The Keith frowned at the pair. “Women lose bairns all the time. And their own lives. Why seek remedy for this one?”
“’Twas the only son I’ve been able to bear for my husband,” Agatha said, softly, perhaps realizing the laird was not yet on her side. “His heir. Now he has none. She didna save him. Perhaps she even hastened his death.”
Aftyn gasped and tensed as the Keith’s frown turned in her direction. She did not kill their son. But Agatha’s accusation could turn the village against her.
“We are no’ unsympathetic to yer loss, and we are aware of this apprentice’s shortcomings.”
Apprentice! So that was how he still saw her. Did he also see her shortcomings still existed because of him?
“We will discover whether an experienced healer can be found,” the laird announced, frowning in her direction.
At that promise, Aftyn went cold. An experienced healer cared for Niall upstairs right now.
“What will ye do about her? She’s no’ fit to care for sheep.” Agatha stood straighter and looked more defiantly at Aftyn, now that the laird had expressed agreement with her claims.
Aftyn didn’t know how much more of this slander she could take. Yet she could not leave. If she ran from the hall, she would confirm Agatha’s tale. Thank goodness Braden remained at her side.
“What would ye have me do?”
“She took my son from me. Banish her!” Agatha snarled.
Aftyn paled. Braden took her hand and squeezed it. She glanced aside. His expression took her breath away. His brow furrowed and his lips compressed, he seemed to watch Agatha’s theatrics with real concern.
“And leave the clan with an assistant apprentice of even less skill? How many more of yer clan do ye want to die?”
Agatha’s shoulders dropped, as did her gaze. “I think only of what will be best for the clan.”
“So, ye think only of what is best for the clan? It seems ye seek to replace no’ only the apprentice, but the laird as well.” His fists hit the arms of his chair and he pushed up to rise.
Agatha’s husband chose that moment to bow and then pull his wife away from the laird. “Nay, laird. My wife still suffers from the loss. Dinna mind what she says.” He pulled her out of the hall. The laird dropped back into his seat. His gaze locked with Aftyn’s and he jerked his head. She understood his gesture. Agatha’s accusation against her embarrassed him.
Conversations erupted into a wall of noise. Gazes all around the hall turned to her. Aftyn knew from the heat in her cheeks that her face had reddened.
“I must leave,” she hissed to Braden, who still held her hand.
“Ye must stay,” Braden hissed back. “Hold yer head up. Ye didna kill the bairn. Show them.”
Aftyn forced herself to stand tall. But inside, her chest hurt and her belly filled with ice. Agatha’s tale was damning enough. She did not want to imagine what the laird would have done to her this day if Niall had also died under her questionable care. Guilt filled her that she hadn’t been able to do more. And anger that her father refused to send her somewhere to get the training she needed. That his clan needed, as Agatha had just reminded him.
If the Lathan healer told Niall what she’d nearly cost him, she would be disgraced. And if he told the laird? Nay, she would not consider that. The best she could hope for was to be ostracized by the clan. More likely, despite what he promised her for saving his only son, the laird would have banished her. And she knew full well a woman alone did not stand a good chance of survival. How long did she have?
What would the laird do now?
* * *
Jamie came awakeat the sound of the chamber door opening. Rabbie winced and held up a hand. “Sorry. I hoped not to wake ye, but I need my sword. Neve and I are going riding.”
Jamie glanced at the window. The sun’s angle told him midday had arrived. “Neve? She isna with Niall? Ye were to have replaced Aftyn in his chamber long before now.”
“I havena seen Aftyn, but Neve did. Hours ago. I just looked in on them. Niall is still sleeping.”
“Then I must see to him. Who is with him now?”
Bhaltair entered with a nod to Rabbie. “Fearchar is with him. Ye must have more to eat and drink, and perhaps some fresh air before ye go to Niall.”
Jamie grimaced, flipped the covers aside, and swung his legs off of the bed. Standing, he still felt lightheaded and his heart raced, vestiges of the poison in Niall’s blood. But his leg no longer hurt, though it didn’t quite feel as it should.
He’d fallen into bed fully dressed. He needed everything Bhaltair mentioned, but first, a bath.
