Chapter 8

8

H e walked with a swagger her clansmen would be proud of. His muscular arms were held close to his side as his long legs covered the ground between the path and her mother’s garden in a few paces. Soon he stood before her and she sat back on her heels to look at him.

Like Craig, but not. His hair and beard, although much the same color as Craig’s, were cropped closer than Craig’s were. The beard was just a few days’ growth. She remembered his clean-shaven face when he stepped into the beams of moonlight that first time. His eyes, she could now see, were MacKendimen blue.

So, he was of the clan? Mam had said a distant cousin, a physician by training. She shivered at that thought. He would no doubt be very suspicious of her and her gift. Those who studied medicine and surgery in the universities of the great cities of England and on the continent did not look kindly on those who had other gifts or skills. Especially not peasant girls from small villages in the barbaric Highlands of Scotland. Cousin or not, she would know him better before she spoke of her healing touch.

They stared at one another. Their glances locked and her breathing was shallow, her chest tight with anticipation and a bit of fear. He didn’t move but she could see from the corner of her eye that his fists clenched and unclenched. Then he said exactly what she was thinking.

“I thought you were only a dream.” His voice was rough and husky, filled with many emotions.

“And, I you. But Mam told me ye were real enough,” she answered.

“Then you had an advantage over me. How long have you had the dreams?” He reached down and held out his hand to her. She placed hers in his and stood, gathering her apron together to hold onto the harvested plants. He guided her to her feet, but his hand kept hers.

She was aware of every inch of her skin that touched his, even in this innocent gesture. Her hand tingled with feelings, pulses that moved through her hand, into her arm and then into her body. ’Twas not unpleasant this sensation, just like the heat from a fire as it warmed every part of her. Caitlin glanced over at him to see if he was affected by their touch. His answering look said it all clearly; words were not necessary.

“The dreams hiv come for nigh to three years. And ye?”

“For about the same.” Douglas ran his other hand through his hair and shook his head. “I still cannot believe that I am talking to you. Do you have the same two dreams? The one with the fire?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“And the one in the cave?” he asked, his voice husky and deep once more.

Caitlin felt the fire enter her cheeks. The cave. He knew of that one, too? She closed her eyes, remembering the sight of him, wet and naked in the steaming pool. And she remembered his touch, his hands on her waist and her breasts, and... everywhere. Another shiver raced through her, pulling her from her memories of the dreams.

“Damn, Caitlin, you’ve been ill and I’m standing here in the cold air with you. Come,” he tugged her hand, the one he still held in his grasp, “let me take you inside.”

“Nay, I amna cold, Douglas. And I amna ill. This happens after...” Holy Mother! Already she had done exactly what she’d decided not to do—to reveal her healing abilities to him. No matter the strength of her feelings or their shared dreams. This man was a stranger. She pulled her hand from his and turned from him. She swallowed deeply waiting for his reaction. Would he damn her as many of his worldly profession would?

“Well, I am cold even if you aren’t so come inside and help me find something warmer than this.” He pointed at the single layer of plaid thrown over his shoulder.

She could only nod. She knew her voice would have shaken and she didn’t want to appear weak in front of him again. Caitlin gathered the folds of cloth more securely around her bundle and followed him through her mother’s door.

Her mother stood with her back to them at her worktable. Caitlin carried her precious bundle over and opened her apron. Moira gently lifted the various herbs and placed them on the surface before her. Douglas still followed and stood close enough that she could feel the heat from his body on her back. He was not chilled as he’d said. She’d been maneuvered by someone with the skill and practice of her mother.

“And what are these? More strange ingredients to feed to some other unsuspecting victim?” His voice came from so near her own ear that it tickled as it passed. Another shiver pulsed through her body.

“These, lad? These are but simple cooking herbs for use in the castle’s kitchens.” Moira carefully wrapped the dried and fresh herbs she’d been working on in small bundles and placed them in a sack.

Douglas grasped Caitlin’s shoulders and moved her to the nearby bench. “Here, you should be sitting. I don’t think you’ve recovered yet from...”

“The healing?” Moira offered, glancing one to the other with those wise eyes.

Caitlin gasped. Her own mother who urged caution at every step had revealed her dangerous secret to some stranger. “M-mam...,” she stuttered, “I didna think ye would—”

“’Tis well, lass. He kens.” Her mother nodded in that infuriating way she had and turned her attention to the herbs yet again.

“She’s recovering from this healing touch or whatever you call it. It’s obvious she’s been ill and shouldn’t be outside on her hands and knees digging in that damp garden.” His eyes grew darker. He was angry!

She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. In one breath he’d defended, nay, even protected her, and in that same breath insulted her gift with his disbelief.

“Caitlin kens her limits. Getting back to work often clears her head and gets her body back to what it should be after the—”

“The healing?” Both Moira and Douglas said the word at the same time. But his voice echoed with mockery.

“If ye two are done talking about me as though I didna stand before ye, I’ll go see to our meal.” The two culprits turned to her as one—both had been too involved in their war of wills and words. She rubbed her hands together, ridding them of the last of the garden’s dirt, and walked to the door.

“You should rest, Caitlin. You still look pale.” His voice was softer this time and more difficult to ignore.

She pulled her kerchief from her apron’s pocket and wrapped and tied it around her head. “I go to see to our meal.” Douglas looked as if he would object again but said nothing. A faint smile touched her mother’s lips. Oh, aye. She was up to some plotting or another.

“Please give greetings to the lady Anice and tell her I will visit her on the morrow.”

Caitlin nodded and left without another word. Walking the paths she knew so well that she could walk them with eyes shut, she thought about her mam’s actions... and his.

She remembered his touch and experienced those feelings again. The heat had surprised her; ’twas only his hand to her hand after all. Not like in the dreams when he touched her breasts and other places. But the sensations and the heat that passed through her body were the same. The dreams were not their only connection or else she wouldn’t have this strong reaction to him.

He felt it, too, she knew. She’d seen him startle when they clasped hands. It had happened when he touched her face for those few moments when she was still rousing from the effects of the healing. Her thoughts were in a fog but his weren’t. She’d seen his hand shake when he touched her cheek.

Her feet followed the next path that branched off from the main one and she headed for the castle. Although her thoughts were elsewhere, she greeted anyone she passed. Soon she entered the gate to the main courtyard. Walking through the dust and around the castle’s people and creatures, Caitlin approached the kitchen entrance.

“Caitlin, do ye hiv something for me from yer maither?” The oversized cook left the hearth area and came to greet her as soon as she entered. “I’ve been out of the herbs I need for the rabbit stew.”

“I hiv them here as promised, Calum.” She passed the sack over to him and watched the older man chortle as he opened the various bundles and smell the contents.

“There are rabbits for Moira”—Calum pointed at a brace of skinned rabbits hung over one of the tables—”and take some of the bread, too, lass.” And then he was gone, off to try out the new seasonings on his latest creation.

He’d not given her a chance to ask about Anice. She looked around as she headed into the great hall. Spying a familiar face at work on the tables, she called out.

“Hello, Siusan. Can ye tell me where to find the lady Anice?”

“Oh, aye, Caitlin,” her friend answered. “In her solar.” Siusan pointed off in the direction of the room and went back to her scrubbing. Caitlin nodded and made her way quickly down the length of the main room and off into a hallway. The door to the solar was closed so she knocked lightly before entering.

She opened the door when she heard Anice call out her permission. As usual, the lady Anice sat at her loom, weaving threads into a fine cloth at a fast pace. Her two younger daughters imitated her movements but without the same success as their mother. A maidservant stood nearby working with the girls, correcting their mistakes and praising their accomplishments.

“They look more like ye every day, my lady.” Caitlin walked closer to see the design on the tapestry the girls were embroidering. Nessa, being ten years old, had more skill than her six-year-old sister Bonnie, but the younger lass made up for her lack by trying harder. Both girls did indeed look like miniature Lady Anices—they matched her coloring with their fiery red hair and flashing green eyes. None could mistake with their looks or temperament who their mother was.

“Aye, they do, Caitlin, as you look more like your mother.” Anice’s hands never paused in their work as she turned slightly to face Caitlin. After a thorough look, Anice asked, “How do you fare this day?”

“I am well, my lady. My maither says to bring her greetings to ye and tell ye that she’ll visit ye on the morrow.”

“Good, I look forward to seeing her.” Anice ceased her work and stood up next to the loom, stretching her arms and shoulders. The lady approached and drew Caitlin away from the others in the room.

“How fares the stranger? Has he awakened?” Anice’s voice was pitched lower as well.

“He is awake but confused. The blow to his head was very bad.” Even she heard the trembling in her voice.

“And Moira? What has she to say about him?” Anice leaned closer.

“Mam believes he’s a MacKendimen, but a distant cousin at that. He haes the look of the clan.” Caitlin remembered how she thought it was Craig coming to her rescue. Aye, Douglas had the look of the MacKendimens.

Anice gasped, then peered around to see if anyone had noticed her reaction. The lady looked very nervous all of the sudden.

“My lady, what ails ye?” Caitlin took a step toward Anice, reaching out to steady her.

“’Tis of no account, Caitlin.” Anice straightened and rubbed her palms down her work dress. “I’ll see your mother on the morrow, then?” At Caitlin’s nod, Anice turned back to her loom. “Come, lassies, let’s finish our work and then see what your father is doing in the practice yards with that new horse of his.”

Caitlin smiled at the girls’ reactions. If she had more time, she would have gone to watch the laird work a new horse. ’Twas a sight to behold. But she had to bring the food back to the cottage to prepare the meal. And to see how Douglas fared under her mother’s scrutiny.