“That and saving his life were my purpose in coming here.”
Aftyn clamped down on the sympathy she felt for him, but walked to him and studied his eyes. Bloodshot, as she knew they would be. “My purpose, too,” she told him, “but I couldna. He’s so much better. How did ye…?”
“My methods are my own, lass.” He took a deep breath and straightened away from the door. “There is much more he needs me to do for him, but I’ve done all I can for today.”
“More?” She had studied the wound. Surely it would heal on its own now.
Jamie shrugged. “We’ll be here a sennight, I think, before he’ll be strong enough to travel.” He moved carefully past her and began packing away his tools and medicines.
He seemed wrung out, but something else had changed. Was he limping or just exhausted? She didn’t recall him having trouble walking last night, but perhaps she’d been so upset, she hadn’t noticed anything but the derision he directed at her. Nay, she recalled thinking he moved like a wolf on the prowl. Now he moved more like the wolf’s injured prey.
Bhaltair arrived with a tray covered with bread, cheese, and a large pitcher. He glanced at Aftyn. “Are ye ready, Jamie?” His gaze, when it shifted to Jamie, changed to one of concern. “Fearchar is in the great hall. Rabbie is up and will be here soon, so ye may rest in his chamber.”
“Aye.” Jamie picked up his bag, then turned back to Aftyn. “I’ll ask ye to remove the soiled rags, and have some of the lads help ye change the bedding. Ye ken how to do that, aye, without moving him from the bed or touching the wound?”
“Of course. I’m no’ completely ignorant.”
“I never said ye were, lass,” Jamie answered on a tired sigh.
If he didn’t look so done in, she’d tell him to go to the Devil. Instead, she clenched her jaw. “Actually, I believe ye did.”
Jamie shook his head and moved toward the door. “I’m sorry, lass. I must go. I’ll speak with ye later.”
She watched him with a critical eye. Hewaslimping. And trying to hide it.
Jamie winced as he joined Bhaltair at the door. He gestured toward the bed and met her gaze. “Stay with him till Rabbie arrives, aye? And tell him to fetch me if Niall becomes agitated or wakes.”
With that, he left, Bhaltair at his side. Before they stepped out of sight, Aftyn got a glimpse of Bhaltair struggling not to drop the tray and putting a supporting arm around Jamie’s back as he sagged.
4
Early the next morning, Aftyn stood in the great hall for the monthly gathering where the laird heard complaints and decided issues brought to him by members of the clan. Important members of the clan, including the war chief, the council, and others the laird invited, always attended, lined up on either side of the approach to the laird’s seat, which he placed at the far end of the great hall from the doorway. The Keith believed in showing strength, even to his own clan members. Even before they reached him, some might think twice about airing their complaints.
As the clan’s healer, Aftyn’s mother had been included among the clan’s eminent members, so after her death, Aftyn continued to appear in her place. The laird ignored her.
“Ye dinna have to stay,” Braden reminded her, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard.
“Ye ken why I do,” Aftyn answered him in kind. “As long as ye stand by me, I will remain. Even if ye dinna.”
“And as long as Da refuses to acknowledge ye, I will remain to show the clan that someday, I will.”
They’d started each judgement day the same way for nearly two years. It hurt her heart that Braden risked their father’s displeasure by his show of support for her, but she appreciated it more than she could say.
The morning continued as had many others, with the Keith deciding ownership of three lambs claimed by one crofter and claimed to have been stolen by another. Several more of a similar nature followed. He directed the war chief to take aside a crofter complaining about the theft of cattle from his farm at the edge of Keith territory. If reivers were abroad, at least that tale might have been interesting, but the man now waited quietly behind the war chief for the laird to dismiss them. Aftyn fought to appear alert, glad she was standing. Seated, she feared she would have fallen asleep by now.
Then Agatha, who ran the post house, and her husband, the village stable master, walked forward.
Aftyn’s pulse spiked and she became painfully alert. The woman glared at her as she passed. Braden glanced at her and frowned, then turned his gaze back to the laird. They both knew what brought Agatha here. And it was not to sing Aftyn’s praises.
“Laird, ye must find the clan a competent healer.”
“Must I?”
Those two words, softly spoken, gave Aftyn hope. Her father did not take kindly to being told what to do. Agatha had begun her complaint at a disadvantage.
“That one,” Agatha said and gestured in Aftyn’s direction, “let my son die not a fortnight past. I stand before ye, humbled and heartbroken over the loss of my wee bairn.” She sniffed, then she elbowed the man at her side.
“As do I,” her husband added, then cleared his throat.
