Niall nodded, his expression grim. “Very well. Ye must be tired. Ye need no’ sit with me. Rabbie will be in soon.”
“I should examine your leg.”
“Nay.” Niall shook his head. “’Tis healing well. Go to yer rest, lass.”
Why didn’t he want her to see his leg? Aftyn had no reason to be suspicious of him. But something in his manner put her off. “I am tired,” she admitted. Too tired to wrestle him to the ground and remove the wrapping from his leg. “But I must speak with the laird first.” She stood. “Take care moving about, Niall. Ye dinna want to tear open yer wound.”
“I will. Thank ye.”
She nodded and headed for the laird’s solar, where her father spent most of his time. He sat at his desk, reading, but looked up as she entered and set aside his papers.
“Aftyn.” He addressed her in his usual disinterested tone. “How fares the abbey?”
There was no “How are ye, daughter” to be had from this man. She expected none. She took the seat he indicated and told him about the damage to the kirk’s roof and the injured men. “None of ours.”
He nodded and put a hand on the papers he’d been reading when she entered, as if ready to return to them. “I will ride over soon to speak to the abbot and offer our assistance in rebuilding.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate yer offer,” Aftyn told him and stood, taking his comment for dismissal.
“Everyone is returned?”
“All but the Lathan healer and two of his men. Rabbie and our men returned with me. Neve will follow soon.” She didn’t want to tell him that Neve remained behind because of Hamish.
The laird leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands. “And what did the Lathan healer do there?”
So that was what he truly wanted to know. What Jamie had done. Not how she and Neve had helped. “Mostly he tended a priest who was badly burned as the kirk’s roof collapsed. Neve and I cared for the rest.”
“So the man he tended still lives despite his injuries?” The gleam in his eye betrayed the first true interest he'd shown.
“And is improving. The abbot calls it a miracle he survives, and that no others took worse hurts.” The minute the words left her mouth, she wished she could pull them back. She'd just made her father even more interested in the Lathan healer. Clearly, he had no interest in anything she and Neve had contributed, how many wounded they'd tended, or what else might have happened while they were there. She’d hoped when she told him they'd tended the rest, he might ask what they’d been called upon to do. If he'd showed any interest at all, she would have been proud to tell him how much they’d learned, and used that knowledge in caring for the abbey's brothers.
“Indeed. Perhaps I’ll make that visit sooner than I planned. Very well. Go to yer rest.”
Aftyn escaped her father’s presence before he could comment that even with the little he'd asked her to describe, if the abbey no longer needed her services, they must not be worth much.
* * *
Jamie lookedup as Fearchar entered the chamber he’d shared with the burned priest for the past two days.
Fearchar closed the door behind him. “How is he?”
Jamie shrugged. “I’ve kept him in a light healing sleep, both for the pain and deep enough to encourage the repair his body needs, but not so deep that he canna drink as much as we can give him. I got him to sit up and eat a little.”
“That’s amazing. The blisters on his face are nearly gone, too.”
“If I took them away completely, that wouldha been noticed. They’ll last only another few days, and they willna pain him. Once he is well enough to leave his care to others, I will remove the healing sleep. The man will remember nought of these days since the fire.”
“Surely that will be counted as a blessing by all who care about him.”
“Have ye seen aught of the abbot yet today?” The greatest danger Jamie faced came from the well-intentioned abbot, who insisted on seeing his man every day. Jamie could not deny him, but Bhaltair and Fearchar stood sentinel at the door and were masterful at delaying the cleric until Jamie covered the burned man’s injuries and opened the door. The abbot seemed satisfied that his priest continued to breathe well and sleep, claiming healing rest was God’s blessing. Jamie didn’t argue. He might be right, though he couldn’t know the kind of healing rest his priest benefitted from. The talent that ran in Jamie’s family came from somewhere. His mother had never speculated, simply accepting that her ability came from her mother and grandmother and on through the generations. The abbot’s explanation was as good as any.
“He was having his midday meal when I left the hall. He’ll be here soon, I think.”
“I’ll be ready.” Jamie lifted the covering and showed Fearchar the man’s hand. Muscle tissue now plumped the flesh that just days ago had been exposed tendon and bone, and shiny pink skin edged in red, extended from his palm onto each finger.
“I didna think ye could do that,” Fearchar told him, eyes wide. “He canna ken the debt he owes ye.”
“Nay, he canna ken.” Jamie shook his head and dropped the cover over the hand. “Never. He owes me nought. He took honorable—but foolish—action to save a relic of great value to the abbey. He might have died there.”
