Chapter 2

Although it cost Colleen every last ounce of her resolution to visit the village, she did it. Leaving Isla with the Tavishes, she unhitched the horse from the cart and rode it into town. The sheriff was sitting in the jail, lecturing a sparring couple who had just been released from the pillories. "Mistress Bruin, ye must nae nag yer husband. I keep telling ye that and ye never listen. If ye do it again, I'll have to advise the magistrate to have the scold's bridle screwed to yer head! And ye, Master Bruin, if ye lay a drunken hand to yer goodwife again, it'll be prison for ye."

He looked up when Colleen came in. "Healer Cunningham! How…how pleasant to see ye visiting ootside o' kirk. What can I do to help ye?"

Even the Bruins were quiet as Colleen delivered her message. "Laird MacKenzie sent soldiers to harass Tavish farm, but when me sister and I went to visit them today, we were accosted by soldiers."

"Did they…erm, this is a delicate matter, Healer Cunningham, but did the men ravish ye?" The sheriff coughed, looking embarrassed. He was not used to dealing with such feminine issues. Colleen shook her head impatiently. "No! He—that is to say, the captain came and stopped them before anything could happen, but he gave me a message to deliver."

All three jail occupants looked on with interest as Colleen repeated what the captain had told her. "He says that I must tell the sheriff and council that Laird MacKenzie is tired of waiting. He wants a tithe of every villager's earnings. In return, he offers protection."

"Huh," Mistress Bruin scoffed. "We would nae need protection if he was nae around." The sheriff and her husband nodded in agreement. "Still," the sheriff reasoned, "in the old days, we would all cram oorselves into the auld castle bailey walls whenever there was the threat of attack. And haul oor goods and chattels in there too, noo that I remember."

"Aye," Master Bruin said in a dry voice. "And there we would all sit like quacking ducks, waiting for the siege to lift or battle to hedge us in. We dinnae need the castle anymore. All we need is to levy taxes to pay for an army to protect us."

"Ye speak good sense, Bruin," the sheriff agreed, "but raising armies takes time."

Edging out of the door, Colleen said, "Well, these matters are none o' my concern, Sheriff. If ye dinnae mind, I think I'll go to the guild hall to find a laborer to build the cottage a palisade."

Not long after, her message delivered and her goal achieved, Colleen rode home to tell Isla about the fence. It would cost them two pregnant sows and half a dozen laying hens, but it would be worth it. Suddenly, the wee cottage at the edge of the forest did not feel very safe anymore. Even with the dark woods out back, when before it gave protection, now it might be somewhere for rogues and villains to hide.

That evening, with the two sisters safely back home, they discussed their options. "When I saw the way those soldiers were looking at ye, Isla," Colleen began the conversation awkwardly, "it made me realize ye are hardly a child anymore. Perhaps we better start looking around for a husband for ye?"

Isla did not shout down the suggestion, which was even more of a sign to Colleen that her sister was growing up. She did, however, wrinkle her nose a bit. "I have been thinking the same thing, Colleen," Isla eventually replied, "but it's six of one and half a dozen of another. I cannae marry and leave ye here at the cottage all alone—and ye cannae marry and leave me! What's that fancy word they use to describe it? A con?—?"

"A conundrum," Colleen said in a bleak voice. "A puzzle. It's true. You only have me as yer guardian to arrange a match for ye, while I have no one to help me do the same thing for meself. I keep hoping an eligible suitor will arrive on the doorstep, but ye ken how I like to dream."

Isla giggled. "Och Colleen, ye are far too much of a fuss-budget to just accept the first man who comes along. Ye've turned doon every man come to woo ye for miles around, and noo ye wish for a fantastical hero to drop down from heaven? Ye make me laugh."

Colleen shook her head, trying to look aloof. "I wish for nothing! One of the benefits of making me own way in life is not having to rely on a man to give me anything."

Isla stuck to her opinion. "When the wolf is at the door, Sister, ye will cry for a strong man to stand beside ye."

Feeling pessimistic, Colleen said, "Knowing me bad luck, it will be the wolf at the door who wants to marry me."

True to their word,the Tavishes had contacted their son in Inverness and asked him to organize as many mercenaries for Aberkin as he could. The message had read:

Dear Thomas,

Do not fail us in this instance. The village of Aberkin is under siege from a particularly vile bully laird by the name of Laird Torquil MacKenzie. With no right or privilege, the knavish tyrant has laid claim to Aberkin land and taxes. With our old Laird gone and his House and Clan in ruin, it is not to be wondered that the artless greasy tallow catcher who calls himself our new laird and master, Torquil MacKenzie, has seen his chance and taken it. Be assured that while your dear mother and myself are alive, we are not well in our hearts and minds. The man has threatened to burn our barn with the harvest still inside it. Make haste with your arrangements, dear Thomas. Our lives and livelihoods depend on it. Your loving Father, Master Tamworth Raibeart Tavish.

Postscript. If you know of any free fellows of good standing in Inverness, please describe the great beauty of the eldest Cunningham sister to them and ask if they are interested in a betrothal. She will arrive with the young sister in tow, as it is now too dangerous for the girls to live on their own at the cottage.

Colleen would have been very interested to know the contents of the letter old Tam sent to his son in Inverness. As far as she was concerned, now that the palisade fence had been erected across the front of the cottage, they were far safer than before. So when she heard a great commotion coming down the lane, Colleen had to ask Isla to climb up the ladder and speak to those standing outside the tall log fence.

Even from the distillery, Colleen could hear her sister's voice. "What d'ye want? Och, welcome, Hamish. Greetings, David. What d'ye have on the back o' yer cart?"

A clamor of shouts came as an answer. "Open the blethering gate, for the love of all that's holy, Isla, and stop bidding us good morrow as if we have the time to waste!" "A man is dying, Isla! Open the gate!"

Isla wanted to justify her caution to the young men driving the cart and was prepared to argue her case, so placing her ladle down on the table, Colleen went out to help the two men. Sliding the massive barrier log off the gate latch, Colleen watched with curiosity as the men drove the cart inside with a flick of the whip. "Forgive us, Colleen," David said, "but we have nowhere else to take him. The man is a mess."

There was a body under the canvas sheet covering the cart. It did not move. Isla and Colleen looked at the shape dubiously. "If it's one of MacKenzie's soldiers," Isla said, "then ye can take him right oot again." But all Colleen said was, "Ye better bring him inside and lay him on the table."

The two men struggled to lift the body off the cart. "Och, he's a big yin," David puffed as they placed the body on the table. When Colleen saw the body did not fit, she suggested they lie the man on the floor instead. "Hoots, Colleen, are ye sure?" Hamish scratched his head as he tried to work out a solution. "Once we leave, then ye are stuck with him there. Ye'll have to step over him all the time when ye need to cook and eat."

Taking the canvas off the injured man, Colleen gasped when she saw the wounds. "Best ye take a message to the sexton at the kirk and tell him to start digging a grave—a large grave. And then ask the priest to send a cart to fetch the body. I'll give him some poppy juice if he comes around from his swoon. That should keep him comfortable until he passes from this world to the next. D'ye ken what happened?"

The two men looked at each other as they struggled to make sense of it. David attempted to explain. "Well noo, this is just a guess, but the man was surrounded by the dead bodies of ten MacKenzie soldiers! I'm nae sure what the fellow was thinking—but I think he might have attacked a troop of Torquil's men. The soldiers managed to get a few sword thrusts into him before he dispatched them all. And then…"

Hamish took over the story. "What me friend here is too squeamish to tell ye, ladies, is that when we came upon the carnage in the middle of the road this morning, yon patient was having his face chewed off by a wolf. The poor fellow is wolf-bitten! It's best he dies, because who knows if he turns into some hideous monster afterwards."

"Leave him on the floor on top of the canvas," Colleen said, "Isla and I can pull oot the body once he passes." Colleen was not convinced she could help the man and was tempted to tilt poppy juice down his throat before he woke up and became aware of his great wounds. Parts of his skull could be seen beneath the deeper gashes. There was no blood gushing out, which meant the poor man must have lost most of his blood already.

"Er, Colleen," David bowed his head and removed his bonnet as Hamish walked out of the door to go back to the cart, "might I please have a word with ye afore I go?"

Isla hid the smile on her face as she pretended to be busy staunching the dying man's wounds. Sighing, Colleen accompanied David outside.

"It is good that ye have put up that fence, Colleen," David began. "I dinnae like the thought o' ye being all alone oot here."

"Thank ye for yer concern, David," Colleen replied politely. "It cost us two sows, but the job is well done. See there, the fence joins the barn so that—" David interrupted the detailed description Colleen wanted to give him. "That's good. I am pleased that Isla and ye are safe. But with the forest behind ye, and with winter on the way, ye could do with a bit more protection."

Colleen shook her head firmly. "I cannae afford to build anymore, David. It must wait until we sell some of oor lambs at the market next year—" He interrupted her again. "Ye could move in with me and me family, Colleen. Isla and ye would be most welcome…if we were to be betrothed…?"

"Isla and ye?" Colleen never thought of herself without her sister coming first. David darted a brief look at the cottage. "Isla? Nay, I meant ye, Colleen. Ye and me."

Hamish gave an impatient cough for David to hurry up. David, the son of a wealthy farmer, had been apprenticed to him for the last six years. In one year's time, David would be recognized as a carpenter in his own right and become a journeyman for another four years. Then he would join the guild hall as a Master.

Colleen took a step back, blushing fiercely. "Thank ye, David, but nay. But I promise that if I change me mind aboot marriage, I will let ye ken."

With this gentle rejection, the apprentice carpenter had to be content. Touching his finger to his bonnet, David climbed onto the cart saying, "I will come and fetch the canvas next week. Dinnae let the sexton bury him in it!" Then the two men were gone.

Turning to go back inside, Colleen was shocked to find that Isla had covered the injured man with the canvas and gone to feed the chickens. When she shouted at her young sister for her callous behavior, the irrepressible Isla had replied. "He's crow meat, Sister. Let him pass! They should have taken him straight to the coffin maker!"

Colleen could not stand the thought of the man with no name being buried in an unmarked grave. He might have been deranged or silly to attack MacKenzie soldiers, but he obviously did it with pure intentions in his heart.

Kneeling down on the floor beside him, she began to dress the stranger's wounds with as much care as she had done a few days before with Tam Tavish. Lifting the cauldron of steaming water off the hook by the fire, she ladled some of the hot liquid into a cup. After adding some dittany to the brew, Colleen began to wipe the dried blood off the man's face. Was it her imagination, or were the cuts on his face not as bad as she thought they would be? Before, Colleen was sure the wolf bites went so deep that the bones of his skull could be seen, but now she was not so sure. Maybe the white bone and pink flesh she had seen belonged to one of the man's victims…?

Leaning closer, Colleen frowned. When David and Hamish brought the man into the cottage, there was no blood leaking from the wounds—but nor had there been blood on the cart bed. Looking at the canvas, she saw no blood on there either. Had the man bled out his lifeblood on the road? Then he would be dead. Sticking her finger under the man's nostrils, she felt breath, strong inhalations. His chest was rising and falling as she gently placed her hand on it. Colleen was a healer and felt in her bones that the man would survive. It was the swiftest change of mind she had ever experienced.

Now that the stranger's face was washed clean of blood and the wound flaps seemed to have grown closed, Colleen had a chance to look at him. He wore no plaid. The tight-fitting breeks on his muscular legs were dark leather and laced together in front with thin cords. His boots were well worn, the heels almost eroded away from all the walking he must have done. The instep was also worn down—he man must have ridden a horse somewhere and sometime. The man's jerkin was black with age and dirt, and yet Colleen was not convinced he was a vagabond. Maybe that had something to do with the massive sword sheath strapped behind his back.

Moving her fingers gently over his clothing, Colleen looked for wounds under the tears in his clothes. There were none, only faint white scars. Finally, the last traces of caked blood washed off the pale skin of his face.

The stranger was astonishingly handsome in a rugged, wild way. He looked to be about thirty years of age and used to physical work and endurance. His hair, even though it was covered with congealed gore, was thick and dark. It looked as if the man was used to hacking his hair off with a knife when it got too long, because the black locks were cut to different lengths. The dark brows—what was left of them after the wolf bite—looked to be set in a permanent frown, but when she inspected them more closely, Colleen found that this was because of their unique shape; the man's eyebrows were straight and angled toward his temples. It gave him a feral appearance.

"Ye're lucky no one else knows aboot yer wolf bite, laddie," Colleen smiled to herself as she spoke to her patient, "because ye look to be half-wolf already."

She shivered after saying this, almost as if a shadow had blocked out the sun. Hurrying with her task, Colleen called to Isla who had just finished feeding the flock of chickens. "Get over here and help me undress him, Isla. He's so heavy."

Isla ran out into the yard again, shouting over her shoulder. "Nay, thank ye, Sister. I have nay desire to see what yon wolf-man is hiding under his breeks."

Sighing, Colleen began unlacing the front of the stranger's leather breeks and hiking up the hem of his rough linen shirt. The man heaved a shuddering gasp. He was regaining consciousness! Was that a flutter of blue she saw under his eyelids? Moving closer to his face, Colleen whispered into the man's ear. "Ye are safe here with me, Master. Dinnae fash aboot yer…"

The only wound left on the man's face was the deep gash the wolf's fangs had made when the animal's mouth had closed in to take a bite of the ridge above his eyebrow. Colleen was sure that his face had almost been ripped off when the two men brought him to her. Staggering to her feet, Colleen screamed. The change had begun. He was turning into a wolf—and he was all alone with his next victim!