Despite the apprehension hollowing her belly over how he would judge what he found, Aftyn found herself watching his hands, not what he touched. He moved with grace and assurance. No trace remained of the limp she’d noticed the other night. She could imagine his hands touching her the way he touched the things in her herbal. The thought made her blood heat and tingles spread from her chest to her fingertips. She forced herself to ignore those feelings and concentrate on why she and Jamie were here. She had no doubt he knew exactly how to use each of those dried-up greens, and how to prepare them. Finally, he ceased his inspection and faced her.
“How long ago did ye lose yer mother?”
Aftyn cringed. He could probably guess from the state of the place. “Nearly two years gone.”
“I can tell that in the age of much of what I see. Most will have to be discarded. There are a few things that may remain useful, but only a few.”
“I made new batches of the ones I kenned how to prepare.” Aftyn’s heart sank. As she’d expected, the rest had gone to waste.
“Aye, of course,” he answered, his gaze sweeping the chamber yet again.
“Who looks after this if ye are not here? There are dangerous preparations, even some plants, that bairns should never go near.”
He was a healer, after all, and a man. What man noticed dust and spiderwebs? “Any of those that remain are out of reach of wee fingers. The clan respected my mother’s skills and did not intrude. I expected that forbearance to continue, and it has.”
And the rest? How was she supposed to replace the potions in the entire herbal in the few days Jamie would remain? She fingered the fresh herbs he’d bargained for. She knew a few by name, none by function. This was hopeless.
“I fear ye wasted yer coin,” she told him. “There’s too much to replace, too much for me to learn, and ye will soon leave.”
“We’ll set this to rights as best we can, and I will write down all of it. Ye can read?”
“Aye. I have my mother’s journal…”
“Ye do?” His eyes widened. “Let me see it.”
Aftyn wanted to warn him, but decided he would understand better if he saw it himself. She left him to continue exploring and retrieved the journal from her sleeping chamber. “It is not very useful,” she told him when she returned. “She used terms I dinna ken, symbols and such I have yet to be able to puzzle out, that she didna teach me.”
While she talked, Jamie turned pages, occasionally running one finger down her mother’s crabbed writing, as if that might make it easier to understand.
He nodded. “Some of this, I can follow, some will take some thought. But much of what ye need is here.”
“Not in any form I’ve been able to use.” Her frustration turned to embarrassment, then anger. She fought back the tears that still came all too easily when she dealt with anything to do with her mother. “She taught me simple cures, and stitching wounds, which I’m good at,” she added, needing him to hear at least that small point of pride in her voice, “but she wanted to wait until I was older for many of the more difficult or dangerous preparations, so she never explained the symbols she used.”
“We’ll work on it. This journal may save time,” Jamie said, clearly unaware of her distress.
She gave a choked laugh. “It has wasted plenty of mine up to now.”
He looked up then and met her gaze. He must have noticed the sheen in her eyes that she fought to keep from slipping down her cheeks. He touched her sleeve, never taking his gaze from hers, and told her, “We’ll change that, together.”
He sounded so sincere. Did he truly mean he would spend the time he had left here to help her? “But Niall…”
“Niall is much better. I dinna need to spend all my time with him. Do ye no’ want my help?”
Perhaps she would not have to embarrass herself by explaining how little esteem her father held for her, and how much at risk she remained. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and thank him, but she didn’t dare. She opened her mouth to speak.
His gaze dropped to her lips.
Heat sizzled along her veins at the desire in his eyes. What did he think? That she would repay him that way? She took a breath and moved away from him. She gathered her courage, cleared her throat and told him, “Of course I want yer help. I need it.”
He pursed his lips, crossed his arms and glanced around. “Do ye ken where Neve is?”
“Aye, she went home.”
“Fetch her and we’ll make a start.”
6
Later that afternoon, Jamie finished the last of a thin lamb stew in the village post house public room, and pushed the bowl away. The Aerie’s cook could do better on her worst day, but he couldn’t complain. The stew filled his belly and gave him something to do while he waited. He’d promised the Keith laird to do what he could for the village while he remained. Having a meal at the pub where the villagers gathered would help spread news of his presence. He glanced down at the simple robe he wore. It resembled a low-level cleric’s garb, and he always wore it over tunic and trews when he went into a village. His satchel of herbs and poultices sat on the floor by his booted feet. He could use them when called for without breaking his vow. Niall was resting easily, Aftyn and Neve were still busy in the herbal, so Jamie took this opportunity to be approachable. Anyone sick or injured would hear and, he expected, seek help, but no one had asked for him yet.
