Highland Warrior. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
disordered. She stopped every few steps to pick up something she had dropped and put it back into the overfilled basket that swung wildly on her arm. If her healing supplies were in that basket, they were now well sprinkled with the dirt from the ground of the inner bailey.
Just as Fiona was about to curtly order the woman to stay away, she got a good look at the woman’s face. There was a kindness in the woman, a sweetness that Fiona suspected ran bone deep. Mab frowned in confusion as she noticed all the various bandages on the men. Fiona caught a glimpse of disappointment as well as fear upon her face and inwardly grimaced. Mab was undoubtedly the healer of Scarglas and Fiona had just trespassed upon her territory. The fact that Mab looked uneasy instead of furious told Fiona the woman did not feel secure in the position she had probably claimed for herself. Mab would not fight if Fiona turned her away, but Fiona knew she would feel like an ogre if she did that.
“I tended the wounds, Mistress Mab,” Fiona said, noting that Mab’s big brown eyes held only curiosity when the woman looked at her. “There was a battle which left a few men bleeding and I thought they would make the rest of the journey here in more comfort if those wee holes in them were corked.”
“Ye have some healing skills?” Mab asked.
“Some. I had some training, was taught by several weel-respected healers.”
“Who? Mayhap I will ken the name.”
Fiona thought out her answer carefully before replying, “I spent some time with Lady Maldie Murray when I was younger.” She felt that made the association sound appropriately vague, thus useless to Ewan.
Mab gasped and clutched her small, plump hands against her generous bosom, causing several things to tumble out of her basket to the ground. “Oh, how verra fortunate ye are. Lady Maldie is a lauded healer. How I wish I could have met her ere I came to Scarglas.”
Not sure why Mab’s coming to Scarglas would mean the woman would never have the chance to meet Lady Maldie, Fiona picked up Mab’s things and put them back in her basket. Somehow she was going to have to keep this woman from using any of those now filthy items on the wounded men. She could not shame this woman or push her from her place in the clan, not in Mab’s eyes or those of the MacFingals, but Fiona was going to have to teach Mab a few things before she left Scarglas.
“Mayhap ye should find a basket with a top or use a bag as I do, mistress,” Fiona said. “Twould save ye the extra work of having to clean the things which fall upon the ground.” Fiona could tell by the look upon Mab’s face that the woman had not intended to clean the things nor knew why she should.
“Oh, of course,” Mab said. “I was in such a rush to see to the lads, ye ken, and just threw all my things into the first thing I could find.”
Inwardly, Fiona breathed a hearty sigh of relief. She had found the path to take. It would not be easy to make every lesson sound as if she was simply stating a fact Mab already knew, but she would try. Instinct told her that Mab would not take offense at more direct speech, but Fiona would do that only when they were alone or Mab asked a question. Somehow she knew that Mab desperately needed her place as the clan’s healer and Fiona could never be so cruel as to take it away, especially since she was not staying at Scarglas for very long.
“I need to get Simon to a bed, mistress, so that we may look at his wounds,” Fiona said. “The ride here may have opened them.”
“Of course, of course.” Mab looked at the two men who had unhitched Simon’s pallet from the back of Gregor’s horse. “If ye two could bring the lad along with us, please?” Mab grasped Fiona by the arm and started to lead her toward the keep. “Twill be wondrous to speak to someone who trained with Lady Maldie Murray. Just wondrous. I am always trying to find cures, ye ken. Tis my duty to keep the lads hale. I have recently mixed a cream that will make scars fade. I shall have to give ye some.”
A glance over her shoulder brought Fiona’s gaze in line with Ewan’s and Gregor’s. Both men quickly shook their heads and she understood. Mab’s tender feelings were obviously protected by a lot of people. Mab’s cures, however, were obviously meant to be avoided. Somehow she was going to have to convince Mab that she was happy with her scars. Since that was a lie, it would not be easy. Fiona shook the concern aside and followed Mab into the keep, forcing her thoughts to the more important matter of caring for Simon.
“I thought ye said she was a hostage,” grumbled Sir Fingal, scowling after Mab and Fiona.
“She is,” replied Ewan as he started toward the keep, Gregor and their father falling into step on either side of him.
“She doesnae act like one. Nay sure ’tis wise to let a hostage treat our men’s wounds.”
“Fiona has a true skill. She willnae be using it against the men, either.”
“How can ye be so certain of that? Ye dinnae e’en ken who the lass is. She could have been sent here by one of our enemies, could be here to kill me or ye, or to spy on us.”
Ewan considered that possibility as they entered the great hall, but could not rouse more than the faintest glimmer of suspicion. That was unusual, for he had learned long ago not to put much trust in women. He did not like to think he was letting lust and a pair of beautiful violet eyes steal his wits.
As he, Gregor, and their father took their seats at the head table, two maids swiftly setting ale, bread, and cheese before them, Ewan felt his briefly wavering conviction return. He could trust Fiona to care for Simon, for any of the people of Scarglas. The way she had tended the wounds of Simon and his men revealed that she was a healer to the very marrow of her bones. She would never use those skills to cause harm.
In every other thing concerning her, he would be wise to use caution, to carefully weigh her every word and deed. Despite that warning to himself, he still could not fully believe she had been sent to spy on them. Their meeting could not possibly have been planned. That still left the chance that she had been journeying to Scarglas to spy upon them and had simply stumbled into their path. Women, especially young, beautiful women, made excellent weapons and spies. It was a fact he would have to keep reminding himself of.
“How did ye get a hold on the lass?” Fingal asked.
Gregor answered and Ewan only half listened as he drank some ale and took the edge off his hunger with some bread and cheese. He did think Gregor found far too much amusement in the confrontation. Later, when he wrestled the unwise attraction he felt for Fiona into submission, Ewan knew he would also find it humorous. At the moment, however, he could only view Fiona’s advent into his life as a curse. He did not think it a good sign that his father saw little humor in the tale, however. His father saw enemies around every corner, and although the man did have far too many, he often carried caution to excessive lengths.
“Tis all verra suspicious,” muttered Fingal. “I think we ought to toss the lass out.”
“Nay,” said Ewan. “Ye cannae send a wee lass like that out alone. There is too much danger out there.”
“Ye may have brought danger right into our keep. I say she could be a spy, sent here to sniff out our weaknesses, mayhap e’en to find a way to let some of our enemies into the verra heart of Scarglas.”
“Then we watch her closely until we can find out who she belongs to and ransom her back to them.”
“And just why havenae ye found out who she is?”
“She willnae tell me. Says she willnae help me pick clean the pockets of her kinsmen.”
Fingal cursed softly. “So we make her tell us. I ken many ways to make someone spill the truth.”
There was a chilling implication behind his father’s words that Ewan did not want to think on too long. When Fingal felt threatened, he could act callously, even cruelly. The man saw threats and insults everywhere and often reacted without thought, which was one reason they found themselves ringed by enemies. About the only things that kept his father diverted from thinking vast hordes of people were striving to steal all he had, betray him, or kill him were