The Healer

by Allison Butler

  ‘Morn, lass.’

  Pushing her mussed hair from her face, she watched the older woman potter about, fussing with the hide draping the arrow-slit window and checking Lynelle’s boots drying before the dying hearth. The tub had been removed while she’d tended Edan the night before. ‘Have you seen Edan this morn? Is he well?’

  ‘Aye. He slept the full night and is resting in his chamber.’

  Lynelle slid her feet to the cold, wooden floor and crossed to the small round table where Mary had left the tray. ‘You should not be serving me.’

  The older woman turned and looked at her. ‘Ach! Sit and eat, lass. Start with the bowl of oats. They taste better warm.’

  Perching on the stool, Lynelle scooped up the oats with a spoon made of bone. Combined with goat’s milk, the oats were delicious.

  ‘If I didn’t bring you something to break your fast, you’d waste away to naught.’ Lynelle paused from eating the next spoonful. ‘The laird has commanded you to stay within this chamber.’

  Lynelle’s stomach tightened at hearing the truth of what she was. Although she was confined to a beautifully decorated room instead of the cold, slimy dungeon she’d imagined, she was a prisoner.

  She’d known what to expect, had believed she’d prepared for the worse. But still. Lowering her lashes to hide the disappointment she shouldn’t be feeling, she took another mouthful. The oats now tasted like ashes. She pushed the tray away, leaving the bread and cheese untouched, and sipped from her cup, swilling the cool water around in her mouth.

  She mustn’t let disappointment find her again.

  ‘Whose chamber is this?’

  Mary ceased tidying the bed. Three heartbeats later she resumed smoothing the covers. ‘This was sweet Rhona’s room. She was sister to William and Edan.’

  Lynelle’s disappointment lessened as her gaze wandered about the feminine chamber. ‘What happened to her?’

  Mary stopped rearranging the pillows and stared down at the rose-hued cushion she held. ‘The ague.’ Squeezing the bolster to her chest, she sniffed and gently laid it on the bed with the others. ‘Such a bonny wee lass and far too young to leave us.’

  A knot of sorrow filled Lynelle’s chest as she watched the older woman struggle to bring her grief under control. ‘Forgive me. I...I didn’t...’

  ‘‘Tis good to speak of Rhona,’ Mary said, cutting off her apology. ‘‘Tis nice to have a lass of similar age to fuss over.’ She gave Lynelle a small, watery smile and walked to the door. ‘I’ll return with your attire soon.’

  Left alone, Lynelle padded on bare feet to the window and peered out at the new day. With the hour still early, the sky appeared to struggle between blue and grey. Meek sunlight filtered in from the east, and each ray of pale gold seemed to point out the puddles and wet spots from the deluge last evening.

  Had Rhona looked out her window each day and gloried at the gently rolling hills to the south? Was her hair as black as her brothers’ hair and her eyes the same silver-grey? Had William wept when his sister passed on?

  He was extremely protective of his younger brother, an honourable trait. Had he been as vigilant a guardian with Rhona? Had a healer tended Rhona? If so, what had happened to the healer?

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to clear her mind of her unwanted thoughts.

  Hearing Ada talk about the joy of aiding the ill and easing another’s pain had been the one bright spot in her cursed existence. Now Lynelle’s small experience with healing had given her the first real feeling of accomplishment in what she sometimes saw as her wasted life.

  It saddened her greatly to think anyone doubted the good of healing. Healing was a gift, a knowledge that needed nurturing. It must be, for if it wasn’t she had nothing else to believe in.

  Mary returned with her spare gown, and a young woman with bright red hair carried in a basin of water. Although the younger woman’s time in the room was brief, she sent numerous fleeting glances Lynelle’s way, before leaving along with Mary.

  After washing, Lynelle dressed and welcomed the small measure of normalcy wearing her own clothes afforded her. She then spent the better part of the day sorting what remained of her herbs and studying the contents of the sack the Elliots’ healer had given her.

  Other than the pot of salve, mortar, pestle, bowls and clean linens, the gifted sack contained only a small pouch of yarrow leaves used to stem bleeding. Lynelle’s own supply of feverfew was dangerously low, as she’d used the herb each day to make Edan comfortable and prevent a fever taking hold. She’d need to find a way to replenish her stock.

  How was she to do this while confined to her room? Her answer came late in the day with a knock on the door and a summons, not from Mary but from the laird himself.

  ‘Edan’s leg pains him,’ William said.

  Lynelle jumped to her feet and tore her gaze from the broad shoulders filling the doorway.

  ‘I will come immediately.’

  She retrieved all she needed and kept her gaze averted as she walked toward the door, expecting him to move. Instead, he turned sideways. Her eyes lifted, assessing his carved profile. Did he see her as nothing other than a healer, a prisoner?

  She sucked in a deep breath and fought the frustration heating her cheeks. Edging past him, his masculine scent teased her nostrils, and her breasts brushed his broad chest. She froze. Her breath caught. She darted through the doorway, crossed the dimly lit corridor and stopped in front of Edan’s chamber. William halted beside her. His size made her feel tiny, fragile. Her sudden vulnerability annoyed her and excited her in an unfamiliar way.

  She looked up into his dark, watchful eyes. ‘To prevent Edan pain, it would be best for me to tend him each morning and night.’

  William’s gaze bore into hers before skimming her features. She willed her legs not to buckle, forced herself to stand her ground.

  ‘Whatever is best for Edan,’ he said, his voice deep and low.

  He reached past her, his arm almost touching her shoulder as he opened the door.

  Lynelle clutched her herbs to her fluttering stomach and entered the room. She conjured up a smile for the injured young man lying on the bed. ‘Good eve, Edan.’

  His smile was lost in a pain-filled grimace. Guilt rose in her belly, turning the recent fluttering to nausea. She should have spoken sooner about tending Edan more often.

  She quickly prepared the same tonic she’d used from the outset, noticing the wine and water already sitting on the bedside table. ‘This will stem your pain.’

  Lynelle sipped the concoction and passed it to William, who drank, paused and offered the cup to Edan. Placing a knee on the bed, William propped his young brother up, as Edan drained every drop. He then gently lowered Edan back onto the bed.

  Knowing it would take time for the tonic to take effect, Lynelle distracted Edan by asking of his other injuries. As they spoke, his body relaxed and his eyelids grew heavy. ‘Rest now. Your leg wound needs redressing, but I will tend to it later tonight.’

  A faint smile curved Edan’s lips as his lashes dipped and closed.

  Relief trickled through Lynelle and she looked across Edan’s sleeping form to William. He peered down at his brother and his wide chest expanded and released, as if drawing a huge sigh.

  ‘Do not worry. Edan’s sleep is a peaceful one.’

  William’s troubled eyes caught hers and she glanced away from the open concern glinting in the charcoal depths. She gathered her herbs and strode from the room.

  Pausing outside her chamber, she turned to face the man whose presence she felt like a touch.

  ‘My stock of feverfew grows low.’

  One dark brow lifted as he peered down at her.

  ‘I must find more if I’m to continue aiding your brother.’

  He folded large arms across his broad chest and leaned a muscular shoulder on the wall. He appeared relaxed, now Edan was asleep. Faint noises from the great hall below broke the quietness of the dim corridor where they stood
alone. His lips looked full, having lost the tightness around his mouth. A shiver whispered along her skin and her heartbeat danced more swiftly in her chest.

  Why did she feel hot and cold all at once when he was near? How could she feel safe, yet in danger at the same time?

  Why did he not say something?

  ‘I will see your herbs do not run out.’

  Finally. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to the door. Fingering the latch, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip and turned back to face him. ‘I am sorry about your sister, Rhona.’

  William surged away from the wall. His powerful arms dropped to his sides, stiff, rigid. His large hands curled into fists.

  ‘What do you know of Rhona?’ His tone rang with menace. His expression spoke of hurt and anger.

  Lynelle pressed back against the oak panel behind her. ‘Only that she died.’

  ‘My sister is not your concern.’

  ‘Was there no one to care for her?’

  ‘You dare too much, healer.’

  His arm shot toward her and she ducked her head, prepared for the blow. It never came. Instead, the solid mass supporting her weight from behind, gave way.

  She stumbled backwards through the opened door of her room. With flailing arms she tried to catch her balance. Strong, warm hands spanned her waist, sending streaks of lightning through her body. The world righted itself.

  Gasping for breath, she stared into silver, narrowed eyes that studied her too closely. She felt the pulsing warmth of bare skin beneath her palms. She glanced down at her small white hands clutching his sun-bronzed forearms. William’s arms, dusted with dark silky hair, and her hands, clinging for dear life.

  Snatching them away, she stepped back and wrapped her arms about her quivering middle. Dear Lord. She didn’t know where to look. So she settled her gaze on the toes of his boots.

  Why didn’t he leave? Was he waiting for her to thank him for preventing her fall? She should, but her voice seemed trapped in her throat. She struggled just to breathe.

  The leather boots left her sight and she heard the sound of the door-latch sinking into place. He’d gone. She didn’t need to search the room to know. While his presence disturbed her, the loss of it filled her with a strange ache. Why? She had no clue. She only knew she must learn to ignore it.

  ***

  William stared at the closed wooden panel, his thoughts consumed by the woman inside the room. Lifting his hands, he pressed his open-palms to the cold stone on either side of the door. Had she thought he’d moved to strike her? Had someone beaten her before? The gash on her cheek was still fresh.

  Straightening, William thrust his fingers through his hair and stared up at the shadowed ceiling. His hands still burned from when he’d clutched her narrow waist. The scent of her skin was imbedded in his mind. God’s teeth. She was a healer.

  Not a single complaint about her confinement had passed her rose-coloured lips. Every word she’d spoken had concerned Edan and his treatment. She’d even tried to reassure him about his brother, her large sapphire eyes staring at him with sympathy and understanding.

  Then she’d mentioned Rhona.

  Mentally burying the pain and guilt back into the pit of his soul, he turned and glanced in on Edan. Satisfied his brother would be safe for a moment or two, and glad to stretch his legs after spending the day in the chamber entertaining the lad, he slipped down the stairway in search of the woman who often became his eyes and ears. Mary could see to replenishing the healer’s simples.

  The Englishwoman unsettled him and intrigued him in ways no other living soul ever had. He didn’t want her pity. He shouldn’t want to know everything about her. He wanted her to heal Edan.

  Then, he wanted her gone.

  Chapter 11

  DELICIOUS smells floated up to greet Lynelle as she followed Mary down the stairs. She had no idea where the older woman was taking her, but she was still shaken by her recent encounter with William, and had leapt at the chance to escape her chamber.

  ‘I’ve something to show you,’ was the only clue Mary had given.

  Voices grew louder as they descended and finally stopped at the foot of the stairway at the edge of the great hall. The chamber was abuzz with activity. A group of male servants strained with effort as they lugged long trestle tables from along the walls to the centre of the room. Women’s laughter drowned out the grunts and groans. Was this what Fenwick’s great hall was like before a meal?

  Lynelle stretched her neck to see what the women found so amusing. As she searched, a faint tingling crept up her spine. She was being watched.

  She discovered the source hovering beside the wall further into the room. The woman with the cloud of red hair, the one who’d delivered her water this morning, was staring at her now.

  Lynelle smiled at the familiar face. The woman continued to stare for a few moments, before disappearing through an archway to the chamber’s right. A twinge of disappointment caused Lynelle’s smile to slip.

  ‘Come, lass,’ Mary said. ‘You’re keeping them from their chores, the nosey lot they are.’

  Mary was right. Many of the servants had stopped their preparations and were looking at her. Uncomfortable at the attention from so many, Lynelle searched for Mary and found the older woman had already made her way down another flight of stairs. With a tiny hitch of her breath, Lynelle quickly moved to catch up.

  Slowing her step part way down the dimly lit stairwell, she listened to Mary’s footfalls echoing from below and shivered as the cooler air washed over her.

  She reached a landing where a single torch burned and discovered another line of steps leading down into the deepest recesses of the fortress. Throwing a longing glance at the welcoming light above, she turned away, drew a cold breath and crept down the final flight of stairs.

  A short, narrow passageway stood dark and uninviting, the cold stone walls seeming to close in about her. A flare of light winked from inside the tunnel. ‘This way, Lynelle. We haven’t got all day, lass.’ Mary’s musical voice echoed off the stonework, bringing with it a sense of brightness. With haste, she crossed the gloomy passageway and came to an abrupt halt as she burst out the other end.

  A vaulted ceiling gave spacious depth to the area she now stood in. Shadows danced on the walls from the numerous torches, but did little to chase the chill from the air. Two closed doors appeared like mismatched eyes in the wall before her. The one on the left was iron-studded and centred to its half of the wall. A small barred grill, positioned high in the thick wood, allowed persons to see in or out.

  The second door had no grilled opening, was smaller and sat far to the right of the stonework. Lynelle followed Mary to the second door.

  ‘What is this place?’ she said.

  ‘Come and see.’ The thin panel groaned as Mary pushed it open and entered.

  Lynelle stood in the entrance as the older woman set about touching flame to unlit torches. Her jaw dropped wide as, with each flare of light, the slim chamber’s secrets were slowly revealed.

  The high arched roof outside the room continued inside. She sniffed the air, savouring the rush of mingled scents of meadowsweet and lavender and the strong presence of cloves. But it was the rows of cluttered shelves and clusters of drying herbs dangling from above that held Lynelle in wonder.

  Moving into the room, she ran a trembling finger along one of the dust-covered shelves crowded with earthen jars, clay pots and glass vials. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the aroma of countless herbs – and neglect.

  ‘The laird said you needed certain herbs to help with Edan’s recovery. I’m certain you’ll find what you’re looking for among this lot.’

  ‘Yes.’ She heard the awe in her own voice.

  ‘I’ll leave you to search and will return when the evening meal has been served.’

  Caught up in the wonder of the room, it took a few moments for Mary’s words to register. ‘Who created such a wondrous room?’

  Mary paused in the doorway and t
urned back to look at her. ‘This was Jinny’s place. She was Closeburn’s healer for nigh on forty years.’

  Forty years! How much knowledge must the woman have gathered over such a long period of time?

  ‘When did she die?’

  ‘Oh, Jinny isn’t dead. She moved to Thornhill village in the north half a year ago.’

  ‘Why did she leave?’

  ‘Jinny didn’t leave.’ Mary’s tone turned serious. ‘She was banished.’

  Lynelle’s blood ran cold. She knew what it was like to be outcast. She’d suffered it her entire life and knew nothing different. Forty years of caring for Closeburn’s people hadn’t saved the healer from being cast out.

  ‘Why?’ She had to know.

  Mary turned away, seeming to search for the answer among the herb-strewn shelves. ‘Her healing skills failed to save those she tended,’ she said quietly.

  Jinny had most likely done all in her power to treat the people struck down by illness and she had forty years of practice. An unwelcome prickle of fear arose inside Lynelle at her own experience, which was near to none.

  Dear God! Poor Jinny. Who would be callous enough to banish her for what must have been God’s wish? She had an idea, but needed to know for sure.

  ‘Was it your laird William who banished Jinny?’

  Mary peered at her for a few silent moments. ‘Have you ever lost someone you loved, Lynelle?’

  A stabbing pain pierced Lynelle’s chest.

  Murderer!

  She clutched the corner of the worn workbench and drew slow breaths past the agony of guilt and despair.

  ‘Ah, I see you have,’ Mary said softly. ‘Then you must understand the pain and anger suffered by those left behind.’

  She understood the hurt of being to blame. Lynelle swallowed past the gorge rising in her throat.

  ‘Collect what you need and I’ll return for you soon.’ Leaving the door open, Mary disappeared.

  Lynelle squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for heat to chase away the ice chilling her blood. The past was the past and she could do nothing to change it. She must concentrate on the present and keep the ugliness that had shaped her life buried deep inside her. She’d been brought to this room to find herbs to aid in Edan’s recovery. It was this task that gave her a purpose to cling to.