Isla turned back to the Aymer, her hands gently checking the moss and the state of his leg.
"Are ye sure that ye've gotten me all patched up?" he asked tremulously.
"Not quite yet, but we will," she assured him, trying her best to comfort the poor man. "Dinnae ye worry, yer in no more danger. If ye would have gotten here a few minutes later, I cannae say what could have happened."
The Laird had turned his back to her, looking anywhere but at Isla on the ground with the man's bleeding leg in her lap. She wanted to wonder why but quickly realized there were much more important things to think of at the moment.
"I saw the signs of a loch near here," the Laird said, his voice unreadable. "Just outside o' the forest, some reeds were springing up 'round one of the hills, damp earth... I think I'll go an' see if I can get some water for Aymer's wound here. I need tae clear my head a bit."
Isla saw him wipe his brow as he glanced back at her for a split second. For a brief moment, she thought she knew what emotion the Laird was trying to hide. It could not be what she thought it was, surely; it made no sense.
But she had thought for all the world that she'd seen jealousy written on the Laird's face.
Iain did not know what had come over him.
One moment, he had been marveling at the young woman's healing abilities and was surprised about how right she was about the men being instructed in it. If she had not been with them, surely Aymer would have bled out right in front of his eyes.
The next moment, though, he had been taken over by a shocking amount of jealousy. It had colored his face a bright red, and he had to divert his gaze from the way that she gently cared for Aymer's shredded leg. He could not stop thinking about the way she took his own arm gently in her hands and pressed the healing poultice up against his would. He wondered if she’d felt any sort of stir of emotion for him at all or if it had just been her nature as a healer that had her so close to him last night.
That cannae be true. She certainly seemed like she wanted tae go even further if I hadnae stopped it.
Still, though, he could not believe that he was worried about the feelings of some young woman who may or may not be a Robertson spy over the pain of one of his men. Ashamed, he strode through the forest without looking back.
He could already see the moors through the hawthorn trees; they had not had to travel far the previous night to find the large oak tree that had served as their cover. Iain had not been lying, either. He had seen what looked like the hints of a loch nestled between the rolling hills. As he ducked beneath the hawthorn branches, he saw he was right. In the distance, there was a reflective pool of water with a host of reeds growing near the edge.
He brushed a hand through his hair, sighing at his approach. The banks of the water were stony and cold; he sat down upon a large, mossy rock and gazed up at the gray sky.
What would his father say? He had entertained thoughts of a dream woman, and even though he’d met her in the waking world, he had been intimate with a woman who could be a spy or perhaps trying to throw off his attentions from the Robertson clan.
What has come over me? Father, what do I do?
But, of course, there was no answer. And that was all due to Duncan Robertson.
He could have stayed there longer if not for the thought of Aymer being patched up back at the camp. The young woman did a fantastic job of aiding his men in their time of need, but he still did not feel comfortable sitting around for so long. He stood, running a hand through his hair, and paused for one tiny moment longer to take in a last look at the peaceful loch.
"Yer not set to go leavin' us, are ye?"
He turned to see Isla, holding his horse, followed by his three men, each on their own steed. Aymer was pale-faced and bleary, but he looked as though he was perking up. His leg had been bandaged with what looked to be scraps from his own cotton shirt; the young woman's doing, surely.
She looked particularly proud of herself for aiding the men, the smile in her eyes bright in the glow of the morning sun. As she approached, though, he saw a conglomeration of emotions in her expression. There was a sallow fear there that was hiding just below the surface of her smile; he wondered whether it was anxiety over the letter or fear of him. Shame shot through him again, blossoming in his chest and then dying off.
"Though, I could do with a swim," the young woman said, carefully. "If ye'd allow it, o' course. I would always go tae the loch to calm my nerves back home. We're gettin' closer and closer tae the village the letter mentions, and I cannae help but feel my nerves gettin' the better o' me."
He saw the fear intensify for a moment in her eyes, and he felt doubly poor for it, so she was worried about the letter and about what she would find. When she'd mentioned her home, he watched the sadness fill her eyes, and she'd looked away from him. The young woman held the reins of his horse out to him without another word.
"I suppose I cannae deny ye that," he said. "Aymer seems stable fer now; ye did a fine job with that poultice. I'll have the men pass around what bread and cheese we have left; it isnae exactly the mornin' meal I thought we would have, but I suppose that cannae be helped."
Isla's face broke out into a smile at his words, and he had to stop himself from mirroring the expression. Something about the young woman was so addictive and exhilarating; she exuded an aura of adventure and natural beauty. Iain took a moment to shake off the haze that had begun to fall over him as she turned and made her way to the loch.
He took the horse and led it towards the open moors, away from the loch, giving the young woman some privacy. He wanted so badly to trust her completely, but that could not come yet if it did at all.
"Are ye all right, m'Laird?" Gamelin asked. "Anythin' that we can do tae help ye?"
Iain shook his head. "I had perhaps a little too much wine last night," he said. "An' not enough tae eat on top of it. Here, let me dig out the rest of the provisions. Perhaps later, we'll get lucky and stumble across a family of rabbits."
"Anythin' but deer," Aymer offered, and the men shared a hearty laugh.
It felt good to hear. If the men were in high spirits, that meant he was at least doing a good job as an effective and respected Laird. He had always hoped he would live up to his father's way of leading and had always been afraid he would fail to command the men's respect and loyalty, but that had not been so.
