Page 21 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

“Aye. We may run into them there,” Fearghas commented.

Rory merely grunted at the suggestion as he led them out into the courtyard. He ate the bread and cheese quickly, and was just swallowing the last of it as he entered the back door of the alehouse. A good thing too, or he might have choked on it when they reached the main room and he saw Tom and Simon both in plaids so short he was surprised he couldn’t see their bollocks hanging out the bottom.

“Are you sure this is right?” Simon was tugging at the bottom of the plaid. “Yours aren’t this short.”

“We told ye,” Alick said patiently. “The plaid’ll drop lower by the sup. Do ye put it any lower now, ye’ll be tripping on it when it does drop and we’ll have to start all over.”

“Alick,” Rory growled the warning, and then crossed his arms over his chest to scowl at his brother, as well as Conn and Inan for this trickery. “Quit messing about and fix the plaids fer them.”

“Ah, Rory,” Alick complained. “Did ye have to ruin the first bit o’ fun we’ve managed to find since leaving Scotland?”

Rory felt a moment’s guilt at the words, because Alick and the men had camped outside Monmouth for two weeks, sleeping on the cold hard ground and hunting their own food while he’d been in the keep.

But that guilt quickly died when he thought of Elysande seeing her men like this, and he scowled again. “Would ye have the lass see them like this and be embarrassed? Speaking o’ which, where is she?”

“In the kitchen, making a liniment for her pains,” Conn said solemnly.

“A liniment for her pains?” Rory echoed blankly.

“Aye, with the wolfsbane, willow bark and several other weeds she purchased from the apothecary this morn,” Tom said almost apologetically.

“She is making my liniment?” Rory asked with dismay.

“Ah. Well, most like ’tis a recipe Lady Mairghread taught her,” Tom said with a grimace, and then explained, “I fear I may have forgot to mention that our lady was a somewhat renowned healer in England, and that she trained Lady Elysande in all she knew.”

Rory gaped at the man, his mind in an uproar. He’d wanted to make Elysande a liniment for her pains. It was his one skill, healing. Or at least the one skill he was known and valued for. Any man could wield a sword. Hell, every man at Buchanan did. But healing was the one thing about him that was special. It made him much in demand. Monmouth was not the first man who had paid him a small fortune to travel to heal them. He was just the latest, and with the money the English lord had given him, he now had enough to build his own keep on the plot of land his parents had left him. That was how sought after he was; he’d earned a fortune any man would envy.

Not that Rory made everyone pay or even asked for payment in return for his skills. He became a healer because he couldn’t stand by and watch another person die as he’d been forced to watch happen with his mother. But almost every patient tried to give him something to show their gratitude, whether it was coin, or livestock, or something else. Even the poorest patient he’d healed had gone picking wild herbs and medicinals they hoped would come in handy in his healing capacity. But wealthy lords who lived far away and feared he would need an inducement to travel to them often offered coin. And because it was an inconvenience to travel long distances and be away from home and family, and because they could afford it, he accepted the payment.

But with Elysande it had been different. He’d wanted desperately to use his skills to help her. He’d wanted to be the hero and take away her pain. He’d wanted . . . He’d wanted her to see him as special, he realized. Instead, she was in the kitchen making a potion herself. One her mother had taught her. Using wolfsbane, an extremely poisonous plant that had to be handled with extreme caution to prevent accidental poisoning and death.

Concern rushing through him now, Rory turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen door, growling, “Fix their plaids.”

Ignoring Alick’s groan and Tom and Simon’s irritated demands that the men fix their “bleedin’ skirts,” Rory started to push through the kitchen door and then froze halfway into the room as his mind processed what his eyes were seeing.

Lady Elysande, completely naked, was lying on her stomach on top of a linen laid over the kitchen table, her head pillowed on her folded arms. It left her naked back and bottom on view as the alewife smoothed liniment gently over the bruises on her back.

“How is that, then, m’lady?” the alewife asked. “Is it helping any?”

“Aye, thank you, Mildrede,” Elysande breathed the words with obvious relief. “Really, thank you so much for offering to do this. I was planning to do it myself, but you were right, I could not have done my back alone.”

“Nay, you could not have,” the alewife said firmly, and then her tone turning apologetic, she admitted, “In truth, I only made the offer to get a look at your back and see if ’twas as bad as yer face. But seeing it . . .” She clucked under her breath and shook her head as she scooped more liniment out of a bowl next to Elysande’s hip and continued her work before murmuring sympathetically, “How ye must have been suffering, m’lady. I do not know how ye bore it,” she said with amazement, her hands now moving lower over her buttocks.

“You can stop now if you like, Mildrede,” Elysande said gently. “I can reach everything else. ’Twas just my back I could not do myself and I certainly appreciate you doing it for me.”

“Oh, nonsense, m’lady,” the alewife said as her hands made quick work of the chore. “I’m pleased to help you, and it will only take another minute. Besides,” she added, a wry twist to her lips as she moved onto the backs of her legs, “my hand is numb already from the cream. Might as well save you numbing your own hand. You’ll have enough parts going numb as ’tis,” she pointed out with a chuckle.

Rory could hear the amusement in Elysande’s voice when she agreed. “Aye, but better that than the pain.”

“Aye.” The alewife’s smile faded then and she shook her head. “’Tis a wonder to me that you’re able to walk let alone sit a saddle. You’re a brave one, m’lady.”

“Nay, not brave,” Elysande assured her quietly. “Just terribly frightened that was I too much trouble they might leave us behind somewhere.”

“Oh, surely not,” Mildrede said with a frown.

“Nay,” Elysande agreed. “I realize that now, but I did not at the start. I did not know then that these Scots were such good, kind and honorable men.”

“Nay. I suppose not. I surely wouldn’t have expected it of a Scot.” The woman sighed. “You got lucky with this group, m’lady. I venture there are few Scots who would act so honorably as to trouble themselves to save a young maiden in such a nasty predicament.”

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