Page 2 of MacAlister's Hope
He could hear his kinsmen shifting behind him and knew they chafed at this delay, as did he. They had traveled hard for a day and a half to get here from their village to the south and as soon as they collected the Lamont healer, Elena, they would travel just as hard home, for their chief sorely needed her legendary healing ability.
Kieron continued rolling the stone, now warmed by his body heat, in his hand, his own conflict gnawing at him as much as the wait did. He knew gaining the services of the Lamont healer should be his only goal, but it wasn’t. Fia MacLachlan had once lived here. He hadn’t seen her in seven years or more but he had given thanks every day since for her brief friendship all those years ago. She was probably married with a fat bairn upon her hip by now, but still he would like to see her again, to thank her. He’d like to know that she was as content in her life as he was in his.
He also knew ’twasn’t likely he’d even see her, much less have the opportunity to speak to her, but he could hope.
Tavish took a half step toward the silent MacLachlan warrior. Kieron could see the tension, tight in his cousin’s shoulders. He knew the familiar sharp temper was building in Tavish by the slight cock of his head to the right. Tavish had reason to be agitated, but now was not the time to give it free rein. Kieron cleared his throat just loud enough to capture his cousin’s attention at the same time that another large man, this one with dark hair shot through with silver, approached them. Authority wrapped about the newcomer like a royal mantle. The Highlander who held them there stepped back.
As the man drew near, Kieron recognized Symon, chief of the MacLachlans, husband to Elena, the healer they had come to fetch. The healer who had rid Symon of the madness that had plagued him so many years ago, the madness that had once caused him to be named the Devil of Kilmartin. He was older than the last time Kieron had seen him, but the years had not bowed him, nor dimmed the intellect so clear in his eyes. This was not a man who would risk his wife’s life. He would not allow his wife to travel with the MacAlisters, even though they were cousins of hers, without surety of her safety, which was why they had brought ten warriors to fetch her.
Tavish stepped forward and greeted the chief with as much reserve and respect as Kieron could expect of him. Reserve did not come naturally to Tavish—action, especially the action of battle, was more to his liking. But over the last few years he had come to listen to Kieron’s council when a softer touch was required, at least he often did, which was something Kieron still shook his head over now and again. The two of them had planned this meeting carefully, weighing their need for Elena’s gift, her still strong connection to the Lamonts and their cousins the MacAlisters, and Symon’s protective nature, in their plan.
Tavish started well, quietly and almost calmly explaining the illness that had taken their chief—the illness that no one seemed able to treat. Symon’s posture was hard—his feet spread and arms crossed over his broad chest—and he was already shaking his head when a door opened at the top of a stairway and a heavily pregnant woman with auburn hair caught in a loose braid stepped out. Her face and hair were familiar, though Kieron had only met Elena, Lady of Kilmartin Castle, and the fabled Lamont healer, once before.
Elena stopped at the top of the stair and took in the gathering in the bailey, then slowly made her way down. It was only when she reached the bottom of the stair that Kieron noticed the petite blonde awaiting her there.
His breath caught. Instantly, he knew it was Fia. She slipped her arm around Elena’s waist, as if to support her, and they walked slowly toward the gathered men.
“Symon, who are these good people?” Elena called when she was halfway across the bailey. She stopped and took a deep breath, as if that were not something that came easily to her, and Kieron realized that they would not be taking Elena home with them to heal their chief. She was too far gone in her pregnancy and no man in his right mind, which Symon had been for years now, would allow his wife to travel in such a condition.
“Tavish,” Kieron said, but his friend seemed frozen looking at the women approaching, as did Symon.
Elena slowly joined them. Fia released her as Elena hooked her hand through her husband’s arm and leaned heavily against him. Her other hand rested on her belly as if to safeguard the bairn that grew within. But it was Fia, taking up a spot next to and a little behind Elena, that Kieron could not keep his eyes from.
She was only a little taller than she had been when they first met, but she had gently softened from a slight, wisp of a girl into a lovely young woman. Her hair was still the palest of blonds, though no longer the white blond of a youth, and her eyes—how had he forgotten they were the crystalline blue of a spring sky? Her glance skated over him as she seemed to assess the gathering before her, but no recognition showed. He could still see that she was the bright, curious girl he had met, from the way she quietly observed his kinsmen, but he also found a hint of worry pinching her mouth.
He could only hope it was but worry for Elena, for pregnancy was always a risk for any woman, and not something more. If he discovered it was anything more, anything he could fix, he could not stand by and let it continue, not when he owed his own happy position in life to Fia.
“They come to try to take you away from here, my love,” Symon said, his voice gruff, and every muscle poised to fight.
“And why would you wish to do that?” This she directed at Tavish with a lift of her eyebrows, but Kieron also noticed that as she rested her head against Symon’s shoulder the man relaxed, at least a little.
“My father, your cousin, chief of the MacAlisters of Kilglashan,” Tavish said, “is very ill and none have been able to help him. He will not eat, and does not sleep. Herequiresyour gift of healing, Lady Elena.”
Kieron winced at the edge of anger that sharpened Tavish’s words, and he was not the only one to notice. Symon stiffened again, and even Fia stepped up beside Elena as if to protect her from Tavish.
“Forgive him,” Kieron said, stepping forward, carefully not looking at his cousin. He knew if any of them spoke against his wishes right now, Tavish’s fear for his father would only fuel his quick temper. But years of experience, and the plan they had put in place, told Kieron now was the time for him to act as diplomat. He and Tavish had accomplished much since they had laid the past to rest and become friends, combining their respective strengths—one a gifted warrior, the other a gifted diplomat. “His father is gravely ill,” he continued, “and we are all worried for his survival. ’Tis no death for a chief or a warrior, wasting away from pain and fever.” He looked Symon in the eye. “But we can easily see that ’tis no time for Lady Elena to be traveling.” Now he turned his attention to Elena. Fighting the urge to glance at Fia distracted him for a moment, but he persevered. “Perhaps you can provide some guidance for us? Our healer died not long ago and though we have several women in our village well versed in simples none have been able to help our chief.”
“Fia can go with you,” Elena said.
Fia’s breath hitched. “Nay, I am needed here, at least until after the bairn is born and you are recovered.”
Elena took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I shall be fine. The midwife can look after me.”
Fia wanted to shake her head, but she nodded instead, swallowing all of her arguments for why she should stay. ’Twas her duty to do as the chief and the lady required. “I will go.”
“Do you share the Lamont gift?” Tavish snapped, jerking Fia’s attention back to the two men who stood closest to her and spoke for their clan.
“Nay,” Fia answered with a lift of her chin, “but I am well trained as a healer.”
“Fia is expert with herbs, far more than I am,” Elena said. “She has a canny way of knowing which will best serve those she treats, such as I have never seen before.” Elena reached out and pulled Fia close, wrapping her arm over Fia’s shoulder in a gesture that had always made Fia feel safe, while at the same time Elena skewered first Tavish, then the other man, with that same motherly glare that made even grown men cower. “She is more than capable of tending your chief in his illness.”
Elena’s words of praise eased some of Fia’s concern over leaving her foster mother when the bairn could come at any time.
“Aye, I will do all that I can for your chief, but I have one condition.”
Elena tightened her grip and Symon turned to face her, irritation and concern filling his eyes. Fia wiggled free of Elena’s grip and took her hand again. She smiled at Symon, knowing he could not glower at her when she did that, and indeed his gaze softened.
“I will need to return to Kilmartin within a ten day. If you cannot promise me that, then I will not go with you.” She took a deep breath, unused to going against Symon or Elena’s wishes, but she hoped this was enough of a compromise to keep everyone happy. Fia could feel the knots in her shoulders loosening now that she had set her own requirements on the deal.
