Page 50 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“Aye, if that’s what ye want tae call it.” The healer’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he moved to mount his own horse. “Come along then, lass. The village folk are waitin’, and I’ve a mind tae see just how much of that healin’ gift ye can put tae good use.”
The ride to the village passed swiftly, with Baird sharing tales of his early training and the young soldiers adding their own stories of minor injuries and asking tentative questions. Despite Ian’s absence, Rhona found herself relaxing into the rhythm of the journey – the steady clip-clop of hooves on packed earth, the gentle warmth of the morning sun on her skin, and the promise of meaningful work ahead.
This is what I was meant fer, nae sittin’ in stuffy castle chambers, but out here among people who need help.
The village sprawled across the hillside, with perhaps thirty families gathered in the small market square at its heart, while fields stretched toward the forest’s edge. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys as the people went about their daily tasks – tending animals, working in kitchen gardens – living the simple, honest lives that made up the backbone of any clan.
“These are good folk,” Baird said, following her gaze. “Simple, hardworkin’ people. They deserve better than tae live in fear.”
“Everyone deserves that.” Rhona replied quietly.
As they rode further into the village, heads turned in their direction. Children ran alongside their horses, calling greetings to Baird and staring at Rhona with open curiosity. The soldiers had spread out in a loose protective formation, but their postures were relaxed – these weretheirpeople, and they were welcome here.
“Baird!” A woman emerged from one of the cottages, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. “Thank the saints ye’ve come! Morag’s been askin’ fer ye since dawn.”
“How’s she daein’ today, Agnes?” Baird asked as he dismounted.
“Well, considerin’. The bairn’s been kicking up a storm, and she’s eager tae see ye.” Agnes smiled warmly at Rhona. “Good tae see ye again, lass. Morag was hopin’ ye’d be returnin’.”
“’Tis good tae be back,” Rhona replied with authentic warmth.
The morning flew by in a blur of purpose. Morag was indeed doing well, though nervous as a first-time mother. Old Douglas’ joints responded well to willow bark tea and warm compresses, and Jamie’s horse-induced scrapes required careful cleaning, while Kenna’s burnt hand showed remarkable improvement due to Rhona’s previous treatments.
Between patients, Rhona also worked alongside the soldiers she’d trained, watching with satisfaction as they put their skillsto practical use. Gavin proved surprisingly gentle with children, while Alec showed real aptitude for preparing poultices. Malcolm’s steady hands make him perfect for stitching, and Rupert’s calm manner soothed frightened patients.
“Now, Callum, remember what I told ye about honey and comfrey,” she instructed as the young man helped treat an elderly woman’s infected toe. “The honey prevents festerin’, while the comfrey speeds the healin’.”
“Aye, me lady,” Callum replied, carefully applying the mixture. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” Her students were proving themselves capable, gaining confidence with each patient they helped.
“Me lady?” A young mother approached with a toddler clinging to her skirts. “Me wee lad’s been coughin’ somethin’ terrible. Will ye take a look at him?”
“Of course,” Rhona said immediately, kneeling to the child’s level. The examination revealed a persistent, but not dangerous cough – honey and thyme tea would help, along with rest and warmth.
As the afternoon wore on, Rhona found herself moving through the village like she truly belonged there. People sought her out for everything from headaches to infected cuts, and she dispensed not just medical knowledge, but comfort and reassurance.
When the sun reached its peak, the villagers insisted on sharing their midday meal. The brought out fresh bread, stewed rabbit, and vegetables. The soldiers mingled easily with the locals, their weapons set aside in favor of wooden spoons and friendly conversation.
Rhona seated herself beside Baird, a steaming bowl of rabbit stew warming her hands as peaceful murmurs of conversation surrounded her like a gentle embrace. For the first time in months, she felt completely and utterly at peace.
“Ye look content, lass.” Baird observed.
“I am,” she said, surprised by the truth of it.
“It shows. The villagers trust ye already – that’s nye small feat in these troubled times.”
“Fear of the raids, I assume?” Rhona said quietly.
“Aye. Lachlan’s been systematically testin’ our defenses fer months – burnin’ farms, stealin’ livestock. These people never ken when they might wake tae find their homes in flames.” Baird’s weathered face darkened. “They need tae see that their laird cares, that there’s people willin’ tae help when trouble strikes.”
“Ian does care.” Rhona said, surprising herself with how quickly she leaped to his defense. “I’ve seen how he is with the soldiers, how he speaks to people. He’s naethin’ like his predecessor.”
“Nay, he isnae.” Baird agreed with a knowing smile. “And I think ye might have some part in that.”
Before Rhona could ask what he meant by that cryptic comment, a commotion erupted from the forest’s edge. Shouts rang out – harsh, violent sounds that sent ice shooting through her veins like winter lightning. The peaceful afternoon shattered into a million pieces as armed figures burst from the tree line, weapons glinting in the sunlight like wolves’ teeth.
Raiders!
