Highland Healer

by Willa Blair

  “As to that,” Jamie said as the entered the Great Hall, “we’ve kept a lid on tempers, but it’s been a challenge at times. I’ll get some ale and join ye at the hearth.”

  Toran shrugged out of his travel cloak and laid it on the bench. Ah, warmth. He knew how Angus had felt that morning he’d made a run for the gate with a plea for Aileana’s help. At least Toran had the benefit of Aileana’s warmth snuggled against him all day. He shook his head and held his hands out toward the flames. He watched their flickering dance as he pondered. After the long search for Aileana, all the fears for her safety and the doubts about her feelings for him, it was sweeter than ever to be back home, by his hearth, in the company of kin and friends. Having her home with him, safe and well, wanting to be here with him…aye, that was the sweetest of all.

  He had a sudden, overpowering urge to go to her and fold her in his arms. But nay, Senga needed her; Ailith needed her. He could wait until she finished with her magic to hold her again and care for her needs in all the ways he wished to. She must have food first, he reminded himself with a mirthless smile as he lowered himself into his usual chair. Then a bath and sleep. Then…perhaps then she would be ready for the closer welcome that he was eager to offer his handfasted bride.

  Jamie returned from fetching their ale and handed him a cup.

  “’Tis good to see ye back, Laird,” Jamie said after they both had a taste.

  A sigh of appreciation escaped Toran. “’Tis good to be home,” he answered simply. After another sip, he nodded. “Tell me, then, what the challenges have been while I’ve been scouring the countryside for our wandering Healer.”

  “We’ve taken in the sick and the injured from the invaders’ camp, over the objections of some of the MacAnalens who still need Senga’s care. We’ve had to separate them, which means she’s had to go back and forth between them. She’s complained about the arrangement, but we both know it’s better than having them at each other’s throats. And even she admits they’ll all get better faster if they dinna fash about having an enemy so close by. Now that Aileana’s back, perhaps she can speed up the process. Senga will be happy to see the last of the lot of them.”

  “Is Angus one of them?”

  “Nay. He’s a good lad, that one, and a good laird, even if only in name. He’s taken his able-bodied back to their village and begun the rebuilding. Some of ours and some of Colbridge’s men volunteered to join him and lend their skills. I havena seen it for myself, but they’re said to be making good progress. If the weather doesna turn bad, the lasses and the bairns should be able to return to their men and new homes in a few more weeks.”

  “That’s good then.”

  “Aye. After they brought their sick and injured here, they took care of their dead, and refused any help in the doing of it. Angus wants the clan back together in their village to do a proper mourning before they hold a council to decide on the next laird. But I’ve no doubt he’ll be chosen as soon as that’s done.”

  “Where is Donal?”

  “Still at the camp. It’s taking more time to sort out the rest of Colbridge’s men than we thought. We’re finding places for those who want to join with us. But some don’t want to stay, and they also don’t want to make the trek south until spring. They’ve been more of a pain in the arse than the rest.”

  “Aye. Knowing they’re bound to leave, we canna bring them into the Aerie if they aren’t willing to join with us. ’Tis a matter of trust.”

  “And the MacAnalens’ hospitality won’t extend so far as to take them in for the rest of the winter, with good reason. After burying their dead, the MacAnalens would sooner see Colbridge’s men freeze than offer them a warm pallet. Kyle is helping Donal sort it out, but they think we’re going to have to build a temporary village to shelter them until the cold breaks.”

  Toran nodded and Jamie lapsed into silence. The rest of the news, good or bad, would wait.

  Where was Aileana? Was Ailith’s care taking so long? Or had the strain been too great for Aileana’s exhausted state? Had she collapsed again? Nay, Senga woulda sent word.

  More likely, she had finished her work and Senga was taking care of her before she allowed Aileana out of her sight. With a sigh, Toran stood.

  “I’m going to check on Aileana’s progress in the kitchen.”

  Jamie laughed. “Aye, ye’ll likely have to pry the lass away from there, from the way she sounded when ye arrived. I gather she wasna eating well while she wandered from us.”

  Jamie’s chuckles followed Toran down the hall to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him as he entered it nearly had him laughing, too, but instead, he schooled his face into a stern expression.

  Senga stood over Aileana, looking fiercely determined. Aileana, catching sight of him, blanched and put the bread she was about to take a bite from down into the bowl of stew steaming fragrantly in front of her. Her guilty reaction had amused him. She had promised to eat with him in the Great Hall after all was said and done in here. But her obvious exhaustion stopped him. Senga noticed him then, marched over to stand toe-to-toe with him and direct her glare upward.

  “Dinna be giving her that look, Laird. The lass has been hard used and needs food and rest. She hasna the strength to wait on ye.”

  “Healer Senga, I ken it.” Toran offered his old healer the appropriate respect and saw her tension ease. “How is Ailith?”

  “Well enough, now, Laird,” Senga said after taking a step back. “Thanks be to Aileana, who used her last of her strength in the care of another.”

  “Nay, Senga,” Aileana said then. “I’m fine, truly. Just a bit tired. Nothing a wee more sleep won’t cure.”

  “A wee sleep, my bonny lass, willna do it,” Senga replied, rounding on her. “Ye’ll get a good night’s rest tonight, in yer own bed, alone.” She uttered the last word with a glare at Toran. “We’ll feed ye up tomorrow and see how ye fare then. Now eat that stew before ye fall into it.”

  Aileana obediently picked up the bread she dropped and took a bite where the meaty broth had soaked into it. Toran’s mouth watered at the sight and the scents, longing for Aileana set aside as hunger overtook him.

  “Do ye think ye could find a bowl for me, too? I can eat here just as well as in the Hall.”

  Senga smiled at that. “Sit, Toran. I’ll see ye fed.” She stepped away to direct the cook’s helper.

  Toran sat across from Aileana, who paused in her chewing to raise an eyebrow at him.

  “Eat, child,” Senga’s command rang across the kitchen and Aileana smiled and started chewing again.

  “How are ye, lass? Truly?” Toran asked, reaching out to touch her hand where it rested on the table.

  “Leave her be, Toran,” Senga ordered, arriving with a steaming bowl of stew and a hunk of bread for him. “I suppose ye left yer ale in the Hall.” At his nod, she turned and looked over her shoulder. “Callie, ale for the laird, if ye please.” Then she looked back at her two charges, who were watching her with interest. “Well? Go to it, or I’ll toss it to the hounds.”

  At that, both Toran and Aileana laughed, then bent to their supper.

  ****

  Spring had come and gone and autumn waited, not far off. Aileana admired the late summer thistles in full bloom outside the window of their chamber. The Laird’s chamber. Now Toran’s and hers. Even now, it was hard to believe all that had happened to bring her here. Not so long ago, and yet so much had changed, and for the better.

  The news had come that a priest would reach them in a few days. Perfect timing, so Toran had said. Even though their handfasting legitimated their offspring under clan custom and Scottish law, it would be better if the birth occurred after their joining in the eyes of the kirk. Their babe was due in a month, and Toran would not have it hidden under Aileana’s wedding attire during the ceremony as if she still carried it, and then brought forth from beneath her skirts after the marriage vows were blessed, only then to be a legitimate heir in the kirk’s reckoning.


  So great was his impatience to claim her fully and formally as his lady that he planned for them to be married before the priest in the Aerie’s small chapel on the very day that the Father arrived. And so Toran had posted the banns on the chapel door the last three Sundays. He told her he did not expect anyone to object, of course, not within their laird’s hearing or that of anyone who would have related the dissent to him.

  Since Aileana’s generous treatment of her attacker, Coira, they had heard no further murmurs among the clan against her. Even Donal had become her devoted champion after helping to save her life in that confrontation, and having heard every word Aileana uttered granting grace to the poor woman who’d harmed her. But Toran was determined to take no chances. Toran had sent Coira back to her clan. Marriage in the kirk would silence any lingering doubts that any in the clan might harbor about Aileana having any ties to witchcraft.

  In the meantime, everyone cosseted her, catering to her every whim. Chairs were pulled out for her and cushions placed before she could even think to take a seat. Instead of the regular meals habitual in the clan, anything she wished for was brought to her as quickly as it could be prepared.

  Toran had wondered aloud how she would adjust once the bairn was born and all the special treatment was no longer necessary—not that it was now. But his people seemed to delight in caring for their lady, whom they had distrusted and in some cases, scorned, during her first weeks with the clan. They seemed determined to atone for their behavior, and Aileana allowed it with good grace, even when she told Toran privately that she longed for some peace and quiet and time to herself.

  “Ye canna shut yerself in our chambers, lass,” he told her now, as he had more than once. “The clan needs to see ye, and ye need to be among them. Never fear, once the bairn arrives, they’ll settle down, and all their devotion will turn to the wean. Ye’ll hardly gain any notice after that, I’ll wager.”

  “Until I increase again?”

  “Possibly.”

  “’Tis enough to make this babe an only child,” Aileana said wearily.

  “Nay, lass, never say that. We’ll have many strong lads, aye, and lasses as beautiful as their mother.”

  “I know, Toran. I do. I’m just a bit overwhelmed by all the attention.”

  “Enjoy it while it lasts, then. We’re a small clan, ye ken. The more bairns, the better, aye?”

  “We’ll talk about that in another month, my laird.”

  “At the verra least, there’ll be more to enjoy in the getting of them, would ye no’ agree?”

  Aileana couldn’t help but smile as her big, handsome husband did his best to cajole her. Truly, he spoiled her, as did the rest of the clan. Once they said their wedding vows before the priest, she would have a gracious plenty to confess…gluttony being the least of her sins since meeting Toran. It seemed as though everyone in the clan conspired never to let her go hungry again.

  She consoled herself that she was eating for four. Her Talent would not be mistaken. And that bit of news she’d kept to herself, though she thought Senga suspected. And Elspie, who was remaining uncharacteristically silent on the subject. Aileana would have to tell Senga the truth when the time came so that she would know how many babies she had to catch, but she could be relied upon to keep her silence until all was done.

  “Aye, love. Your sword will see plenty of use soon enough.”

  Toran’s laughter gave her all the reward she needed.

  So, her husband wanted many children for the clan? They’d gotten and good start, and wouldn’t he be pleased when not one, nor two, but three babes made their appearance. She allowed herself a small, secret smile. She carried a lass and two brothers who would help their da protect his beautiful daughter and who would carry on the future of the clan. Toran would be pleased. And if the lass was a Healer like her mother, Aileana would be most pleased of all.

  “Speaking of swords,” he said when he’d caught his breath, “I do have one question about that day.” A smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. “Events turned in my favor just as I needed them to. Swords started landing at my feet after Colbridge managed to knock mine from my hand. I think the defections undid him as much as the actual fight. Are ye going to confess how ye accomplished that?”

  “Carefully, my love. With a touch,” she said, lifting her fingertips to his lips, “and a few words. I moved quietly behind them while you fought, so that no one realized what I was doing until it was done.”

  “Ah, much as ye did to dissuade yer traveling companion that night I found ye.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Aye, and felt some kinship with the dazed expression the man wore after ye were done with him. Ye tried that trick on me more than once, I think.”

  Aileana blushed. “Aye, Toran, but only out of necessity.”

  “Such as the necessity of leaving the Aerie on a fool’s errand?” Toran raised one eyebrow.

  “I don’t know how you do that, but I hope our…child inherits that adorable quirk of expression.”

  “Adorable, am I?

  “You have your moments, my love.”

  She lowered her gaze from her beloved husband’s face, and then looked back, suddenly sad to remember that day.

  Toran reached for her. He knew she still grieved for Ranald.

  “Yer brother is gone, Aileana, and ye must mourn him. But yer life is here now, with me, with the clan,” Toran said, and put his big hand on her swollen belly, “and with our family. Colbridge’s death ended that part of your life, forever.”

  Aileana nodded, and smiled up at her husband. “I am where I wish to be, and will be, always.”

  “And did ye also speak to the child that Coira threatened?”

  “Aye, but softly, very softly.”

  “That’s a useful talent, my love,” Toran responded, “but never, ever, think to use it on me again. However,” he continued, “when our child arrives…all of our children,” he said and paused, grinning an evil smirk and quirking that eyebrow.

  She gasped. “Who told?”

  “Who do ye think?”

  “Elspie, of course.”

  “Aye. So, when the bairns are of an age to need their mother’s guidance,” Toran continued with a canny grin, “ye have the laird’s permission to use that talent at will. On them.”

  A word about the author...

  Willa Blair lives with her own romantic hero, her wonderful husband, and a calico cat who, after walking on her keyboard, sits on her desk and demands that she write “Meorw, meorw, more.”

  Her stories are set in the Highlands of Scotland, home to some of her ancestors, in the difficult years after the 1513 Battle of Flodden Field. She explores the lives of her brave heroes and talented heroines as they fight to find and love each other, and to save their clans.

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