Do I have a headache?No, nothing. Not even a twinge.
He rolled his shoulders, hoping for some ache or discomfort to talk about. Nothing.
They approached the forest, which was dark and gloomy at this time of night. The trees were silent, and there wasn’t a breath of wind in the air. That was unusual for this time of year. No owls hooted, no animals rustled through the undergrowth, and the chittering of insects had faded to nothing.
It felt almost as if the world was holding its breath. Again, Thomas had that strange feeling of being watched. He scratched at the back of his neck, which tingled as if someone was staring at him. He glanced behind, and of course, there was no one there.
Not for the first time, he wished he’d brought a couple of soldiers with him. But the idea of ruining his private time with his two friends, as close as real brothers, in their haven seemed sacrilegious.
The track here was by far the quickest way to get from the Sinner to Keep MacPherson, but it was too narrow and low for a horse and rider to go through together. Thomas would need to dismount and lead his horse through.
He did just that, his mind whirring. Distracted, a stone turned under his boot, and he went stumbling forward, his left arm out to save himself.
He grabbed a stinging nettle.
He yelped, scrambling upright and withdrawing his hand. He winced, glancing down at his palm. A reddish, raised rash was already spreading from the nettle sting. He eyed the bush of nettles with dislike, opening and closing his hand.
Then, the idea hit him.
“Oh, gods,” he groaned. “Is this really the only thing I can think of?”
Apparently, it was.
Delphine awoke with a start. She blinked around, eyes bleary, trying to work out what had awoken her. It was late. She could see the remains of their supper trays laid out on the table nearby. She was sitting in her usual seat by the roaring fire, a blankettucked around her knees. She stroked the blanket with her palm, smiling softly.
That would be Emma, always thoughtful, always kind. She’d been subdued today, and Delphine wondered why.
The knock came again, and Delphine realized that it was what had woken her.
“Emma?” she called, her voice hoarse and raspy.
Emma didn’t reply, and there was no sign of her. Frowning, Delphine wracked her mind to think of where her young apprentice might be. Something stuck in her mind that Emma was doingsomething, but she couldn’t quite remember what.
The curse of old age, she supposed. Her mind had once been as sharp as a blade. Now, it was rather… well, rather foggy.
It didn’t matter. Emma wasn’t coming and likely couldn’t hear her, so Delphine would have to answer the door. Hopefully, on the way, she’d remember where Emma was meant to be.
She levered herself slowly and painfully to her feet and hobbled towards the door. The rainy weather had played havoc with her twisted, stiff joints.
“Coming!” Delphine called. She repeated it several times but wouldn’t have been surprised to open the door and find no one there.
“Laird MacPherson,” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise. “It’s late. What’s the matter?”
She noticed that he had his left arm pressed to his chest, half-hidden under his plaid. He smelled of a cold night, a chilly waft of air circling around him.
“A wee bit of an incident, I’m afraid.” He grimaced. “Nothing to worry about. I was just hoping for a salve or something.”
“Ah. Well, come on in, and I’ll have a look.”
Delphine stepped back from the door, but Thomas didn’t follow her. He hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to look into the room behind her.
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to Emma. Is she around?”
“She’s sorting out some of the older jars in one of the storerooms,” Delphine replied, her memory supplying that fact just in time. A familiar relief spread over her, knowing that she’d finally remembered.
Thomas bit his lip. “I’d like to talk to her, if I can. I have something else to say to her.”
Delphine narrowed her eyes, and he fidgeted like a naughty child. “I know yer reputation, Laird MacPherson.”
