by Paula Quinn
“Thank you,” she said meaningfully. “That is very kind to my ears.”
“Aye, to mine, as well,” Simon said, still gaping at him. After an instant, he grinned and patted Elias on the back. “We should go see about speaking to Estrid.”
“Who?” Elias asked.
“Come on, then,” his friend said, pulling him toward the stairs. “I think you need some air.”
Chapter Two
Lily stayed behind, outside her front door, watching the two men make their way on foot to The Pheasant Inn. An odd pair. One was tall, broad, and handsome, but mostly mute and looking as if he’d swallowed something foul. The other was much shorter, slim in his robes, bald and badly scarred on his face. He seemed to be the intelligent one of the two.
She turned away for a moment when the dark-haired Scot turned around to have one last look at her.
She hadn’t forgotten what he said. She was worthy of heaven. Her heart raced a little. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Nothing that made her want to smile like a child going off to play. She wasn’t certain what to do about it. She knew she had to stop, but she didn’t know how.
She would admit that looking at Elias MacPherson was like lying back in the grass on a clear night and seeing stars light up the sky. His beauty was simply…resplendent. He was tall, with strong, straight legs and wide shoulders. Behind soft waves of dark hair, his startling blue eyes glittered with tiny shards of silver, ringed by long, lush, dark lashes. He was chiseled by the Master’s hand from face to foot.
She thought about every part of him, like how the muscles in his thighs had trembled and bulged while lowering Richard’s potted herbs. She remembered the heat and hardness of his body when he stood close behind her and reached for the jar of chamomile.
She stepped away from the house and headed back to the shop. To her husband. The man she loved. And she did love Richard. She would always stand by him and help him. She would never leave him for a sweet frame and some pretty words.
Richard deserved more than that. He’d saved her from The Savage Scot. That was what everyone had called Bertram Chisholm. For he had killed poor John Fenley, the tanner, for tripping over the beast’s long claymore while he ate supper in the tavern. He had forced his desires on Deirdre one of the tavern’s serving girls and then insisted she was a deceitful harlot who should be banished from the village. When Lily stood up to him about Deirdre’s fate, she was struck in the face and put to the ground. When his orders to banish Deirdre were not carried out, he killed Roger the reeve, the senior official under the crown to oversee the peasants, and announced himself the new reeve, then banished Deirdre himself.
When Lily stood up to him for the villagers, they’d grown fond of her and took care of her when her beatings were severe.
She reached the shop now and saw her dear husband gathering sage and comfrey and smiled. Where would her life be now if he hadn’t stepped into it?
“I showed them the house, my dear,” she called to him merrily. “They have gone to speak to Estrid and will return later.”
He nodded and smiled at her then continued mashing leaves.
They had no children, as their marriage was never consummated. With all his knowledge of roots and leaves, Richard could never find a cure for his inability to become physically aroused. And even if he could, Lily could not. She felt no physical attraction to him, but loved him more the way she might have loved her father.
She smiled in greeting as Joan, the miller’s wife and Deirdre’s mother, stepped inside the shop and pushed down her summer hood. Her bun was the same as Lily remembered it being for the last two years, but now it was silver instead of brown. “Good day to you, Joan. How is Deirdre?”
“Larger than a house,” the serving girl’s mother huffed. “When will this babe ever arrive?”
“She has a month, at least. Tell her not to forget to take the ginger for bloating.” Lily smiled. “How are your ankles?”
Joan lifted her skirts and grinned. “Oh, much better, Sweeting! The cardinalwort…no, what did you call it?”
“Bishopwort,” Lily supplied with a slight giggle when she heard Richard snort.
“Oh, aye! Look! No swelling for two days! I have come for more.”
Lily nodded and went to a small shelf on the wall behind her table. It was where she kept the most frequently used remedies. As she reached for the bishopwort, she remembered her Scottish guest reaching for the chamomile over her head and felt a little lightheaded.
“We have two guests staying with us, Joan.” Better to tell her neighbor now instead of after they terrified Joan when she saw them. “They are Scots. One of them is a priest.”
“A brother,” Richard called out, correcting her.
“Oh? Where are they coming from?” Joan asked with sudden worry creasing her brow.
“Dearest, what is it?” Lily asked as her neighbor twisted her skirts in her hands.
“Now, I do not know if ‘tis true, but Agnes told me, who was told by Ivett that a deadly sickness has ravaged Italy and now parts of France. Many are dead. Some fear ‘twill spread.”
“Our guests are from Scotland,” Lily hastened to let her know. She didn’t always listen to rumors and gossip, but this could be important—and sickness was Richard’s specialty. “What else do you know about this deadly sickness? Did Ivett tell you anything more?”
Joan shook her head.
Ivett was Osbert, the new reeve’s wife. Osbert had contact with men close to the crown. He heard rumors first, told his wife, and she always spread them.
Lily turned to her husband untying his leather apron and setting it aside. “I will go speak to Osbert about this and see what else I can find out.”
Lily nodded and watched him leave the shop.
“Lily, these Scots you spoke of are not like Bertram Chisholm, are they?” Joan asked, looking even more worried.
“No, dear. They do not seem to be anything like him. In fact, the brother doesn’t even speak like a Scot.”
They spoke a little more, mostly about the chill in the air and how it was causing Joan’s husband, Martin’s bones to ache.
Lily gave her a small pouch of rue and told her to soak the herb in vinegar and water and have her husband drink it.
They talked for a little while longer and then Joan left and Lily finished preparing Richard’s herbal mixture.
She continued her work, refilling her jars and going back and forth from the shop to the shed. Colder weather was on its way and they wanted to prepare as much for remedies as they could before the first frost.
“Let me take that,” came his deep, melodious voice, and the heavy sack she was struggling to carry to the shed was lifted easily from her arms.
She turned to Elias MacPherson’s beautiful face and couldn’t help but smile. He could have easily been a vain, arrogant, silver-tongued devil, for the sight of him was mesmerizing. But he was quiet and polite with a bit of a boyishness to his smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “’Tis the sixth one I have carried out. My arms are weary.”
She looked to the left and saw Brother Simon watching them from the shop doorway.
Elias tossed the heavy sack over his shoulder and reached for her arm with his free hand. “There is nothin’ to ye, lass,” he said and gave her upper arm a tender squeeze. “I will do the rest.”
She liked how he touched her, with boldness and respect—and the way the setting sunlight danced across the chiseled angle of his jaw and made his lightning-splashed eyes dazzle her senseless.
“You are very kind,” she offered and smiled with him again when he accepted her compliment. “’Tis a noble characteristic to possess.”
“I agree,” he replied and turned his face toward the shop and the direct sun. “And I have found that not too many people possess it.”
“Uh-hum.” She blinked away from his masterfully carved profile “Do you know many people?”
“Aye, we traveled often wit
h the king’s army in France and in England—”
“France?” She stepped away from him, remembering what Joan had told her. “You were in France? When?”
“A bit over two years ago? Aye.” He looked toward Brother Simon, just a few steps away now and his companion nodded, apparently listening to their conversation. “Why do ye suddenly look afraid of me?”
“There is word of a terrible sickness there. Many have died.” She paused and waited for Brother Simon to reach them when he pushed off the archway. “It has gone through Italy and parts of France.”
“What? We have heard nothing of this!” the brother exclaimed. “What parts of France? What do you know?”
“Not much,” she told him. “Richard went to see the reeve and find out more.”
“This is sad news,” the brother lamented softly and looked at Elias. “I wonder if our friends at Sénanque Abbey in Provence have been affected.”
“We should pray for them, Brother Simon,” Lily offered and led them toward the village church.
“’Tis verra kind of ye, Miss.”
“Lily,” she corrected with a smile. She could feel Elias’ gaze on her, warm, hooded, and curious. Her eyes found him before she could stop them. Her smile deepened before she looked away.
Inside the church, hundreds of candles burned and cast shadows on the stone walls and benches. Lily sat first, with Brother Simon scooting in next to sit beside her. Elias sat last, closest to the aisle. She and Elias remained silent while the brother prayed in a soft whisper for a little while. Then they all prayed silently.
Lily was surprised that the people the brother was so worried about were not the priests of the abbey, but the French soldiers who’d fought on the side of the Scots against England. Most of the men had been great warriors, but after the loss of a limb or more, there was no longer any place for them, so they lived at the abbey with the priests. They were their friends.
She prayed earnestly for them for some time before she heard someone else enter the sanctuary. She opened her eyes to see a priest walking toward their bench.
She stood up and smiled at the priest’s curious and cautious expression. “Father Benedict, good day.”
He nodded and looked to her for an explanation for what she was doing here with two strangers.
“These men are Richard and my guests for as long as they need to stay. We came inside because we wanted to pray. I hope you are not displeased by it.”
“Of course I do not mind, Lily.” He smiled at her and her guests. “Why would I? Church is for the sick, not those who are already well.”
“None of us are well,” Brother Simon grinned. “That is why…” He turned and presented them to the altar where a sculpted cross rose out of the ground. “I am Brother Simon of the Carmelite order and this is Elias MacPherson of Invergarry.”
Father Benedict balked and turned his stern dark gaze on her.
“We are no friends of Bertram Chisholm,” Elias was quick to reassure him, “and if he were here, I would kill him.”
Everyone, including Lily, turned to Elias. Father Benedict looked stunned and appalled that such talk left Elias’ lips in the house of God.
“I think our prayers are over.” She offered them all a smile and left the bench on the other side of Brother Simon. “Come please, let us continue speaking outside.”
All the men followed her out into the brisk air.
“Father, Richard has asked them to stay at the house and help him move all the pots and sacks. You know how difficult ‘tis for him, especially this time of year.”
“Aye, “ the priest began, “but where is—”
“My husband went to speak with Osbert about a matter of grave concern.”
“What is this matter you speak of?” Father Benedict asked curiously, and then became more authoritative when he asked again.
“We heard rumors of a terrible sickness overtaking France. Richard thought to ask Osbert if he had heard anything more on the matter, and these two men fought beside soldiers in Sénanque Abbey in Provence. When they heard this rumor, they wished to pray for their brothers.”
Father Benedict wanted more facts. When Lily told him she didn’t have anymore yet, he insisted on going back to the shop with her to wait for word.
They all walked back and on the way, Lily thought to ask why her guests had no horses.
“We do,” Elias answered her, coming a bit closer while Brother Simon asked Father Benedict a host of questions. “They are at a stable near The Pheasant Inn. After we spoke to Estrid, we decided to leave the horses there. ‘Twas a good day fer walkin’. A bit warm though.”
She angled her face at him and smiled. “Aye, Scotland is colder, is it not?”
He nodded. “I almost grew overheated walkin’ back.”
She laughed softly then covered her mouth with her hand and threw Father Benedict a guilty look. But he was too busy arguing doctrine with the younger brother and hadn’t taken notice of them.
“The Highlands are even colder.”
“Is that where you live?” she asked. “In the Highlands? It sounds very far away.”
“’Tis, and the journey can be taxin’ at times.” His smile deepened. “But ‘tis worth the effort. Our land is breathtakin’ and majestic, with jagged mountain ranges that go on fer what seems like forever. It can be dauntin’ to look upon if ye are lost.”
She lifted her hand to her chest and drew in a breath of air, then smiled. “Just hearing of it robs me of breath.”
His gaze went soft on her, as did his smile. “Once ye grow familiar with yer surroundin’s the landscape becomes even more wildly breathtakin’.”
She let out a small laugh. She wasn’t expecting him to pull even more air from her. “You make me regret that I will never see it.”
She was glad and relieved that he didn’t ask her foolish questions like how she knew she would never see it. He knew she was correct, and he knew why. She liked him all the more for not pushing.
“What aboot ye,” he asked while the two men of God began to find some common ground behind her. “How do ye like livin’ here fer the past…”
“Two years,” she supplied. “I love it here. These people are my family. I do not know where I would be without them. I will likely live and die here.”
As grateful as she was to Richard—as much as she loved him for saving her, she felt a bit sad that she would die here. She loved everyone in the village and would miss them and likely finally cry herself to sleep for a month over them if she left, but some innate sense within her wanted to fly away from everything.
And Elias MacPherson had awoken it.
Whatever it was had to end. Not only because of Richard, but because of her vows before God.
“Will you pardon me? I forgot to ask Father Benedict something.”
She broke away from him before he could answer. She hated being rude or unkind but he was too dangerous. He tempted her to stare at his lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss him—at his hands and long, broad fingers and think about his callused palms running down her back.
She needed to get back to the shop and to work.
She needed to put Elias MacPherson out of her thoughts.
She needed a distraction until he left.
Chapter Three
“Aye, Brother,” said Richard the apothecary to Simon from his place at the long trestle table where he sat with eight other men, including Father Benedict and Osbert the reeve. After Osbert had spoken to Richard, he requested all the men in the village to meet at his home.
Richard invited his guests. No one complained.
“Marseille in Provence was the first place in France to be hit. They are calling it the Black Death.”
Elias closed his eyes and said another silent prayer for his French brothers.
Ivett, the reeve’s wife, tapped him on the shoulder, interrupting his prayers. “More wine, sir?”
He shook his head and let his gaze settle on Lily standin
g beside her husband’s chair.
“If word of this spreads,” Osbert warned, “people will grow terrified and everything will be worse. You men tell your wives the virus has been contained.”
“The truth of it is,” the reeve continued, passing them all a grave look. “Losses in Italy, France, and even Spain are too numerous to count. There is word that the sickness set down in the port cities, Genoa, Messina, and Marseille. Just to name a few. So no one knows where it came from. There is no sign, so far, that it has come to England.”
“But it most likely will,” said Norman, a baker and one of Osbert’s appointed officials, as he brought his shaking hands to his lips. “I have two little girls.”
Lily rested her hand on his shoulder and cast her husband a somber gaze.
“Is there a way to stop it?” Elias asked, thinking of his kin in Invergarry. How long until it reached the Highlands? “If there is a way, I will help.”
As always, Elias was the first to volunteer to take down any enemy. If there were no enemies in the Highlands, he’d find some in England.
Everyone turned to him and Richard smiled and nodded. “Kind of you, Elias.”
Richard looked around the room. “No one knows how ‘tis spread,” the apothecary continued, taking over, knowing more about this part of the sickness. “But so far, we have learned that symptoms are fever, expulsion of stomach matter, bleeding from the eyes, nose, or mouth, in some cases, blackening of flesh to the limbs and fingers, and in most cases, death. Once affected, death is usually very swift. One to three days.”
Lily followed Father Benedict and Simon when they made the sign of the cross.
“Ye say most cases,” Elias said. “What d’ye know aboot the ones who live?”