Читать книгу A Healer For The Highlander - Terri Brisbin, Terri Brisbin - Страница 11

Chapter One

Achnacarry Castle on Loch Arkaig —spring, the year of Our Lord 1371

Davidh Cameron stood at his laird’s back, listening and watching as the chieftain of their clan heard grievances and pleas. As the man who led the warriors of the Clan Cameron here on their southern lands, it was his duty to attend these hearings. But, more than once, he glanced up as someone or another arrived in the hall and approached in haste.

He let himself relax only when he saw that it was not someone from the village. When his laird stopped in the middle of speaking to a man and looked at him, Davidh understood his actions had been more apparent than he’d hoped.

‘Ye can go,’ the laird said, nodding towards the doorway. ‘This does not need your attention.’

His stomach clenched then, as he realised his inattention had been noticed and acknowledged. Davidh leaned closer to Robert Cameron’s ear.

‘They will send word if I am needed, my lord. I will see to my duties here.’ Davidh waited for a reply and, when none came, he stepped back to his place behind the chieftain’s chair.

He did not wish to shirk his duties. As commander of the clan’s warriors, his place was at his chieftain’s back during his official meetings and when he travelled or carried out other duties. The last thing Davidh wanted was to be absent when he was needed by his laird.

The business of the clan went on for some time and yet Davidh found himself distracted. What if Colm worsened? What if his breathing became even more laboured than it had been last night? It seemed that the boy failed more with each passing day. What would he do if the worst happened? How could he survive if he lost his son after losing his wife and more recently his own parents?

The last years seemed to be filled with only death and destruction for Davidh and his kin. The only good thing that had happened was the ascension of Robert Cameron to the high chair of the Clan Cameron. Thankfully, the laird’s brother Gilbert had ruled for only a few short years, but those years had driven their clan to the brink of a bigger conflict with not only their long-time enemies the Mackintoshes, but also the larger Chattan Confederation. And Gilbert had managed to target his brother in his attempts to undermine Robert’s possible claim.

In the end, it had been a Mackintosh raised as a Cameron who had brought Gilbert down and had placed the clan back on steadier ground with the powerful Mackintoshes and even with the King. In the last year or so, Robert had established himself as a fair chieftain with a good sense of how to oversee his people. The self-serving and utter ruthlessness of Gilbert had been followed by a man content at stewarding his clan’s lands and people while safeguarding them, too.

The sure and steady footsteps across the stone floor broke into his thoughts and Davidh looked towards the person who approached. His worst fears filled him, making it now hard for him to breathe. Colm? Without waiting for the woman to reach the dais, the laird motioned to him.

‘Go.’

Davidh was down the steps before Margaret, the blacksmith’s daughter, could reach him. ‘Is he worse then?’

‘Aye,’ she whispered.

The worried expression on the lass’s face told him more than he wished to know. Davidh ran then, leaving the girl behind and not waiting for her to catch him. Colm could be... He could die this time. The words of some remembered prayers began to flow in his thoughts as he forced the pleas to the Almighty to replace everything else.

Colm was the last person he had and he could not lose him.

Not the boy. Dear God, not the boy.

He did not remember making his way out of the keep or yard or through the gates and village. Davidh found himself at the door to the blacksmith’s cottage and he stopped. Fear kept him from reaching up to knock. Fear paralysed his own breath and made his heart pound within his chest. How could he face the death of his son if that was what awaited him inside?

Davidh tamped all the fears down as he had for months and years and knocked before lifting the latch. Slowly, as he offered one final prayer up, he opened the door and looked for his son. Colm lay on a pallet in the corner near the hearth. The boy was almost lost in a cocoon of blankets and all Davidh could see was the pale face and bluish lips that spoke of a recent attack. He stared now, trying to discern if his son lived or had died.

‘Come in,’ Suisan whispered as she opened the door wider for him to enter. ‘He is sleeping now, puir wee laddie. Exhausted from...well, ye ken what he faces when the spells come on him.’

Aye, Davidh understood the terrible attacks that stole his son’s ability to breathe and the racking coughs that strained his muscles, leaving behind bruised ribs from the ferocity of the spasms.

But Colm lived. He’d survived another attack of the breathing disease that had struck him down on a more frequent basis in the last few months. And no tisane or poultice or brew from the last healer had helped. Colm worsened with each bout and Davidh understood that, one day, he would not make it through.

This day, though, Colm lived.

‘I would not have bothered ye this time, but I feared...the worst. I have never seen him like this.’ She nodded at his son.

‘I thank you for caring for him, Suisan.’

The stout woman nodded and then gathered her own daughter in her embrace when Margaret arrived there. Davidh stood over his son, watching and assessing every breath the boy’s frail body pulled in and let out. Running his hands through his hair, Davidh wondered how much more Colm could endure.

‘Margaret, take this to yer father,’ Suisan said. She released her daughter and handed her a small sack. It seemed a strange thing to do, but Davidh watched as the girl obeyed without question. When they were alone but for his son, Suisan walked closer to him. ‘I want to suggest something to ye though I have only rumours to go on for now.’

‘Go on.’ Davidh shrugged. ‘I have always heeded your counsel, Suisan.’

‘There is talk of the witch’s return to Caig Falls.’

Of anything the woman could say, this was completely unexpected.

‘The witch?’

‘Aye, ye ken the stories that have been told for years of the witch living above Caig Falls.’

‘I ken the stories, but have not heard mention of her since...’ Since he himself was but a lad and his best friend Malcolm claimed to have found her. ‘For a long time now.’

‘She was not a witch, but a wise woman, ye ken. She disappeared some years ago and has not been heard of since. But, a few days ago, one of the lads climbing the falls fell and a woman saw to his injury before sending him home.’ Suisan stared at him then. ‘I think she has returned.’

‘You think she could help Colm?’

‘Ye have tried everything else in yer power to try, Davidh. Why not see if she can?’

Suisan knelt at Colm’s side and smoothed the blankets over his frail form. He’d been ill for so long that he was smaller than most lads his age.

‘I will seek her out.’ Davidh smiled and nodded. He felt better knowing he had some kind of plan. The possibility that something or someone could help his son lifted his spirits for that moment and gave him purpose.

‘If ye have duties to see to, I can still tend him.’ Suisan stood then. ‘Come and join us for supper. Ye can take him home for the night then.’

Davidh watched the shallow rise and fall of Colm’s chest for a short time. It seemed even and strong enough for now and every hour that his son did not struggle for breath was a good one. Davidh nodded at Suisan. ‘I should return to the castle.’

‘Go then!’ she said, waving him out. ‘I suspect he will sleep most of the day now.’

Davidh returned to the keep, knowing that Suisan would take good and thorough care of Colm. But, with his sister married and moved to Edinburgh, his father and, more recently, his mother deceased and Mara gone these last three years, he realised this was not a solution to his problem. What he needed was a strong and healthy son.

* * *

Anna Mackenzie stood at the top of the falls, a short distance from the cottage she’d reclaimed, and stared down to the bottom. Memories washed over her, memories made more bittersweet by the knowledge that she would never see Malcolm again. Oh, she had not fooled herself into thinking that being here would be easy, but she owed it to her son...to their son.

Could she do this? Could she live here as her mother had all those years ago? The similarities she noticed over the last few years between her mother’s life and hers were a bit unnerving. Especially as she stood here now while her child explored the hillside and area around the cottage. Had it truly been ten-and-three years since she had stood here in this very place and dreamed of a future with the man she loved?

Suddenly she felt much older than her years.

Iain came around the cottage and she watched his approach. A pang of guilt rushed through her as she realised he was a handful of years off the age she’d been when she’d met his father...and loved him. Iain kenned little about Malcolm other than the barest of details she needed to tell him to pacify his growing curiosity. That interest had spurred her on to return here and seek out his father’s kin. She owed her son and his father at least that.

Anna waved the boy over to her side and pointed down to the bottom, near the pool that gathered in the waters of the falls.

‘They call that the “Witch’s Pool”. Many have tried to climb that path along the edge to reach the top.’ Anna traced the path with her extended hand, showing it to her son. ‘They never see the true path that begins over there in that copse near the large rock.’

‘And my father did?’ Iain asked.

He was at that age between childhood and manhood and hungered for knowledge of his origin. He needed a father, someone to guide him on those final steps that she could not. She’d refused a few offers of marriage since his birth, always knowing deep inside that she wanted him to know his own people. She’d always known that this day would come. Smiling at him, she nodded as she noticed that he’d gained another few inches and now stood taller than she did.

‘Aye. But not before trying the slippery one a few times.’

Iain’s laughter rang out through the trees and she once more noticed the resemblance to his father. Was it there or had she just made herself believe she remembered so many little details about the short relationship? Did her memory reveal things in the way she wanted to see them?

‘Look, Mam.’ Iain pointed into the distance at the road that led to the falls from the loch to the south.

A man rode towards the falls. She had wondered how long it would take for her presence here to be revealed when she’d helped the lad days ago. Here was her answer. She let out a sigh and shook her head. Now, they would come as they had before, some seeking the witch while others came simply for the challenge of climbing the falls.

When the man slowed on the road and glanced up at the falls, Anna drew her son back into the shadows of the thick forest here at the top. They could not be heard over the crashing waters of the falls, but if the light fell just right through the trees, they could be seen. And she did not wish that yet.

She had tasks to finish, plants to sort and the weeds to clear from the garden before she would be ready to begin offering her services to the villagers here. Her mother had taught her the knowledge of herbs and plants before she’d passed two years ago. Anna had been content to remain among the Mackenzies until that day, then the restlessness began. The news of the Camerons’ recent upheaval and new chieftain only confirmed her decision that it was time. Gilbert Cameron’s reputation as a ruthless man had kept her away, but his demise and his older brother’s installation as chieftain drew her here.

It was time.

‘Have a care, Iain,’ she warned as her son walked away. ‘Until we know if we are welcome here.’

Her son nodded and then crept off into the forest, exploring as lads did when they found a new place. No doubt he would bring home some fowl or rabbit for supper in his explorations. His hunting skills along with his ability to accept and to adjust to new situations surprised her, but she thanked the Almighty her son had them. It was easier to move as they must and not have to deal with a resistant boy of his age.

Anna returned to the cottage and began the daunting task of cleaning it. Once cleaned she could organise the rest—the plants and supplies. Time sped along as she accomplished many of the tasks she must before day’s end. The crunching of twigs and leaves outside her opened door warned her of Iain’s approach.

‘Good day.’

Anna glanced up to find a tall man standing at her door. His height and breadth almost blocked it completely as he stood there outside. As she walked closer, she realised he was crouching down to look inside the cottage door, which was too short for him.

It was the man they’d seen below, walking along the road. The plaid wrapped around his waist and over his shoulders identified him as a Cameron. From the dryness of that garment, she realised that he’d not climbed the falls to get here. That meant he knew the other path to reach this place. And that did not bode well for her and her privacy or security.

‘Good day, sir,’ she said.

Anna wiped her hands on the apron at her waist and pushed the loosened strands of hair out of her sweaty face. She must look an utter mess with her dirty gown and face. While he...was dangerously attractive.

The man had gathered his long, dark brown hair back away from his face which allowed her to see its masculine angles. And his intense eyes that were the colour of the darkest wood in the forest. And his strong chin. He was the most attractive man she’d ever met, here on Cameron lands or in the north on Mackenzie lands. She swallowed to ease the nervousness at that realisation as her throat tightened and tried to speak past it.

‘I did not mean to interrupt you,’ he said, stepping back as she approached him. ‘I have heard that you are...’ He paused then, as though not able to utter the word that most used.

‘The Witch of Caig Falls,’ she said.