Page 3 of A Balm of Healing
“Tell me about your nursing experience.” He’d already resigned himself to reject her application at the end of the interview, but asking wouldn’t hurt.
“Well…” She shrugged one shoulder and gestured to herself. “I think my name speaks for itself, no?”
But he only stared at her, trying to figure out if she was jesting or serious. “I have been sequestered in the forest most of my life. I have never heard your name before.”
This time, her entire face burned red, and her next sentence stammered from her mouth. “I-I-I didn’t r-r-realize…” Her fingers flew to the green brooch attached to her dress at her collar, and she clasped it within her hand. “I have served as a healer under lords and kings, traveling from one kingdom to the next. One day, I hope to serve in King Calle’s castle. Though, I know it’s a distant dream considering he already has plenty of healers at his fingertips. But either way, I trained in my profession in Heulwen, and I’ve traveled the seven kingdoms for fifteen years now.” Her thumb brushed the brooch in a circular motion. “I’ll admit, most of my experience is healing, but I am equal to the task of cleaning and baking and mending. Truly.”
He steepled his fingers together and rested his chin on top. “King Calle is my granddaughter’s father.”
Gweneth’s lips parted as she stared at him. And stared some more. “His daughter is—”
“—Maisy Everdon.”
“Then…you are like royalty.”
Emeric pushed away from the table and dumped the rest of the tea into the sink. He was done with this interview. “Not quite.” He gave her a regretful look. “I apologize, Miss Caddell. But I have to deny—”
His words cut off as she rounded on him with determination in her brows, and before he managed to stop her, she grasped both of his shoulders with her hands, and a burst of energy shot through his body.
He gasped as he felt her magic thread through his veins, seeking, searching. Until it traveled back the way it had come and exited him completely, leaving him breathless.
“The bones in your legs are shattered,” she said matter-of-factly as she released his shoulders and faced him with a determined look in her eye. “Your hip is crooked, which likely is causing you a great deal of pain. Your muscles are withered from disuse. The blood flow to your lower extremities is low, which is likely causing other problems. I would guess you are often out of breath after short periods of using your wheelchair. Your body is weak, and—”
“What are you getting at?” he snarled, now hurrying to the entry room to usher her out of his house even faster. He grabbed her belongings and shoved them into her arms. “I think you have overstayed your welcome. Leave. Now.”
Gweneth lifted her chin in defiance to his dismissal. “What I’m trying to say is your injuries are old and extensive. But I am confident I can fix them.”
Ice struck him through the chest as he stared back at her with disbelief. His jaw slackened, and for a brief moment, her fervor almost made him believe… “It’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible, sir.” She shrugged into her coat and pulled her hat over her head. “I will return tomorrow morning to give you more time to think about what I’m offering.” She nodded her head. “Good day.”
A chilly breeze entered the house in her wake, and when she closed the door behind her, several snowflakes brushed across the floor before melting quickly against the warmth inside.
For far too long, he stared at the door, overcome by shock.
A flashback of his time in the Attleglade forest pulled him into the darkness of his memories.
Branches had weaved around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the ground. He’d thrashed and screamed against his restraints, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d begged the council to take Bastien away, only a boy at the time, so he didn’t have to witness what was about to transpire.
But they’d held Bastien steady, forcing him to watch as they broke every bone in Emeric’s legs thrice over.
He’d never known such agony could exist.
He’d never known he could hate so deeply after they had scarred his son for life with the images that would likely never leave his mind.
The pain of recovery had been brutal. And the knowledge that he’d never walk again had cut him deeply until there was nothing left to bleed.
Gweneth couldn’t possibly fix his legs.
Could she?
Chapter Two
Infuriating man!
Gweneth wrestled with her skirts in one hand as she trudged through ankle-deep snow while carrying a portmanteau in the other hand. The wind smashed white powder into her face, stinging what was visible of her skin and quickly fogging up her spectacles.
With a huff, she pulled the spectacles off her face and stuffed them inside her skirt pocket. The way ahead became a blur, but it was better than not being able to see anything at all.
