“Hmm. Well, come on and eat breakfast, lassie.”
Emma followed Delphine into the main room and saw with shame that the pot of porridge was already bubbling over a good fire. With a flash of guilt, she imagined the frail Delphine hauling the heavy pot into place over the fire. After a few near misses of burns and scalds, Emma had quietly but firmly taken over the business of cooking.
“I have patients to see in the Keep today,” Delphine said, lowering herself into her usual seat with a wince of pain. “I was going to take ye with me, but…”
“I can still come. Honestly, Delphine, I—”
“Nay, nay, lass,” Delphine said firmly. “There’s work to be done here. Medicines to be prepared, and so on. My hands are too old and frail to do all that, so I’ll leave ye to do that.”
Emma bit her lip and said nothing, spooning two portions of porridge.
The truth was that she intended to be the Chief Healer one day. No day soon, of course. She would never—andcouldnever—take the position from Delphine. But being a healer’s apprentice did not guarantee that you would take their position whenever it was left vacant. Emma needed to be visible, somebody the officials and nobles in the Keep trusted with their health, as well as the peasants and common folk out in the crofts and fields. There were still people in the Keep who politely but firmly requested Delphine to attend them rather than Emma.
She would never gain their trust if she spent her time grinding herbs and powders in the Chambers. Not, of course, that Delphine meant any harm. She probably just wanted Emma to rest—she was a kind woman.
“I’d like to stay busy,” Emma said carefully, setting out the two bowls of porridge and taking her seat opposite.
That was true in more ways than one. The thought of spending all day alone with her thoughts was a recipe for disaster because a certain handsome, infuriating laird would undoubtedly come creeping in.
She couldn’t tell Delphine that, of course.
“Ye will be, I promise.” Delphine chuckled, scooping a spoon of porridge into her mouth. “I’ve left a list of medicines we’re running low on, as well as the herbs ye will need to prepare them.”
“Aye, very well.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Emma kept her gaze on her porridge, conscious of Delphine’s eyes on her. The older woman was no fool. Quite the opposite, after decades as an experienced Keep Healer. She could read a room and a face just as easily as she could interpret a set of symptoms.
Delphine had once said that gut feelings were more than justfeelings. The intricacies of a human gut were a huge, complex thing, and Delphine had gone as far as to compare it to a second brain.Thatdidn’t seem right to Emma, but she trusted Delphine and her expertise.
“If yer gut tells ye something, for the sake of all the gods,listen, lass,” Delphine had said once after a patient’s drunk, violent husband had come home unexpectedly and burst into irrational rage at seeing the healers tend to his wife’s wounds, wounds that he himself had caused.
Emma hadn’t quite understood the connection, only that Delphine had certainly seemed more prepared for the violent fool than anyone else.
“Are ye sure that everything is well with ye, lassie?” Delphine asked, cutting into Emma’s thoughts.
Emma glanced up from her porridge, forcing a smile. Delphine’s gaze narrowed.
“Aye, of course. As I said, Delphine, I am just tired.”
Delphine didn’t look convinced. Far from it, but she only sighed and shook her head and resumed eating her porridge.
Emma paused in her grinding to wipe sweat from her brow. She was using the largest pestle and mortar, which was a vast, ancient granite bowl with a pestle the size of a forearm. She couldn’t lift it herself and had to enlist two soldiers to lift the thing from a shelf in the corner to the main table.
The morning was well alone, and bright sunlight streamed in through the vast glass windows, making the chamber too hot. She sweated over the pestle and mortar, grinding up large quantities of newt’s eye seeds and dog’s-tongue, carefully scraping out the precious powder into vials and jars to be used later. It was hard work but not quite enough to keep her thoughts occupied.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Coming,” she called, replacing the pestle and wiping the sheen of greenish powder from her hands onto her apron. She moved towards the door, but it opened before she could reach it.
She stopped dead. Thomas stood in the doorway.
For a moment, there was silence between them. She was sure, just for an instant, that his face was open and nervous, with no trace of his habitual self-confidence.
Then, the instant was gone, and Thomas flashed her a smirk.
It was both infuriating and alluring, and Emma hated both of those emotions.
“How can I help ye, Me Laird?” she asked frostily.
