“I will uncover yer eyes long enough to check the injured one,” she said. “But ye must accept that if I dinna like what I see, I may have to cover it yet again.”
“Please. Dinna do that.” He couldn’t believe he’d been reduced to begging, but that was what blind men did, was it not? Only he would not be blind, merely one-eyed, if the healing had not gone well.
“Turn yer head this way. Ye will keep yer eyes closed,” she ordered as she clipped the binding around his head and unwound it.
The feel of cool air on the skin of his face that, except for brief periods when she changed the bandages, she’d kept covered for weeks nearly undid him.
“Eyes closed,” she reminded him, then removed the pad over his damaged eye. “I’m going to touch yer eyelid,” she warned, slid a warm finger down from his eyebrow and pulled up the lid.
Brightness assaulted him, but he reveled in it.
“Hmmm. What do ye see?”
“Light. Brightness. How is it?”
She let go of his lid. “Keep it closed.”
He was happy to comply, wincing against the sting of tears the sudden brightness had elicited. But her failure to answer him made his gut tense.
She removed the pad from his other eye. “Verra well. Open them slowly,” she ordered.
At first, the light was too much, though she’d taken care to face him toward a dark corner of the herbal and not looking toward the hearth or any candle flames.
His eyes teared, but he blinked and cleared them. Slowly, things came into focus. Both eyes or just the good one? He closed that lid and found he could still make out objects in front of him. Relief filled him, so profound that it made his chest heavy, his arms leaden weights he couldn’t lift.
“I can see with the injured one.” He turned to her voice. “I see ye. A little blurry?—”
“That is to be expected. Do ye still have pain?”
“Only a little.”
“Good. I am not surprised the light seems strong now. Ye will adjust to it as yer vision clears.”
“That is good to hear,” he said, his words heartfelt. But he had to know something else, too. “Now, tell me the truth before I have to see for myself,” he demanded, but lowered his voice when her eyes widened. He was not here to frighten her, but he needed answers. “Ella and Janet are the same person.” He didn’t make it a question.
The healer pinked and glanced aside. “Ye suspected so.”
“I did, though not right away.”
Her reluctance to answer told him everything he needed to know. She had lied to him. So had Ella. But the anger twisting his gut told him no matter how much he condemned what they had done, he had allowed himself to be deceived. He’d known all along that Janet was Ella, so he could only be angry in some small portion with them. Most of his ire he directed at himself. And he didn’t know what to do about any of it.
Ella satat a table with some of her friends, but instead of talking and laughing with them, she could not take her gaze away from Calum making his careful way across the great hall. She feared he would meet with disaster—a fall or some other embarrassment—but pride in him filled her that he would attempt it. Others helped him avoid hazards with a word or two. Those he accepted with more grace than she thought he would be able to summon. His determination and adaptability continued to impress her. But knowing where he was headed—to beard the healer in her own den—scared her.
She prayed his eye had healed well enough to let him understand that the future he’d expected to have was not lost. That he would still be a warrior for the clan. A man in the way he understood manhood.
If he lost the eye, could he adapt to that? She hoped he never had to find out.
She also prayed the healer did not admit the Janet ruse. If she did, what would Calum do about it? Accept that she’d do anything to take care of him, including lie to him? Or reject her for her subterfuge?
She couldn’t sit here waiting for the axe to fall. Without a word, she left her friends and followed Calum’s path across the hall, then waited silently by the door while the healer removed his coverings, and rejoiced at the vision he described.He could see.
She needed to wash the onion scent from her hands and breath before he saw her. And perhaps some cream would soften the damage the lye had done to her hands. She started to back away from the door but her boot scraped on the flagstones.
Calum turned at the sound, this time with his eyes open. “Ella. I see ye.”
She was out of time. She went to him, hands out to grasp his if he raised them, or to give him a hug full of joy and relief. “I’m so glad ye do,” she said when he let her capture his fingers. Then the tone he had used sank in. “Is aught amiss?”
He lifted her hands and sniffed, then pulled his fingers free. “Will ye remain Ella now?” When his brow lowered and he glanced aside at the healer, she realized he knew about their deception before she arrived.
