The sun’s rays made her hair shine under the light. The locks seemed longer now, just past the girl’s chin. Elsy wondered if Scott would let her plait her hair one day.Scott would look lovely,she thought, imagining the little girl with her hair tied back, in a pretty blue dress.
“Oh, there are many,” said Elsy, her breath coming out in pants as the path led up hill. “We could find lavender, mint, garlic, and a variety of others. Most can be used in a tea, and others can be eaten.”
“Are they difficult to find?” Scott asked, her pace slowing as she drew closer to the top of the hill.
Elsy frowned. “Well, it depends. A good healer grows most of their herbs in their garden.”
“But what if yer not a healer?”
Elsy inhaled deeply as she reached the top of the hill, a smile taking hold of her as she looked around at the vast meadow. A small garden rested below, overgrown by weeds. Elsy grabbed Scott’s shoulder, pulling her close as she pointed at the garden before them.
“Many castles have gardens that cooks take their provisions from. The herbs ye can usually find for healing, ye can find there.”
Scott’s eyes brightened and she wrenched from Elsy’s hand, running down the hill and toward the garden. Elsy laughed as she watched Scott. The young girl’s excitement was contagious. She slowly followed Scott, worried she would disappear completely into the undergrowth.
Elsy frowned as she entered the garden, squeezing past bushes and pushing away tall, green plants, far too overgrown. “Scott?” she called; her voice tinged with worry. She couldn’t see Scott. She was too far ahead. “Scott?”
“I’m here.”
Elsy jumped, letting out a small cry as she found Scott crouched low and peeking out from a large bush. Elsy clutched her chest, her heart pounding in her throat. “Ye frightened me, Scotty,” she said while taking Scott’s hand and helping her up.
Elsy wanted to scold the girl for worrying her, but all was forgotten when Scott asked, “Did ye have a garden like this when ye were living as a lady?”
Elsy blinked, her memories taking her to dark places as she thought of McCormick Castle. She recalled the dark halls, the downcast looks of the servants, the guards always watching her. She remembered the battlements, the stone surrounding her, locking her inside, the high towers.
“Nae,” she whispered while slowly lowering herself to the ground, not caring about soiling her dress. She grimaced as she recalled looking out the windows, seeing the meadows, the forests, the gardens she was never permitted to venture to. “I did not.”
“Then how do ye know so much?” Scott asked, sitting next to her. She reached for a leaf, pinching it between her fingers before letting it go. Her eyes stared curiously at the pink and yellow flowers around them.
Elsy smiled, warmth blooming in her as she remembered her father, the gentle way he had handled the flowers in their garden, his quiet mannerisms. “I learned everything from my father,” Elsy said with a smile. “He was a healer.”
“And did he have a garden?”
Elsy nodded. “Aye, he did. A beautiful one. We spent most our mornings together in the garden. I would pick the herbs while he would water them. Sometimes, I would catch him speaking with the flowers.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Speaking to the flowers? How odd. Why would he do such a thing?”
Elsy chuckled. “He once told me that plants are the most wonderful listeners, and to speak to them or sing to them will help them grow.”
Scott made a face. “Tis not the truth, is it?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Elsy said with a shrug. “But it never hurt.” Elsy sighed as she looked around at the garden, at the weeds and the ivy growing along the ground, at the flowers, their heads hanging rather than gazing up at the sun. “This place wouldn’t be so bad, if it simply had a bit more love and care.” She reached for the primrose growing nearby, holding its pink head gently and breathing in its floral scent.
“Are they for healing?” Scott asked while nodding at the flower.
“Aye,” Elsy said with a nod. “My father taught me that nearly every plant can be used for healing. Including the poisonous ones.”
Scott’s eyes widened. “Truly?”
Elsy’s smile dipped as she thought of her father, wishing he could be with her. He was such a kind man, different from most fathers. It had only been them, given her mother passed away shortly after Elsy was born. And her father, unlike many others, had taken on the duty of fatherhood as if it was the greatest honor. She sniffed, turning her face away from Scott to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“My father taught me everything I needed to know about healing,” Elsy said, swallowing a sob and forcing a smile for Scott. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh scent around her as she closed her eyes. “Sometimes, it’s difficult for me to think of him. He died shortly after Connell left the MacArthur clan, and not long after that I was told of Connell’s passing. Too much loss in such a short amount of time. My heart,” Elsy paused, inhaling deeply to keep herself from crying, “it nearly shattered.”
“But Connell isn’t dead.”
Elsy’s eyes opened at Scott’s words, finding the girl watching her with a knowing look. “I suppose yer right,” Elsy said uncertainly. “He is not dead.”
“So ye don’t have to mourn his loss,” said Scott as she rose from the ground, looking around at the flowers and herbs. “Yer not all alone. Not when ye have me and him around to keep ye company.”
Scott glanced over her shoulder, smiling brightly at Elsy. Elsy found the look contagious, and she smiled as she rose, gripping the basket in her hands. “Come,” she said as she ushered Scott forward. “Let me teach ye about the healing properties of mint and lavender. Both can be made into a fine tea.”
As Elsy walked through the garden, teaching Scott the importance of mint, that it was used to help with fever and stomach pain, she couldn’t help but think of Connell. Again, he was hunting in the wood, and she couldn’t help but think he was avoiding her.
These past four years, she had thought him dead and now he was here, a ghost risen from the battle grounds, haunting her in this dark fortress with its crumbling halls and overgrown gardens. She knew of ghosts. There were elderly women in the village who spoke of them when she was a little girl, younger than Scott. She recalled the women telling her that they rose to seek vengeance during the nights of the blood red moon only to return to their graves once light graced the lands.
Connell had no grave. Yet, at the same time, he was more of a ghost than she had ever seen: his need for vengeance, his dismal view on life, his need to remain in the past rather than carry on with the rest of them. Elsy didn’t know if she could bring him back to the world of the living, but she knew she needed to try. She was a healer. There had to be a way to heal his heart, to heal his soul. Unfortunately, for her, she didn’t know which tea she needed to brew for Connell’s soul to return to his body.
