"It is true," Aiden said. "I have hoped more than anythin' that ye would reach me here in the village in time, Isla. I'm glad tha' ye know the truth now, as painful as it may be."
In truth, she was still reeling over the realization that her father, no, her uncle, had lied to her for so many years. She clutched the neckline of her dress, her fingers wringing the cotton as she sat on the wooden chair. It felt as though the entire world had shifted around her, as though everything that she knew of reality had turned on its head and left her grasping for something to cling to.
Her peace came in the form of Iain; he lifted up his hand to rest it against her back, silently telling her that everything would be fine, that he would be right behind her. She took a shaky breath in and let it out as quietly as she could manage.
"Are ye alrigh', lass?" Aiden asked. "I cannae imagine how ye mus' be feelin', though I cannae do much for ye, I admit."
"I dinnae what tae think," Isla said. One trembling hand had been brought to her lips, and then suddenly, she was struck by a realization that nearly left her gasping. "Iain, this must have been what yer dream meant! D'ye think that ‘tis possible?"
Iain looked mystified, his brown eyes wide and wondering, but he was nodding fervently. He reached over to grab both of her hands in his, clasping them tightly as though he would never let her go.
"It mus' be!" he exclaimed. "Isla, I've seen yer face nearly every night askin' me fer help... Fer both of our father's tae be killed by the same man... It can only be tha' the dream was tryin' tae tell me all this time. It was tryin' tae bring me closer tae you!"
Isla exhaled heavily, her skin tingling. It had to be true; there was no other explanation for it. For him to have seen her face for that long could only mean that a force of fate had been trying to push them together. It had been true that she would never have made it to Aiden without him; the bandits alone would have been the end of her.
Helen appeared a moment later with a small bowl of elderberries, offering them to she and Iain.
"But what about ye?" Isla asked. "What illness has struck ye so harshly? I hate tae see ye this way, Aiden."
Her old tutor glanced away; his eyes turned down towards the floor.
"Bleedin' o' the stomach," he said weakly. "I became the healer for the time tha' I could here. The village is too small, and hasnae had a healer for some time. I have tried tae teach Helen as much as I know, but there is no one tha' can search for the herbs needed tae ease the illness. There's a woman who sells flowers an' herbs, but she doesnae know what tae do with 'em. The illness has only gotten worse with time, and indeed it wouldnae even be fatal if I had, but the right herb tae cure it. 'Tis difficult to find in this area an' I am too weak tae go searchin' for it meself."
Isla thought for a long moment; the tutor was pale and holding his stomach as though it pained him greatly, even now. She stood and held a hand to his wrinkled forehead only to gasp in surprise at how hot he felt. He had a fever and was shaking in his quilts; it was no wonder he had requested the fireplace to be lit even with no chill in the air.
Isla's mind sorted through the illnesses and cures that she knew of. Her eyes lit up when she thought of the market woman and the herbs that she had been selling there; the yellow-flowered bloodroot may be just the thing the man needed. It did much to calm the pains of those suffering even from the most horrible of stomach diseases and sometimes even saved the lives of those who looked to be on the verge of death. She straightened; perhaps she could do some good here after all.
"Iain," she said. "Where did ye stow the bloodroot?
He gestured outside with his head, nodding towards the door. He was frowning in confusion, his eyes questioning her. A second later and he had realized what she meant to do.
"I tucked it in the rucksack," he said. "I'll go run for it righ' away."
Iain stood then and took long and urgent strides towards the door, only to return a moment later with the entire handful of flowers in his hand. Isla felt his eyes on her, and she steadied herself; he was trusting her to do what she knew best.
"Bloodroot," Aiden marveled. "But how did ye find such a thing?"
"Ask the flower seller at the market," Iain said. "She had a hefty supply o’ the root, and we bought the lot o' it.”
“It wouldnae have done him much good tae ask her,” Isla said at his side. “The old woman stumbled upon a small clearing of them in the forest. She said she only expects ‘em tae last until the end o’ the autumn season.”
“Thank the fates ye wandered by, then,” Aiden said. “I’m glad tae see ye at least know a valuable an’ useful remedy when ye spy one.”
Helen's home did have a mortar and pestle, though it looked dusty and unused. Healing was truly not an art that everyone had the privilege of being taught, and to Isla, it was a terrible shame. If Helen had known about the bloodroot being sold just down the path, perhaps the young woman would have been able to aid Aiden much quicker. Aiden himself had no idea just how close his salve was; it was, as he said, difficult to find growing in the area. She supposed that the man had simply given up hope and had just been waiting for the sickness to take him.
Isla wiped the dust out of the mortar with the edge of her dress and cut off the ends of the roots with a knife Helen gave her. She crushed the plants up as best as she could, working the pestle against the mortar. The sound of stone sliding against stone filled the small cottage, and after a few moments, the root was a mushy paste that smelled strongly.
She passed the bowl to Aiden, who scooped the pulpy mixture and swallowed as much as he could of it. The old man winced from the taste but did not complain and ingested as much as he could.
"Just this one dose won' be enough tae cure the disease completely," Isla said. "I'm afraid tha' it's much too far gone for tha'. If ye continue tae take it, though, I dinnae think tha' it'll be too late tae save yer life. Ye should ask the market woman where she found the bloodroot; surely there's more where tha' came from."
"Aye," Iain agreed. "I'm willin' tae bet tha' yer right. Ye've proven yerself more than capable in the art o' healin'. Tutor, if ye have anythin' tae do with tha', ye should be proud o' yerself."
She met his eyes then, a smile on her face. What she found there was pure trust and love like she'd never known before, and not only that but pride as well. He held his hand out to her, and she took it happily as he pulled her into an embrace.
The news she had received today had twisted her world into something new and unnatural to her, but at least she had Iain by her side. He was steadfast, true, and brave in a way that made her feel more than safe. She was untouchable and protected, guarded by this warrior of a man who held her in such high regard and in such a tender place in his heart.
If anything, she felt stronger and more supported than ever she had before. Her heart had been broken by the Robertson Laird's treachery, but if any man could mend it, it was Iain MacThomas.
