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“As do you,” he said. “I find I very much enjoy talking with you, Maisie.”

“You seem surprised by such a thing.”

He shrugged. “I spend much of my time with men, training or in battle. My time with women . . .” He stopped. There was no polite way for him to finish.

Maisie did not seem offended. “Is not spent drinking ale and talking of your past? Or future?”

“Or any of my life between the two,” he added, laughing. “You are different than most women, Maisie.”

“I do not know if you offer a compliment or a slight against me?”

“’Tis very much a compliment. In fact—” What he’d been about to say would remain unsaid. Because it would lead them down a path Kieran should not go down and because the healer had returned. From the look of the woman heading toward them now, there was no doubt the woman was very much a healer. He could not place the reason for such a thought, but she had a look about her.

Just as she reached them, a loud crack of thunder in the distance announced the arrival of a storm Kieran worried would threaten their return.

“You wish to speak with me?”

Kieran stood. “Very much, my lady.” He gestured toward his seat. “If you would?”

The healer, a woman even older than the alewife, who herself was quite advanced in years, made her way to Kieran’s seat. Gripping the table, and the arm Kieran offered, she sat with some difficulty. Instead of addressing him, she attended to Maisie.

“You are his wife?”

He and Maisie exchanged a glance. How could they not have anticipated such a question? He’d thought of it earlier that morn on the journey here, but they had not spoken of it, unfortunately. She was a widow, but even so, should not be traveling with a man unescorted. At least, one who was not her husband.

“Aye,” he said. “And I do wish to speak with you.”

Maisie did not dispute his claim.

“Go on then,” the healer said. “The baker’s daughter willnae make it through the night without my assistance.” The woman turned to Maisie. “Her first babe. Do you have children?”

“We do not,” Maisie said. “Yet,” she added with a smile.

Kieran shoved the thought of how that might occur from his mind. Or tried to, the vision of Maisie beneath him one not so easily shaken.

“Hmm.” The healer seemed displeased by that news. Kieran thought to distract her.

“I was told,” he said, “there are none who remember more of Clan MacKinlay’s history than you.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “I would suspect such is true.”

“Will you tell me then”—he steeled himself for her answer—“if you know of a boy who disappeared around the time of the Great Battle?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps not.”

This healer knew something, but she was reluctant to offer her knowledge. Why?

“I would be grateful if you could share any information you might have about the boy,” he tried again.

The healer, mistrustful, frowned at him, the wrinkles around the corner of her mouth more pronounced than ever. But she did not answer.

“We’ve spoken to so many,” Maisie added, “and will gladly accept any information you can offer.”

For a moment Kieran thought the healer might soften.

“The babe is coming,” a man’s voice called from the door.

“Fiona,” Kieran tried again using her given name, “before you leave, will you tell us if you know of the child?”