“’Tis probably best. Ye have to admit the lass showed strength that she probably wasn’t aware of. Not many Englishwomen or men would have survived what she went through.”
“I agree. She’s a feisty wee lass. Most women would have been in tears.”
Duncan tore a bannock apart. “’Tis a shame that we dinna get any information from Fidach.”
Roderick stabbed his dirk into a meaty rib and placed it in his trencher before answering. “Aye. Will I ever get any peace over my son?”
Duncan reached over and placed a hand on Roderick’s shoulder. “I’m praying one day ye will, son.”
* * *
A wooden bathtubhad been brought into Siena’s room and bucket after bucket of hot water was hauled up the stairs and dumped into the tub. Once it had been filled, Agatha helped Siena undress, so she could ease into the hot water.
“Ah, I do believe this water will help with many of my aches,” Siena said as she leaned back against the tub and closed her eyes. After a few minutes, Siena said, “Agatha will you wash my hair? I’m trying not to get water on my wound.”
“Aye,” Agatha said as she reached for a small jar of scented soap. She began to lather Siena’s hair. “The warm water must be heaven after the cold loch. Once you have on a clean gown, I know you’ll feel much better.”
The past few days seemed like a blur. It was as if Siena was reading a book and everything was happening to someone else within the pages. “I think so too. I’m still very tired. I suppose my body needs rest before I’m back to good health. I love the smell of roses from the soap.” She wiped the suds from her face. “Have you met the Laird’s wife?”
“Nay, milady, I’ve not seen anyone, other than the servants, since I was shown to this room.”
“Have you been free to leave the room?”
“Aye. I don’t believe we are prisoners.”
By the time Siena had dried off and towel-dried her hair, she was exhausted. She slipped beneath the turned-back covers intending to sleep, however, a sharp knock rattled the door and made her sit back up. She propped upon the pillows behind her, and held her breath, expecting to meet the laird’s wife as she bade whoever it was to enter.
The door flew open and a woman dressed in green, with green leaves entwined in her braids, swept into the room and Siena knew right away this wasn’t Roderick’s wife. This lady was very old, and daft looking with leaves sticking out of her hair here and there. The woman carried a wicker basket full of cream-colored bandages on her arm, so Siena assumed this had to be the healer.
“Good day to ye, Lady Siena. I am Elen.” She strolled over to the bed and shooed Agatha out of her way with a wave of her hand. “I’m hundred and three years gone, and my knees are no’ what they used to be,” Elen said as she sat in the straight-backed chair beside the bed. “Oooch, ’tis better. Our laird asked that I look in tae see if I can help with yer wound. He seemed most concerned.”
“I think I’m fine. Or will be.” Siena added. “I have a gash on my arm.” She held her arm up, feeling much like a child. “I am a healer, myself, but of course, it’s hard to stitch my own arm. Fergus was kind enough to do the sewing and I think he did a good job, but I’m without my herbs and I worry about infection.” She realized she was rambling, so she stopped talking.
“Laird Roderick did mention yer wound and also a fever. Do ye mind if I have a look?”
“Please do.”
Elen first felt Siena’s forehead. “I feel no fever, so that is good, lass.” Elen carefully removed the bandages and examined the red and tender injury.
“Milady,” Agatha said from the doorway. “I’m going to take a walk outside while you have someone with you. I think the night air will do me some good.” Siena nodded, and Agatha left the room.
Siena watched as Elen worked. There was something comforting about the old woman’s touch. Her hands were weathered, and her hair snow-white, but her smile was kind and understanding. Siena glanced at Elen’s long braids wrapped upon her head where the leaves were entwined.
“Why do you have leaves in your hair?” Siena asked and then caught herself. “I’m so sorry. That was terribly rude.”
Elen glanced up. She had the kindest eyes that were as green as moss on a sunny day. Her eyes were sharp in her lined face not dulled by age.
“Always ask questions, lass. ’Tis the only way tae learn,” Elen said as she reached into her basket and pulled out a small jar. “I’ll answer yer questions in a moment, but first let me say that your wound shows no infection. I’m going to put someDubhan ceann-cósach, Dubhan Pecan-dubhover the stitching.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to explain. I have no idea what you just said,” Siena said with a laugh.
“Ye, dinna speak Gaelic, lass.” Elen chuckled. “Weel, ’tis an all-heal salve I mixed up using an herb calledPrunella vulgarisand some goldenrod. I make this paste for cuts and large wounds.” She opened the jar and showed it to Siena. “Works nicely.” She carefully spread the yellow-tinged salve on Siena’s arm, then reached in her basket and pulled out several cloth bandages.
“I have used goldenrod before,” Siena said as she watched the woman wrap her arm. “I’m afraid that in our haste we didn’t have time to get my herbs. I will have to gather some of my own herbs if I’m to be of any help around here.” She examined her arm. “I must say the salve is soothing and cool.”
“I’ll huv to show ye where ye can find the best herbs come spring. I’m glad Laird Roderick has brought home someone useful. Still, with ye being a Sassenach, folks willna be trusting of ye.”
“I know,” Siena said with a shrug, “but maybe with time, I’ll be accepted.”
