Page 23 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
“Aye.” He nodded, moving his head only fractionally. “That’s her. Slip of a thing, and quiet, too, but according to Joy, Alice is clever enough and willing to do the work and learn…” He paused, then sighed gustily. “But I don’t know that Alice can step up to the healer’s role—I doubt she’s come that far.”
Manachan glanced sidelong at Lucilla; for all his frailness, his gaze was still shrewd, the mind sunk in his worn frame still acute. “I don’t like to ask…” He let the sentence trail away.
“You don’t have to ask.” Calmly, she set her cup on its saucer, balancing both in her hands. Avoiding Thomas’s gaze, she looked solely at Manachan. “I’m obliged by my station to aid your people as well as those in the Vale. I should check on Alice and see how far along in her training she is, and ensure that she possesses the requisite knowledge to properly care for your clan and that she has any and all support she might need.”
Manachan blinked; for a moment, he looked nonplussed. “Your…remit, as it were, extends to the Carricks?”
She inclined her head. “It does.” Over the years, she’d confirmed that what she thought of as the Lady’s mantle extended far enough north to encompass all the Carrick lands. Even there, at the northern boundary farthest from the Vale, she could still reach for the Lady and feel Her presence.
Her revelation had given Manachan pause; from the expression in his blue eyes, he was wondering whether the Lady’s dominion posed any challenge to him. Regardless, she wasn’t about to return to the Vale and meekly wait for him to summon her. If Joy Burns hadn’t known how to effectively treat him, then it was unlikely her half-trained apprentice would.
Manachan studied her, unblinking, for several moments, then his features softened, and with a touch of graciousness, he inclined his head. “If you have the time to visit Carrick Manor, I and my clan would welcome your advice.” Manachan’s gaze slid to Thomas. “Our first thought must be for the clan, to ensure the people and the bairns are as safe as they can be, and that means having an effective healer.”
Thomas read the message in Manachan’s eyes. His uncle thought he’d been clever to encourage Lucilla to aid them; for Thomas’s money, the instant Lucilla had laid eyes on Manachan, she’d decided she would be going to Carrick Manor. He might not know her all that well, but he knew how she responded to what she perceived as need; if people needed her help, they got it.
He strongly suspected Manachan would have her help whether Manachan wished it or not.
Which left him—Thomas—in a difficult position.
He wanted Lucilla to help Manachan—to treat him, if she could persuade the old man to it. If anyone could help his uncle regain at least some of his previously rude health, he firmly believed she was that person. In addition, ensuring that the clan had an effective healer was another vital issue she and only she could properly address.
On the other hand, he didn’t want to spend any more time in her vicinity. Being within her orbit helped him not at all; the effect she had always had on him had, it seemed, only intensified over the last two years. She was worse than a distraction; she was a compelling being who drew him, his attention, his focus, like a lodestone.
He forced himself to take a sip of tea while the internal tug-of-war between what he wanted for Manachan and the clan, and what he wanted for himself, raged within.
Lucilla urged Manachan to take another shortbread, which he did.
The small moment of domesticity seemed strange, yet comforting.
After a moment, Manachan asked about the Bradshaws; Thomas listened with half an ear as Lucilla described their symptoms and the suspected cause.
Manachan’s gaze shifted to him. “The well’s tainted?”
Thomas met Lucilla’s gaze, then said, “I’ll have samples sent to Glasgow.” He looked at Manachan. “It’ll take a while, but we’ll find out what’s behind it. Meanwhile, the Forresters will supply the Bradshaws from their well.”
“Forrester’s agreed?”
“He has.”
Manachan brooded for several minutes, then he held out his empty cup on its saucer. Lucilla took it from him; she rose and carried her cup and Manachan’s to the kitchen.
Manachan waited until she was out of earshot to lean closer to Thomas. “The Bradshaws. Should I go in and see them, do you think?”
Thomas considered, then shook his head. “Bradshaw and his wife were the worst affected. They’re sleeping now. If you go in, they’ll be flustered and embarrassed that they can’t greet you properly.”
Manachan grimaced; he didn’t argue, yet it was clear from his expression that he wanted the Bradshaws to know of his coming, of his support.
“Perhaps,” Thomas suggested, “we could have the youngest two come out and speak with you. They’re recovered enough to greet you, and they’ll tell their parents that you were here.”
Manachan brightened. “Good enough.”
Lucilla returned. Thomas explained his plan; somewhat to his surprise, after one searching glance at Manachan, she agreed without comment. The youngest two Bradshaws were duly prepared; as the pair had come out for breakfast, they were already washed and dressed. A quick brushing of hair and tugging down of clothes, and they were ready to greet their laird.
Thomas stood to one side of the hearth and watched Manachan talk with the pair. Lucilla came to stand alongside him. After a moment, he murmured, “I’d forgotten how good he is with children.” His uncle was frequently testy, sometimes belligerent, always calculating, but when it came to children, he seemed instinctively to know what to say and how to say it.
Lucilla regarded the group on the sofa. Her lips curved in subtle appreciation. “Your uncle is a cunning old soul with a big heart.”
The Forresters were in the kitchen, preparing a sustaining luncheon for the Bradshaws. Manachan and the children were absorbed with their conversation.
