spent many days piled atop mounds of furs because of the painful blisters all over his body. His life had started again after Brenna cured him, and for that he would be ever grateful.

“Are you the laird’s son?”

“Aye.”

“She saved you, did she not?”

“Aye, she did. Me and Lily, my sister. She’ll help your daughter. How do you know me?”

“Only from afar. I saw you in the forest many moons ago. But please, we must not tarry. Please hurry.” She reached up and cupped his cheek.

Torrian almost jerked at her touch, so surprised by it, yet he found he did not wish for her to move. Though he knew she had heard Brenna, he found himself stammering, “We…we’re at the stables. We’ll ride so we don’t waste time.” One of the stable lads brought Torrian’s horse out, then helped Torrian get Heather settled on the horse.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps, and moments later, Torrian’s sire Quade appeared beside him. “Who’s on the horse, Torrian,” he said gruffly, “and where are you taking her?”

“Brenna is getting her healer’s satchel and we’re heading out into the meadow in search of a cave. This is Heather. She says her daughter is dying and needs Brenna’s help. How old is your daughter?”

“Nellie is four summers.”

Quade yelled for six of his guards. “Mount up, you’ll go with my wife and son. Remember, Torrian, you and Brenna must ride on separate horses.”

Torrian nodded, used to this command of his father’s. After all Quade Ramsay had been through, the laird insisted that his wife and heir ride separately for fear of losing two loved ones at once.

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