Page 11 of A Plaid Case of Loving Ye
As before, her touch sent sparks up his arm.
“Lady Helen is a Douglass, the youngest daughter of a minor laird. She’s no’ married.”
Nicola winced. “An affair of the heart, then?”
“No’ quite.” He sighed, deciding to be blunt. “Ye’re a healer, so ye ken of such things. I’ll tell ye what the lady told the nuns. A man from another clan, an enemy of her family, swore he loved her, professed his undying devotion. She thought she loved him, but came to realize he was a scoundrel, using her to hurt her father. When she refused to act on her feelings, he raped her.”
Nicola sucked in a breath, and Ramsay felt like an ass.
“I’m sorry, milady, but—”
“Nay, I wanted to understand. So, when ‘twas discovered she’d conceived...?”
A sorry tale. “Her father and family cast her out, rejecting her and forbidding her return. She said her father spat on her, calling the child she carried a product of sin and hatred.” He sighed, hating the pain the lady must’ve suffered. “Lady Helen felt fooled by her clan’s enemy—which I suppose she was—and wasnae going to go to him. She refused to have aught to do with the bastard who’d hurt her so badly, so she made her way here.” He raised his eyes to the doors and the curtained beds beyond. “And now she’s dying.”
“Aye.” The healer’s quiet agreement was sad. Nicola stepped back with a sigh. “I examined her and ye’re right. The birth must’ve been hard; part of the afterbirth ripped and remained inside her where it festered. Had I been here—had a midwife—” She cut herself off with a muttered curse, then turned toward the loch, her hands curling into fists where they rested atop the railing. “Nuns are celibate. We cannae expect them to ken aught about childbirth. The placenta inside her rotted, and the infection has spread throughout her body. She will die painfully and there’s naught I can do.”
For the first time, he heard her frustration. She’d arrived too late to save Lady Helen.
He shifted again, turning, tucking the bairn into the crook of his good arm and laying his large hand atop her fist. “I’m sorry, Nicola.”
“Nay, I’m sorry I cannae help her.”
He squeezed slightly. “I’m sorry for that, but I’m sorry for yer sorrow.”
Her eyes showed her surprise when her gaze jerked up to his. He shrugged one shoulder and grinned sadly. “I thank ye for yer services today, healer. I feel better already.”
With a snort, she rolled her eyes. “Ye healed well enough on yer own.”
“Aye, but—”
He wasn’t certain what he would say, because they were interrupted by someone calling for her.
“Healer! Lady Nicola?” A nun, blinking furiously, was holding another’s hand as they walked toward her. “Sister Mary Margarita has scraped her knee.” Still blinking, she led the other into the sunlight.
Ramsay was surprised to hear Nicola mutter, “Nae wonder. Why is she walking backwards?”
“Sister Mary Margarita is performing a penance for some past sin.”
“And the other?” Nicola’s voice had dropped even lower, although she now wore a welcoming smile directed at the pair. “Is she used to the darkness?”
“I have nae idea,” he murmured in return. “Sister Mary Verbena isalwaysblinking. Mayhaps another head wound?”
“Mayhaps,” was all she had time to hiss before the nuns were upon them. “Och, ye puir thing. Let us see to that knee, aye?” she declared forcefully as she led them back into the ward. ‘Twas a difficult move, with Sister Mary Margarita refusing to step in any direction but backward.
He watched the trio depart, his lips tugging into a wry grin. Aye, he’d been looking forward to a brisk swim in the loch and some exercise. But the breeze was cool, and the bairn was content, and Ramsay already missed the healer.
Closing his eyes, he tipped his face back to the sun.
He still didn’t know his past, nor what the future would bring. But mayhap, thanks to the spitfire of a healer who’d just left, just now he felt…content.
Chapter 3
“Areyecertainye feel nae pain?”
Ramsay grinned at her, the chip in his front tooth somehow making him even more appealing. “Aye, of course I feel pain.” He grunted as he took another pull on the oars. “Constant, continuous pain—”
She leaned forward, almost crushing the struggling, bleating bundle in her lap, earning her a kick in the stomach. “Where?” she gasped, half in concern for her patient and half from the hoof in her gut. “Yer arm? Itoldye I should’ve rowed!”
