“He’s damn lucky ye were nearby.”
The door opened and Bhaltair leaned his head in. “The abbot is on his way.”
Jamie nodded. “Send him in.”
When the abbot asked, Jamie gave him an edited version of the state of the man’s injuries, continuing to make light of the burns he’d treated. Then he reminded him that his priest needed rest. Jamie was loath to reveal the hand that had held the crucifix quite yet. In another day, he’d awaken the man and work with him to ensure the new flesh he’d given him would let him regain the use of it.
Without Jamie’s healing touch, his ruined hand would not have mattered. He would have died, but that truth could not be shared, no matter how devoutly the abbot believed in miracles. He might also believe in witches.
The abbot prayed over them as he usually did and thanked Jamie for his devotion. He turned to leave the chamber when an acolyte reached the doorway. “The Keith laird is here to speak with ye, Abbot. I placed him in yer study.”
“Thank ye. I’ll be there in a moment. See that ye offer him our best wine.”
“Aye.” The lad left.
The abbot turned to Jamie. “Come with me, lad.”
To meet with the Keith? Nay. He did not want a repeat of his earlier interview with him. “I should remain with my patient.”
“Ye have taken such care of him that he willna miss ye for a few moments.”
Jamie knew when he was outranked. “Verra well.” He gestured toward the door and followed the abbot out, stopping long enough to ask Fearchar to remain within the chamber and fetch him if his patient needed him.
Laird Keith rose when they entered the abbot’s study and bowed over the cleric’s hand. “I am here to see how else my clan may aid ye,” the laird said.
“Yer men, and yer healers have already done so much. The injured are getting well, and yer men assist my young men with rebuilding the kirk’s roof. I canna think of anything else ye might offer us. Ye have been generous.”
“I will give ye any aid ye need,” the laird repeated.
“I ask only the boon of this healer for a few more days,” he said and smiled at Jamie. “He’s been a godsend for my most grievously injured man.”
Laird Keith glanced at Jamie, a speculative gleam in his eye that immediately put Jamie on his guard. The abbot’s praise had only served to increase the Keith’s interest in him.
“I will leave that up to ye, healer Lathan. I’m aware yer man Niall is doing well enough without ye. But we look forward to welcoming ye back to the Keith keep when ye feel yer job here is done. Those of my people ye treated still require yer care.”
“I understand the healer Aftyn returned to ye recently,” the abbot interjected.
“Aye, but she hasna the skill this man possesses, and we have our own grievous injured and ill who need his care.”
“I feel I owe ye a boon for putting our needs ahead of yer own,” the abbot began.
“Not I,” the Keith answered, “but perhaps the healers and my clansmen who still aid ye.”
That comment surprised Jamie. It sounded very unlike the laird Jamie had met, but perhaps the abbot’s benevolent presence had inspired the Keith’s generosity.
“Indeed. I will offer the highest honor I am able, and hear their confessions personally,” the abbot said.
Surprised, Jamie frowned. He’d never heard of a senior cleric hearing confession of anyone other than junior clerics. Certainly not members of the flock tended by those junior clerics. But it didn’t matter. Jamie had no plans to take him up on the honor he offered. If all went well, he and his men would be on the way back to the Aerie in two days. Three at the most. Leaving Aftyn behind, if she still refused to come with him. That thought didn’t set well.
13
In the great hall, Aftyn sat with Braden for the midday meal. Jamie was at the abbey, and so was the laird. Since the Lathans had arrived, she’d had little chance to share a meal with Braden in the hall, and though she ached to spend time with Jamie, their father’s absence lightened both their moods.
“The horses Da traded for in Crieff have arrived,” Braden told her, pleasure shining in his gaze. “Ye ken the age of most of our stable. Younger, stronger mounts will give us an advantage for years to come.”
“So ye are already planning how ye’ll run the clan and the keep, aye?” Aftyn teased. “Right down to the horses in our stable.”
“They’re important!” Braden insisted. “If cats and kittens were important, I’d plan for them, too.”
