"Bad enough that they sent a runner. Fever, mostly. Some vomitin’. Started three days ago and it's spreadin' fast." Torvald moved into the room, closing the door behind him. "Mairi's still on Lewis, helpin' with a difficult birth. She willnae be back fer at least a few days."
Magnus cursed under his breath. The island healer was one of the few people he trusted completely—skilled, practical, and utterly loyal to Barra's people. Without her, they were left with hedge witches and prayer.
"How many are sick?"
"A dozen, maybe more by now. Mostly the fishin' families near the southern shore." Torvald crossed his arms. "I can take supplies and go meself."
"Nay. I'll go." Magnus stood, already moving toward the chest where he kept traveling gear. "If it's spreadin', me people need tae see their laird takin' it seriously."
"And the lady?"
Magnus's hands stilled on the leather satchel he'd been pulling out. "What about her?"
"She's still here. Still yer intended bride, whether ye like it or nae." Torvald's tone was carefully neutral. "Brian's already askin' questions about when the ceremony will be. Ye cannae avoid her ferever."
"I'm nae avoidin' her. I'm givin' us both time tae—" Magnus stopped, shook his head. "It daesnae matter. She'll stay here while we're gone. Isla can see tae her needs."
"Aye, if ye say so."
They gathered supplies quickly—clean cloth for bandages, dried herbs that might help with fever, waterskins, bread and dried meat for the journey. Magnus sent word to the stables to prepare horses, then made his way down to the courtyard.
The morning was gray and cold, typical for Barra. Wind whipped across the stones, carrying the smell of salt and rain. Magnus pulled his cloak tighter as he waited for the horses to be brought round.
"Me laird?"
He turned. Ada stood at the edge of the courtyard, still wearing one of the plain gowns Isla must have found for her. Her blonde hair was braided back, her face pale but determined.
"Lady Ada." Magnus kept his voice neutral. "Is somethin' wrong?"
“Where are ye goin’?”
"Ridin' tae the southern villages. There are sickness reports I need tae see tae."
"Take me with ye."
Magnus stared at her. "That's nae possible."
"Why nae?"
"Because it's nae proper fer a lady tae ride intae a village full of sickness."
"I'm a healer." Ada moved closer, her chin lifted in that stubborn way he was beginning to recognize. "I've spent the last year workin' with healers and midwives across the Highlands. I ken how tae treat fever, how tae make poultices."
"The answer is nay."
"Me laird."
"I said nay." Magnus turned back toward the stables, dismissing her. "Stay in the keep. Isla will see tae yer needs."
He heard her sharp intake of breath behind him. Good. Let her be angry.
But then she moved around to stand directly in his path, blocking him.
"Yer people are sick," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Ye dinnae have a healer, I heard some maids talking about her. And I'm offerin' tae help. What harm could it dae? Dinnae ye want tae help yer people?"
"Ye could get sick yerself."
"I've been around sickness before. I ken how tae protect meself."
