Arran did not respond as his brother caught up with him. “I knew ye weren’t dead!” he said. “I knew ye were strong enough tae survive.”
“Not alone,” the healer muttered loud enough for Arran to hear.
“Aye,” he replied, feeling her start of surprise. “I wouldnae hae survived without the healer’s touch.”
“And this is how ye show yer gratitude,” she said, causing Arran to grin.
Malcolm let out a bark of laughter. “Well now, Brother, it seems ye had an interesting time on yer hands. I cannae wait tae see how this ends.”
Neither could Arran.
It wasn’t long before the keep came into view, and Arran drew in a cleansing breath. His body aches and the weariness all disappeared as he rode through the village of his people, seeing their shocked expressions as they realized that their laird had come back to them.
It wasn’t until he had reached the keep that his throat closed with emotion as his ma came flying out of the front entrance, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mah son!” she cried as Arran slid from the horse’s back to catch her in his arms. “Ye are alive!”
“Aye,” Arran replied, hugging her close, his eyes wet with tears. He had thought he would never see her again.
“Arran,” his uncle replied, clapping him on the shoulder as his ma clung to him. “I knew ye wouldnae die easily. I knew ye would come home.”
He gave his uncle a nod in agreement. “Now, we must prepare for war.”
His uncle chuckled. “First ye need a warm bath and a bed. McDougal isnae going tae storm this keep while ye get a few hours rest.”
“Who’s this?”
Arran followed his ma’s gaze and saw the healer watching the reunion, an unreadable expression on her face. “This is mah prisoner, the healer from the McDougal keep.”
“Ye took a healer?” she asked, her eyes widening.
Arran rubbed the back of his neck. “Aye, I did.”
The healer snorted, and his ma looked up at the woman once more. “Well, she deserves a warm bath and bed just as much as ye do. Come, healer, let me show ye some compassion.”
“Ma,” Arran started, but the healer was already sliding off the horse and following the former lady to the keep.
“Come,” his uncle stated. “Let’s get some whiskey in ye!”
A little while later, Arran sat before the large fireplace in the great hall, his booted feet crossed at the ankles and a dram of whiskey in his hand. He had told his uncle everything that had happened, not leaving out one moment of what he had endured, and now the men sat silent, the weight of loss still heavy on Arran’s shoulders.
“I failed them,” he said softly. “I failed mah men.”
“Those men would have followed ye regardless, lad,” the older man sighed. “They were not doing anything that they didnae want tae do.”
Arran sighed. “If it wasnae for the healer, I wouldnae be here.” And now he had her as his prisoner.
Uncle Fergus chuckled. “I’m not so sure that’s just a healer. She looks mighty familiar, like she has McDougal blood in her.”
“Wot?”
The older man took a swig of his whiskey, smacking his lips together before answering the question. “She’s a McDougal, aye. I dinnae know why she’s posing as a healer, but I knew McDougal’s ma, and that woman looks just like her.”
Arran frowned. “She’s far too old.”
His uncle chuckled again. “Nay, there’s nothing old about that girl. Look at her eyes.”
“She’s a witch then,” Arran continued. He, too, had noticed that there seemed to be a youthfulness about the healer.
“Nay, that’s an old tale,” Uncle Fergus responded. “Something is amiss about yer healer there. Heed mah words. Wot were ye planning tae do with her anyway?”
