She was so relieved to see the even rising and falling of his chest, to see him frowning in the deep sleep he’d fallen into as soon as he was placed upon the bed. Isabella, too, slumbered peacefully at his side, contented to have her father returned to her at last.
He would live. Haith’s eyes filled with grateful tears. Minerva had worked her magic once again.
The old woman was tired now, and Haith had felt a stab of guilt at seeing her great-aunt so pale and bowed, her usually lively footsteps shuffling and hitched. Didier had fatigued her these last days, and the exertion of healing Tristan had exacted a heavy toll. Haith tried to rub the worry from her mind.
She can rest now,Haith told herself.Soon we will return to Greanly, where she will be her old, cantankerous self.
A soft rap sounded at the door before it opened a crack, and the old Scotswoman herself poked her frazzled gray head into the room.
“Faery?” she called softly. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” Haith answered, a smile easing across her lips as Minerva limped inside the chamber, wearing her old black cloak.She must have caught a chill,Haith thought, and then frowned to herself. She could not have Minerva falling ill.
Minerva shuffled across the floor, eyeing father and daughter with her own smile. She eased down on the mattress next to Haith.
“Sleepin’ like babes, the pair of ’em,” Minerva said proudly.
“Yea.” Haith nodded, and looked at her aunt. “What are you still doing about, Minerva? ’Tis late and you need your rest as well. I did not like the sound of that cough earlier.”
Minerva shrugged a bony shoulder. “I wanted to see you, ’sall. All of you together.” She reached out a crooked finger and stroked the baby’s arm. “I’ll have my rest soon enough, faery.”
Haith frowned again. Something was amiss. She could smell its foul odor as if it were a pot of boiling horehound root. She reached out a wrist and rubbed it over Minerva’s forehead and cheeks. “Are you feeling ill?”
The old woman ducked away, chuckled, then rose from the bed. “I’m nae ill, I’m nae ill. I’m only tired.”
Haith was unconvinced and watched the old woman skirt the bed and come to stand near Tristan’s head.
A smile increased the wrinkles of Minerva’s face as she smoothed a palm up over his forehead and across his hair. She left her hand there and leaned down to kiss his brow.
She whispered against his skin, “Keep well, my boy. Care for my lasses. You have my heart.”
Minerva straightened, and a shiver of hot–cold panic slithered through Haith. The old woman returned to Haith’s side and eased back down onto the mattress.
“Minerva, I don’t like how you’re behaving—it’s frightening me.”
“Doona fear, faery,” Minerva soothed. “Naught is amiss. In fact, all is quite right.” She reached beneath her cloak and withdrew the fur sack containing her precious rune stones. Minerva looked at the weighty purse for a long moment before taking Haith’s hand and placing the bag in her palm. “I want you to have these, Haith,” she said mildly.
Sorrow gripped Haith’s heart as she felt the soft fur against her skin, Minerva’s fingers wrapped firmly about her own. And Haith knew.
The old woman was dying.
“Minerva” was all Haith could manage to choke.
“Shhh.” She smiled sadly and brought her other hand to Haith’s cheek, the smooth, leathery palm so gentle and cool. “Let us not speak of it, lass. I mean for there to be nae sorrow between us now.”
“Let me stay with you, care for you,” Haith croaked, her throat feeling dry and twisted like driftwood. “If you rest—”
But Minerva simply shook her head. “I’ll be gone from Hartmoore by morn, to find my way back to where myspiritcan rest.” She dropped her hand away from Haith’s face and twisted to look at Isabella. She pressed her fingertips to her thin, trembling lips and then reached out to touch the babe’s cheek.
“You will grow to be a fine woman, Isabella Buchanan D’Argent. Heed your dreams, and they will serve you well.”
Haith could not hold back her sobs. “Minerva, you can’t go—what shall I do without you? What shall any of us do?”
“Och, now,” the old woman said gruffly, and pulled Haith into her arms, her head on Minerva’s flat bosom. “Ye’ll do just fine, lass,” she soothed, stroking Haith’s hair while she cried and clung to Minerva’s worn gown. “You are a healer in your own right now—you doona need me any longer.”
“But Ido,” Haith insisted, each hiccoughing breath earning her Minerva’s familiar smell. She wanted to breathe deeper, hold the scent in her lungs forever.
“Here now—sit up an’ dry your face.” Minerva took her shoulders gently and moved Haith away, wetness in her own black eyes. She fished up the hem of her cloak and smoothed it over Haith’s cheeks. “This is what I want, Haith. What I need. I’ve been from my home for many a year, and I’ve longed for it so. Do you ken?”
