“How have…how will I…” Suddenly he didn’t want to know what had gone before, while he slept.
“I’ll have someone see to ye, and check on ye myself, often. Dinna fash, lad. All will be well.”
Calum heard her words but they faded into a well of sound, as if she moved far away from him, under the whistling instead of in front of it. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her back, but she’d said not to stir. So instead, he faded away, too.
“Dinna go in,”the healer, who waited for Ella outside Calum’s door, told her. “He sleeps again and we must speak.” She gestured to move away, down the hall.
Ella frowned at her, then set the heavy tray she carried on the hallway floor as the woman closed the door to Calum’s chamber. “About what?”
The older woman took her arm and led her toward the stairs she’d just climbed. “Now that he’s awake, he doesna want ye to care for him, to see him…” She paused and frowned at the door. “The way he is now.”
“But…”
“Ye are no’ married and he has intimate needs unfit for a lass no’ his wife or servant.”
“I’m well aware.” Ella canted her head, wondering if the healer had forgotten who’d taken care of those needs since he’d been brought home. Or if Calum was too insensible to recall that she’d been stolen from Munro and married to a Ross against her will. She was well schooled about men’s bodies. “I dinna care about that. I care about him.”
“I ken ye do, lass. Ye havena left his side since he was carried in and put into his bed. ’Tis glad I am to ken ye return his affection. But now he’s awake and uncomfortable with ye tending him…” She shrugged. “I’ll do as he asked and find a lad or a serving wench.”
“Nay!”
“What would ye have me do, lass? He refuses yer care. I canna spend all my time with him. Others need my skills, too.”
“Aye, I ken it.” Ella crossed her arms and leaned against the wall at her back, thinking. “What if he doesna ken ’tis I?”
“What do ye mean, lass? He kens ye well.”
“I can change my voice, my gait, my touch, as I did when I was a lass playing with the other bairns at ‘warriors and maids’.” She cleared her throat and lowered her voice’s pitch. “Do ye think he’d ken this voice?” She raised it to a high, clear, child’s tone. “Or this?”
The healer smiled. “The lower pitch will serve ye better, especially if ye speak softly. Dinna be as gentle with him as ye have in the past. ’Twould help if yer hands were rougher.”
“’Tis easily done. Annie has set the maids to making soap. If I help them, the lye will do what’s needful, and quickly.” The Brodie lady would welcome another pair of hands to help with the onerous chore.
“Go on with ye, then. Ah, wait a wee. What shall I call ye?”
“Janet. Call me Janet. ’Tis a common enough name for a lass.”
“Soap,” the healer muttered. She closed her eyes and sniffed. “Does he ken yer scent?”
“I…perhaps. I kenned my husband’s and hated it.”
“Of course ye did. He was forced on ye. Ye had every reason to hate him.” She rested her chin on her hand for a moment. “We must find something that will give ye—give Janet—a scent all her own. An herb or spice rubbed into yer clothes might serve. Something pleasant or something strong?”
“I dinna want him to be drawn to Janet’s scent.”
The healer grinned as Ella pushed off from the wall with her elbows. “I’ll make certain of that.”
15 August,1411
Ella led Calum along the path through the nearly empty bailey, gravel crunching under their boots. With most of the keep’s residents either inside preparing the great hall for the Marymas feast or out of the keep taking part in family celebrations or hunting, the healer had agreed it would be quiet enough there if she didn’t take him far and was careful. To her, the brilliant afternoon sunshine seemed an odd counterpoint to the darkness Calum had lived in for three sennights. Though he couldn’t see it, she hoped the change in his surroundings and the fresh air would help speed his recovery.
“We’re near the stables,” he suddenly remarked, lifting his head in its direction. “I smell horses.”
Startled, Ella nodded, then remembered to speak in Janet’s low, clipped tones. Calum had suffered ringing in his ears since the battle. Just before they came outside, the healer had removed the packing from them that muffled sound, worrying Ella. She had relied on it to help alter her voice, but the healer had insisted it come out. “Aye, we are. What else do ye smell?” She hoped the onions in her pocket continued to mask her own scent. She’d rubbed their juice on her hands and even chewed on wild onion stems to keep her own hidden behind something unpleasant. Likely he’d gotten used to the onion scent around her and knew she wasn’t asking about herself. She hoped by the time they ended this deception she would not be permanently stained with the odor.
“Something acrid…woodsmoke,” Calum told her. “The blacksmith’s forge.”
“We’re approaching it. How did ye ken?” The forge was still, lacking on this feast day the clang of the smith’s hammer on his anvil. The healer had agreed to this foray because the bailey would be more quiet than usual. She wanted to know if Calum’s hearing had improved.
