Page 31 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
His fingers brushed hers as he took over the task, and both of them went very still. One word from her, one sign of encouragement, and he would have turned her around in his arms and kissed her until they both forgot their own names. Instead, he finished with the laces and stepped back, putting necessary distance between them.
“There,” he said, his voice rough. “Ready?”
Rhona turned to face him, and Ian saw his own struggle reflected in her eyes. “Ready.”
The ride back to the castle passed in comfortable silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts.
“Ian,” Rhona said suddenly as they dismounted in the courtyard. “Thank ye. Fer today.”
“It was me pleasure,” he said, and meant it.
They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to break the connection they’d forged at the waterfall. Then duty reasserted itself, and Ian cleared his throat.
“Ye should meet our healer,” he said. “Baird’s a good man, and I think ye’d find his work interestin’.”
Rhona’s eyebrows rose. “Why would ye think that?”
“Because I’ve seen firsthand the way ye go about healin’.” Ian smiled slightly. “And I thought perhaps it would give ye somethin’ tae dae while ye’re here. Somethin’ more than just… waiting’.”
“I’d like that,” she said softly.
Ian handed Aisling’s reins to a waiting groom. “Go get dry and warm. I’ll have Moira send ye up some hot tea. I’ll let Baird ken ye’ll be comin’ by.”
Rhona nodded and turned toward the castle, then paused. “Just so ye ken… today was the first time in months I felt like meself again.”
Ian opened his mouth to respond, but she was gone, disappearing into the castle’s shadowed corridors like an apparition. Ian stood in the courtyard for a long moment, her words echoing in his mind.
As he made his way to his solar, Ian couldn’t quite shake the image of Rhona floating in the pool from his mind, with her face so peaceful and trusting, or the way how she had looked at those squirrels with such pure delight.
The afternoon sun slanted through the narrow windows of the castle’s lower corridors as Rhona made her way toward the healer’s chambers. The healer’s quarters occupied a corner of the castle where morning light flooded the workspace, but afternoon shadows now danced across rough stone walls that were lined with shelves. The sharp, clean scent of various herbs hit her as she stepped inside. Rhona inhaled deeply, picking up what scents she could recognize. There was dried lavender, crushed willow bark, and something else she couldn’t quite identify, but that made her think of Margot’s cottage back home.
A man, perhaps around her father’s age, looked up from a large wooden table where he was grinding something into a stone mortar.
“Ye must be the lass the laird mentioned,” he said, setting down his pestle. “I’m Baird.”
“Rhona.” She replied.
“Welcome tae me apothecary. Ian said ye might have an interest in the healin’ arts.”
“Aye.” Rhona moved closer to the table, noting the careful organization of his supplies. “I’ve managed tae learn a bit here and there.”
“From who?”
“Our village healer. She’s been teachin’ me since I was a wee lass.” The familiar ache of homesickness clawed at her, but she pushed it back down. “Though I’m certain yer knowledge goes far beyond mine.”
Baird’s weathered face creased into what might have been a smile. “Knowledge shared is knowledge doubled, as me old master used tae say. What can ye tell me about this?” He gestured toward the powder he’d been grinding.
Rhona stepped forward, leaning closer to breathe in the scent. “Hmm. Willow bark, fer pain and fever,” she paused, taking another sniff. “But there’s somethin’ else mixed in.”
“Aye?”
“Och… Meadowsweet, I think. ‘Tis sweet scented… white flowers?” When Baird nodded encouragingly, she continued. “Margot always said the two worked better together than apart. Gentler on the stomach.”
“Yer Margot sounds like a wise woman.” Baird moved to one of his shelves, selecting a small jar. “And what dae ye make of this?”
The dried leaves inside were silvery-green, with a distinctly bitter scent. “Wormwood,” Rhona said without doubt. “But it should be carefully measured. Too much and it becomes poison instead of medicine.”
“Exactly right ye are, lass.” Baird placed the jar with obvious approval. “Most healers are afraid tae use it at all.”
