Page 38 of A Highland Healer Captured
Her laugh surprised her when it came, a short bright thing that rang off stone. “If this doesnae work,” she told the steam, “then there’s something else going afoot… I daenae ken what… butperhaps it’s to start with too much indoor time.” The echo came back to her, thinner and more wry, as if the surgery itself had learned to keep counsel with skeptics.
She strained the draught through linen into a clay cup, watched the liquid turn a deep amber, and breathed the scent again. It smelled exactly how it was supposed to.
Mmm sweet onions.
Her mind darted back to the solar: Zander’s head bent; Grayson’s small smile; the book balanced in a warrior’s hand. She hated that the picture felt like balm. The memory of his hands and lips on her burned hotter than she wanted, stoking something restless in her chest. She told herself it wasn’t Zander she craved at all, but the sight of strength bent tender, the sound of a man’s voice carrying a child toward sleep. That was safer.Thatshe could carry without shame.
She poured a second cup to cool and marked her journal:cool, not hot; small sips; watch pulse; check lips after third swallow.
And then, she added a margin note that had nothing to do with dosage:Festival in six days. Pipers’ gate. West wall walk?
Six days until she’d be on her way to Ariella.
Six days left to cure Grayson.
She leaned over her notes for another heartbeat then sighed and closed the book. Moving back to the prep tables, she capped the kettle, and set both cups on the windowsill to cool.
Duty first.
Cora arrived as quietly as if the surgery had conjured her there. One heartbeat Skylar was alone with steam and lists; the next a small shadow slid across the threshold and the girl’s voice came soft as a shawl.
“I brought more linen,” Cora said, lifting a folded armful. “Old sheets turned, as ye asked.”
“Good.” Skylar met her at the door and took half the stack. “Ye’ve a talent for appearin’ and vanishin’, lass. If I ever need a ghost, I’ll send for ye.”
Cora’s mouth curved. “If I am a ghost, I’m a dutiful one. I haunt only the stores.” She moved to the shelves without waiting for permission and began making tidy stacks from what had been orderly enough already. “How much coltsfoot remains?”
“Enough for two draughts more if I’m careful.” Skylar hesitated, then let curiosity slip past her guard. “Where do ye go when ye vanish?”
“Places men forget to sweep,” Cora said, which was an answer and not one. “The loft, the still room, the darkest corner of the buttery where the good ale hides.” She glanced over hershoulder, a spark of mischief in her eye. “And sometimes the roof, if the wind is right.”
“Up with the ravens.”
“They are better company than most men.”
“On that, we agree.” Skylar reached for a jar, pretending indifference. “Ye said once—yer clan. Zander destroyed it. He took ye in after.” The words were even. But the question lay beneath them,“What happened then?”
Cora did not stiffen. She placed the last of the linen, turned, and leaned her hip against the table. “After?” She folded her hands, the gesture precise. “After, he gave me a bed that didnae move with every footfall. He gave me food I didnae have to fight for. He brought me to the surgery and said, ‘Do ye like putting things in order?’ I said I did. He said, ‘Then put this in order. If anyone troubles ye, send for Mason and he will fix it.’ So I put things in order.”
“And Mason?” Skylar asked, testing.
“Like a braither,” Cora said, smooth as cream.
Skylar lifted one brow. “Nae by blood?”
Cora’s smile did not falter. “By sense. Blood is a poor map for a life.”
Skylar could not quarrel with that. Still, the evasion nagged her. “He watches me,” she said, as if stating weather. “From a distance. Should I be grateful?”
“Ye should be careful,” Cora said, and there was nothing coy in it. “Men are easier to manage when they think ye are harmless.”
“Do ye think I am?”
Cora met her eyes. “Nay,” she said after the smallest pause. “Buttheymight.Theyare men.”
Skylar huffed a quiet laugh. “Let them. While they’re wrong, I’ll work.”
They were silent a moment but for the small domestic sounds of the room. Skylar watched the girl’s hands move—quick, exact, as if each gesture had been made a hundred times and always the same. She liked competence wherever she found it.
