An Allusive Love (A MacNaughton Castle Romance Book 2)

by Aubrey Wynne

  “I’m on an errand for more beeswax. On the way home, I thought I’d stop and see yer progress.” She sucked in a breath, his fragrant mix of pine and sweat, a heady combination. “Almost finished, then?”

  He nodded, his hand resting on her lower back as he steered her back toward the cottage. “Are ye out of candles?”

  She paused at the question, then laughed. “No, we use the wax to make ointments. Summer is my busiest season, as it is for all healers. Many of the plant parts we need for the tinctures and infusions are gathered ahead of time for winter.”

  “Yer busy season? But yer mother is the healer, ye just help—”

  Kirstine stopped and planted her fists on her hips. Where had he been all these years? “Do ye pay attention to anything that doesna concern ye in particular? What have I been doing with my mother all these years?”

  “Assisting?” His blue eyes sparkled as he took in her stance, a smile creeping around the edges of his mouth. He ducked when she took a flimsy swipe at him.

  “Numpty-headed mon,” she mumbled, walking away from him. Over her shoulder, she yelled, “I’ve been learning. I will be a second healer for the clan and a midwife. I’ve helped with two births in the past year.”

  “Ye’re lovely when ye’re angry. Did ye ken that?” he called after her.

  Bare chest or no, the man was still infuriating.

  “Don’t pay him any mind, lass,” said Glynnis. “My son can still be a wee self-centered, but ye’ll shape him into a good mon, eventually.”

  “Ye have too much in faith in me.”

  “I have faith in love. He loves ye.” Glynnis smiled. “And a mon will do anything within reason for the woman he loves.”

  Heat spread up Kirstine’s neck at the words. “Do ye think—”

  “No talking behind my back unless I can hear what’s said,” interrupted Brodie as he approached.

  “Turn yer back, and I promise we’ll talk louder,” quipped his mother.

  He snorted. “Grandda taught me better than to turn my back on a wily adversary.”

  Both women beamed.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Glynnis retorted. “Now go and walk yer pretty lass home. Ian will drive me in the wagon.”

  “Aye, we’re done for the day. I canna help trim the roof edge without the proper tools.” Brodie held out his hand, and she took it, twining her fingers with his.

  The snip of the thatcher’s shears faded as they made their back through the woods and toward Kirstine’s home. Once in the shadows, his arm looped around her back and pulled her close. His lips grazed her neck, then captured her mouth, his tongue velvet against hers. Her palms lay flat on his chest. His bare chest. She moaned as her stomach tumbled and her fingertips kneaded Brodie’s solid muscle. How could his skin feel so supple yet so hard at the same time? She ran her nails against the springy dark curls that tapered down his stomach.

  “That was better than the cold meat pie Ma brought us.” He rested his forehead on hers, his hands stroking her back lightly. Pleasure rippled through her. “And I was hungry, so ye must be verra tasty.”

  Kirstine giggled, stood on her tiptoes, and bit his lower lip. “No dallying this afternoon. I have too much to do at home.” She pushed away from him and resumed walking, swinging her sack of beeswax.

  Brodie untied the shirt from his waist and pulled it over his head. “I suppose I should look presentable in front of yer mother.”

  She bent her head but peeked at him through her lashes as he covered the smooth tanned skin. He was a beautiful specimen of a man.

  “I see ye watching, Kirsty.”

  Embarrassed, she turned on her heel, picking up speed and emerging from the wood into the bright sunshine. She grabbed her skirts with one hand and took off at a run. Behind her, Brodie followed with whoops of laughter.

  “Ye can run but ye canna hide, love,” he called. “I will always find ye.”

  They ran across the emerald meadow, a hawk in full spread gliding above to cast a flittering shadow over their path. At a row of hedges with sweet-scented white flowers, Kirstine stopped and caught her breath. She motioned Brodie to the privet bushes. Opening the drawstring pouch at her waist, she withdrew a small knife and began cutting the white flowers.

  “I appreciate the gesture, fair lady, but I should be the one presenting you with a posy.” He crossed his arms and grinned at her. “But if ye’re one of those independent lasses, I’ll graciously accept.”

  She rolled her eyes and handed him her sack. “We add the flowers to sweet water or tea. It helps with any disease that needs cooling or drying. And fluxes of the belly and…” Brodie didn’t want to know about women’s menses. “They’ll no’ be in bloom much longer, so I like to gather as many as I can when I come across them. Then we’ll collect the berries in late summer.”

  “And what kind of potion do ye make with the berries?”

  “Their ideal for washing sores when made into a lotion.”

  “I’m impressed with what ye ken about these things.” He squinted into the bag as she carefully laid the blossoms inside the pouch. “Who have ye helped with yer healing, Kirsty? Tell me about yer work.”

  She paused, a smile tugging at her lips at his request. Perhaps Glynnis was right. Her Brodie was making an effort to be attentive. She retrieved the sack and placed the last petals inside, along with the blade, and tied the laces to her belt.

  “The first serious patient I remember,” she began, not counting the goat she’d found at the age of seven, “was the shopkeeper in the village. He’d fallen from a ladder while stocking his shelves. His leg was broken, and his shoulder dislocated.”

  “I remember that. It took him months to recover,” added Brodie. “Grandda worried he’d ever be the same.”

  “Ma taught me how to put the shoulder back into its rightful place. The mon was in terrible pain but never made a sound.” She grimaced. “I suspect he didna want to frighten his new wife.”

  “Is it a difficult procedure?”

  She shook her head. “Ye need strength, though. I couldna have done it when I was younger. And ye must do it as quickly as possible. The longer it takes, the more pain to the patient.”

  “What else have ye done?”

  “Let’s see. I’ve assisted with several births, but I believe I could deliver a bairn on my own if there were no complications. I’ve attended those with fever or flux, sewed up several long gashes—”

  “Ye’ve stitched a mon? With a needle?” His azure eyes widened. It was a well-known fact that Brodie hated needles.

  She chortled. “Careful, ye’re turning green.”

  “Aye, right.” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “I get lightheaded just imagining a needle poking into my skin.”

  “Remember when Brigid fell from her pony and hit her head? My mother gave her close to a dozen stitches.”

  “I recall her tumbling from the horse but no’ the surgery.”

  “She never made a sound, not even a whimper.” Kirstine poked him in the stomach. “You, on the other hand, swooned and yer brother had to catch ye before ye hit the floor.”

  “We all have our Achilles’ heel,” Brodie grumbled, then grinned. “But I never scream and do a jig when a spider drops from a tree.”

  It was her turn to shiver. “I concede. Everyone has a weakness.”

  He took her hand again and pulled her onto the dirt lane. “Do ye see that as yer purpose, then? To take yer mother’s place some day?”

  She nodded. “Healing is in my soul. When I help someone who suffers from illness or injury, it fills a part of me that nothing else does. It’s my calling, just as yours is to be chief when the time comes.”

  “So, ye believe in fate?” His gaze traveled her face, the humor gone from his tone. “That we all have a predestined role to play in this life?”

  “Why, Brodie MacNaughton, what has ye so philosophical today?”

  “I want to be a better mon for ye, Kirsty. I want to be the one
ye bring yer problems to, the one ye trust with yer deepest secrets.” He let out a long, ragged sigh. “But I need to ask and listen instead of doing all the talking. I’m no’ fickle, not really. My loyalty to this clan never wavers.”

  “No one doubts that, Brodie.” Granted, his romantic affections rose and fell like the tide. But his allegiance, his place within his family, were a source of pride. The love of family and clan had always been strong and steady.

  But could he transfer that kind of devotion to her, to one woman? Her mother said time would tell, but she didn’t need time. “I have faith in ye, and that will never change. Ye ken that, right?”

  He shrugged, and she swore a blush crept up his neck. “I dreamt ye married MacDougal and woke up this morning in a sweat. It had me pondering… if ye hadn’t kissed me on May Day, would we have had another chance? Or would I have lost ye and never ken what I was missing?”

  She was enjoying this new courtship and found herself in no hurry to end it. It would be a rousing summer, and she would relish every precious moment of it. “Fated to disregard the allusive love drifting before yer eyes?”

  “Ye’re teasing me now.” He tipped his head, squinting at her suspiciously.

  Kirstine shook her head. Her heart swelled as she realized there were still a few secrets hidden inside this complex man. “Truly, I trust that if we keep an open mind and an open heart, what is meant to be will come to pass. It’s those who fight their destiny that lose their way.”

  Brodie nodded. “Lovely and clever. How did I get so lucky?”

  She studied his profile, the set jaw, the forehead puckered in concentration. “What else is on yer mind?”

  He shrugged again and then let out a long breath. “Ye’ve taught me something new about myself. I have a jealous vein I didna ken I had. When I saw ye with MacDougal, I-I wanted to skelp his hide. I dinna care for the tightness in my chest or the fire in my gut when his hand was on yer back.”

  “It’s a good thing he’s no’ as handsome as ye, then.”

  “As handsome?” His fingers gripped hers. “Ye see him like that?”

  “Aye, and plenty of others. There’s been lots of nattering about his need for a wife and mother for the boy.” Kirstine’s eyes narrowed. “No confrontations with him, Brodie.”

  His arm snaked around her waist and they continued walking. “I hate to admit it, but I like him. He’s a good mon and a hard worker. Though, the laddie could do with some restraint.”

  She snorted. “Like ye had any at his age.”

  “True enough.” He studied a fluffy white cloud overhead. “What about Brigid? Maybe yer sly matchmaker should consider him for herself. It would do her good to settle down and practice more womanly duties.”

  Kirstine caught his gaze, and they stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter.

  “Someday, a man will sweep her off her feet.” Kirstine caught her breath. “The right man, who understands her ways, could convince her to let her feminine side come out to play.”

  “As ye understand my ways?”

  She nodded, her eyes tracing the square line of his jaw, the dark stubble against the tanned skin.

  “Is that what a woman wants? To be swept off her feet?” asked Brodie. “For the love of saints, I had no idea it was so simple.”

  Before she could blink, he’d swept her into his arms and twirled her round and round. She clutched his neck to keep her balance and allowed the giggles to erupt. When Brodie stopped spinning, the world did not. She focused on the stormy blue of his eyes as he kissed her. Soft, gentle, teasing. This time her head spun but for an entirely different reason.

  “Yes,” she said and promptly hiccupped. “This is exactly what a woman wants.”

  Chapter Nine

  Feed a Fever, Stoke a Scot

  June 1819

  “Help! Mrs. MacDunn, please, help!”

  The shrill panic in that voice and Charlie’s excited bark spurred Kirstine to the window. Beyond the blackhouse, Mairi stumbled up the slight incline. The goats scampered out of her way, bleating with indignation.

  Kirstine met her in the yard and caught her friend by the shoulders. “Breathe,” she commanded in a calm voice.

  Mairi gulped in deep breaths, her fingers digging into Kirstine’s arm. “My grandmother,” she huffed.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Fever.” She dragged in another breath. “She’s delirious. It’s getting worse.”

  “Come in and sit down while I collect a few things. Ye’ll no’ be any help if ye canna walk or talk.”

  Nodding, Mairi followed her in the house. “Where’s Mrs. MacDunn?”

  “My mother’s gone into Dunderave with my da, but I’ve assisted her since I was eight.” She squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “I’ll leave a note, and I’ll send Charlie back if we need help. Do ye trust me?”

  Mairi’s shimmering gaze locked with hers as a tear slipped down her cheek. She nodded, her bright red hair a mass of tangled, frizzy curls.

  “Good. Now, tell me when she came down with the fever.”

  Kirstine listened and asked several more questions, ascertaining what tinctures or poultices might be needed. Agnes hadn’t been well the day before and retired early. This morning she’d slept late, and Mairi had busied herself with the daily chores. When she returned, she found her father frantic because of her grandmother’s deteriorating condition.

  “I’m going to the shed for a few more supplies. We can take old Captain and ride double.” Her pony Speckles would be much quicker, but she hesitated to leave Mairi behind. The poor thing was exhausted and would worry all the way home.

  Fever could mean illness or infection. Injury didn’t seem to be the cause, but Kirstine wanted to be prepared. This would be the first emergency she’d handled alone. Quickly choosing another bottle and a tin, she added them to her mother’s satchel and emerged into the afternoon sunlight. Charlie was barking again, and a shadowed figure loomed above her on horseback.

  “Oh, Brodie. I’m so sorry, but I canna meet with ye today. Mairi’s grandmother is ill.”

  Mairi came from the back of the blackhouse, leading Captain.

  “I hope it’s no’ serious. She’ll be dead before ye arrive if ye take that ancient mount. Is yer pony lame?”

  She shook her head and explained.

  “I’ll accompany ye and the lass can ride behind me.” He handed Kirstine his reins. “Wait here. I’ll saddle yer horse for ye.”

  Brodie approached Mairi, spoke to her, and she nodded. He led the gelding back and soon returned with the spotted pony. He handed the bag to Mairi and gave Kirstine a leg up, then mounted his own horse. Mairi grabbed his outstretched arm, and he swung her up and behind him. With the satchel between the two of them, she wrapped her arms firmly around his waist.

  “Are we ready, ladies?” he asked, all humor gone from his tone.

  “Aye,” they both said in unison and set off at a gallop, the deerhound racing alongside them.

  Mairi’s father, Sean, met them at the door, his hazel eyes bloodshot and tired. He ran a hand through his auburn hair. “She’s mumbling about faeries and seeing her daughter again.”

  “Brodie, would ye see to the horses while Mairi and I tend to Agnes?” She laid a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Go on now, and we’ll take over. Ye look worn out.”

  He nodded. “I dinna ken what we’ll do without her. She’s been a second mother to me. When my wife died, she swooped in like an angel and…” Sean swiped a calloused hand over his face. “Please, help her… help us.”

  Kirstine followed Mairi into a small chamber at the back of the cottage. The room was stifling. “Lord have mercy, it’s hot enough for the devil himself. Open the window so we can all breathe!”

  A gentle gust brought immediate relief as Kirstine pulled back the counterpane. She could feel the heat emanating from the fragile body. The elderly woman’s nightshift was soaked, loose tendrils of her silver hair sticking to her crep
e-like skin. When she opened her eyes, they were dark and glazed. Her head tossed back and forth against the damp pillow.

  “Agnes, can ye hear me?” she asked. A bony hand gripped her arm, but there was no response.

  “Let’s get her undressed and find clean sheets for her to lie on. We’ll cool her down with lavender water and see what ails her.” It would be a long night. Fevers were unpredictable and could last hours or days. Kirstine prayed there was no rash beneath the nightrail.

  Brodie appeared at the door with a bucket of cold water. “Can I help?”

  She shook her head. “Stay with Sean, distract him. I’ll come out after I’ve examined her.”

  In a steady, composed voice, she spoke to Mairi as she withdrew a bottle and cloths from the satchel. She added the tincture to the bucket of water and put the girl to work, making strips and soaking them in the lavender water. Mairi’s face relaxed as she set about her task.

  Keep them busy, give the family members a purpose. There’s less time to worry, and it eases the sense of helplessness. It had been one of the first lessons her mother had given.

  As they bathed Agnes, the elderly woman quieted. Kirstine washed and inspected her frail form, looking for a clue as to what had caused the fever. She pulled away the damp sheet to sponge Agnes’s legs.

  “Mairi, what happened to her foot?” Kirstine gingerly touched the swollen appendage. A dark bluish purple with yellow pus oozed from between several toes.

  “She was milking the cow last week and got stepped on. I noticed her limp didna improve, but she told me it was fine.” Mairi’s green eyes darkened in horror. “I had no idea. Oh, sweet Jesu!”

  “It’s no’ yer fault. She’s a stubborn woman. But this may be the reason for her fever.” Kirsten took a deep breath and got to work. “While I attend the foot, could ye continue the fresh strips across her brow and chest to keep her cool? Sprinkle some on the pillow. The scent is soothing.”

  Mairi nodded, and Kirstine returned to her inspection. Only one toe seemed broken, but the skin was badly ripped. The laceration had festered. With a prayer of thanks that the patient was unconscious, she carefully debrided the wound. “Hand me that brown bottle, please.”