Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Following Aileas through the castle, Emma found her heart beating faster as she navigated halls she had not seen before. The maid, who had trouble speaking and communicated mostly through hand signs, possessed a sly humor and sparkling energy that Emma had been drawn to. She’d also been assigned to help her dress this morning, and Emma had mustered the courage to ask about the gardens.

Since she was a little girl, whenever her father was away, she and her mother would go to the gardens. There, her mother had taught her the secret to growing things, everything about plants and flowers. Her mother did not have extensive knowledge about herbs, which Emma had always craved, but their roses were a byword in all of Northwestern England.

Thinking of Kyla and the hospital, Emma imagined that they must have some fine gardens. She wasn’t sure what to expect—she’d seen the sprawling kitchen garden through a window and some ivy on a stone wall. Perhaps there wasn’t anything much beyond that, or perhaps most of the herbs were grown in the village.

Only… the way Aileas’s eyes had lit up when she asked made her wonder if the gardens at Banrose Castle were beyond anything she could imagine.

They exited through a narrow, arched doorway, the old hinges creaking. Aileas reached back to help Emma down three steep stone steps until they stood together in a wide, grassy alley bracketed by stone walls. Overhead, warm sunlight and a soft breeze whispered through the trees.

With a grin, Aileas squeezed Emma’s hand and tugged her forward, making her laugh. They hastened together down the alley, Emma glancing back once and gasping at the sight of the castle, which seemed to soar into the sky. It cast a deep shadow over the loch at this time of day, and the sun glinted off the windows.

I wonder if the Laird would look out the windows and ? —

She shook her head. No, she would not think of him, nor what had happened yesterday. Not even if her cheeks reddened and her core tingled.

The walkway narrowed until the stone walls on either side would scarcely let two men walk side by side.

Up ahead, Emma spotted a half-open wooden door. The bright light behind it seemed to call to her. Aileas hurried and shouldered it open, then beamed as she ushered Emma inside.

Emma’s lips parted. “Oh.”

They stood in a wide space, with trees planted in every corner and a small pond in the middle. Benches were placed at intervals along the main path, and a riot of flowers and plants dotted the rest of the garden. A few folks, with blankets wrapped around their shoulders, sat on the benches or the grass.

Beyond, a stone building rose against the sky. Emma could see people moving inside through the open windows. Everything was quiet and hushed, but in a meditative way that made her want to lie on the warm grass and dream of her girlhood and lovely, soft things.

A young, smartly dressed healer appeared then, her hair wrapped in a white cloth, and she brought a drink to an elderly woman who smiled up at her. They conversed in soft tones, and then the healer vanished back inside.

“This is one of our many Healing Gardens,” a soft voice suddenly said.

Emma started and spun around, while Aileas curtseyed.

Kyla had appeared with a basket on her arm, and she smiled indulgently at the maid. She spoke in soft Gaelic, and Aileas responded with a hand gesture. Then, Kyla nodded, and Aileas left.

“I wondered when ye would come down here,” Kyla admitted. “Would ye like to see the Foxglove Arcade? Or the Queen’s Garden? Or perhaps—” Her eyes lit up. “I was going to wait until later in the week, but why don’t ye come with me to gather herbs?”

“I would love that.” Emma clasped her hands together. “I have always had a desire to learn more about plants and what they can do—their medicinal properties and such.”

“Ye ken, I had a good feelin’ ye were a fellow green thumb,” Kyla said with a warm smile. Standing here in the Healing Gardens, she seemed much more at home than in the castle, and she gestured with her head. “Come along, Me Lady.”

“Is that the hospital?” Emma asked as they headed for the door.

“Och, that building? Nay, that’s where folks convalesce. Or, in the case of some of the elders with no place to go, where they may reside in peace.” Kyla closed the door behind them. “The hospital is on the other side of that building, with another garden between.”

“So much of this seems to be set aside for the healers,” Emma noted carefully as they walked further down the path. “Was that the Laird’s decision?”

“Aye, and his maither,” Kyla replied. “When he became Laird, he set about changing all of this. It had been left to rot—nothing but stone alleys and heaps of trash.”

“This?” Emma asked, gazing around at the stone walls and greenery. They passed a gap in the wall, with iron rods crisscrossing it, and she found herself looking down into a garden more overgrown and lonelier than anything she’d seen before. “Wait, what is this?”

“A memorial,” Kyla explained. “To a long-lost healer.” When Emma looked at her, she reached out and pressed a hand to the wall. “Me older half-braither, Mac. The healer of the previous Laird.” She paused. “He was a good man, a bit jollier than most healers, and nae concerned with propriety. He taught me so much. Looked after me when I was young, like a faither. Our faither had died nae long after I was born.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Emma said softly.

“Ach, as was I. He was an old man, a good healer, but he shouldnae have been sent to such a wretched battle. Nor pushed into swordplay as an old man.”

Silence fell between them, before Emma blurted out, “What happened to him?”

Kyla’s chest rose and fell, and she looked away. “The former Laird had him killed for treating village folk without permission. For ‘stealing’ supplies.” She blew out a long breath. “After that, me maither smuggled me north to live in Briorn for some time, as an apprentice to Lady Ronalda, who is a wise healer.” She lifted a hand to her cheek. “But the Laird found out and tried to get me maither to give me up. When she refused, he killed her too.”

Emma’s eyes went wide, and she pressed a hand to the stone wall next to them. “Is this memorial for her too?”

“Aye, for Mac and me maither, and all the good folk who died in the Wednesday Uprising and the years after.” Kyla shook herself and gave Emma a bemused smile. “Ye have a way about ye, Lady Emma. I must mind me tongue better.”

Emma nodded, even though she was brimming with more questions. Her thoughts drifted to Laird Ronson. Was his voice hoarse because of his father? Was he so brutal and worried about his English bride because of the bloody legacy he’d inherited?

Unbidden, Emma recalled what her father had said the night she’d learned of the Queen’s Edict.

“I’ve never witnessed a man so cruel. Perhaps it was the devil.”

Her breathing quickened as she cast her mind back further. What else had her father said?

“I came upon an entire village emptied of its folk. Forced to attend the hanging of their Laird’s son. For feeding and caring for veterans, the old and ill.”

But Kyla had said her half-brother had been put to death for treating the village folk, not feeding them. And he was not a laird’s son.

“Me Lady?”

Emma snapped back into the present, realizing she’d walked further ahead and left Kyla behind. Hurrying back, she stepped into a cozy, walled garden overflowing with herbs.

“We call this Mac’s Garden. These are some of the more experimental herbs. Our regular stores are closer to the sickrooms.” Kyla gestured toward a stone shed. “There is a basket in there, and shears. Take the basket and gather the buds, but leave the stems. Let me ken when ye’ve finished.”

Emma hurried to do as she was bidden, and they both got swept up into work. Then, Kyla began to explain to her what they were growing there and why, and why she was only collecting the buds.

“Before they bloom, they produce a virgin nectar that is good for aches and skin ailments. But as ye can see, ‘tis hard to gather much of it.”

Focused on her work, Emma nodded. The blooms were tiny, barely bigger than a fingernail.

“I am also growing a plant that I received a clipping of from some sailors,” Kyla added and gestured to a plot of dirt by the wall. “So far, I’ve had little luck, but they told me that it does wonders for scarrin’, inside and out.”

“Inside…” Emma paused, looking up. “Is that what ails the Laird? A scarred throat?”

A slight shake of the head was all she got, but then Kyla said, “Me Lady, I am sure ye have questions—many do. ‘Tis nae me story to tell.”

Abashed, Emma nodded, but then she couldn’t help but blurt out, “Has he had that injury for a long time?”

Kyla glanced up at her, her lips pursed, and gave a single nod. Then, she went back to work with an air of and that is all I will say about it.

They continued for a while until Emma felt her neck grow hot and stood up to stretch her back. Moving over to a nearby well, she picked up the metal cup from the ledge and helped herself to a drink of water.

Glancing over at Kyla, she was about to ask the woman if she wanted some, but the healer was inspecting the plot of dirt. Her shoulders drew inward, and Emma itched to know why.

It’s a wonder that she told me anything at all about her life. What a sad story about her family, shattered because of the previous Laird’s selfishness. Such a cruel man to try and find a poor girl ? —

“MacLarsen,” Emma said out loud, and Kyla turned. She almost tripped over her feet as she rushed toward the healer. “Briorn. You—you’ve met Laird MacLarsen?”

“I have met him, yes, and supped with him and his kin, but I doubt he remembers me. Perhaps his sister, Lady Kristie, and his man-at-arms, Fergus, remember me.”

Those names rang a bell, and Emma pressed her hands to her chest. Were those people—were they with her sister now? Did they consider her kin or just an English interloper?

“We saw little of each other while I apprenticed with his grandmaither. He was often travelin’. And when he was home, he was buildin’ Briorn Castle.” Kyla’s expression dimmed. “MacLarsen Castle was lost in a terrible fire started by a raid—as were his parents.”

“Oh,” Emma murmured and leaned against the wall. “Are they…” Her heart lurched. “What are they like? What is he like?”

A soft smile spread across Kyla’s face. “Despite everythin’ they had been through, Clan MacLarsen is still a jolly and warm one.” She sighed. “Laird MacLarsen had been through a terrible ordeal, though, and he’s been hardened by it. But he is a noble man and cares fiercely for his kin. He would do anythin’ for them. Just like Laird Ronson would do anythin’ for his own kin.”

“They call him a Beast.”

Kyla gave her a sharp look. “Did ye hear me say such a thing? Nay, I willnae hear disparaging words against the MacLarsens, even if it was Laird MacLarse’s foolish idea to hold onto the title,” she scoffed. “Nay doubt invented by that viper Flora Grierson.”

“I…” Emma’s eyes burned. “I apologize. It was something I had overheard—I was meant to marry him.”

Kyla’s eyes went wide. “Och, so that’s why ye were askin’. But… he married another woman, did he nae? A novice from the Craeghil Convent.” She snorted then. “Those old crones. Never appreciated Sister Theresa’s medical knowledge, and now she runs the place. As she should, for bein’ a maither to Agnes all those years…”

A choked sound escaped Emma’s lips, and she took a step back from Kyla.

Kyla clapped a hand over her mouth. “Merciful heavens,” she gasped, then lowered her hand. “I couldnae determine why ye looked so familiar. But ye are—ye are Agnes’s sister, are ye nae?”

“You know my sister?” Emma asked.

“Aye.” Kyla nodded. “Well, a bit. I spent time at Craeghil, learnin’ from Sister Theresa, and Agnes was always around, chatterin’ and laughin’, sneakin’ off to Lord kens where—gettin’ into trouble.” She shook her head with a laugh. “What a creature of mischief she was, and those nuns treated her so abominably?—”

Emma’s heart, which had soared upon hearing stories about her twin, now plummeted. “What—what do you mean?”

Kyla’s eyes went wide, and she looked down at her basket. “Och, but I never talk this much. ‘Twas the same with Agnes—I should’ve kenned ye were related.”

“Please explain.”

Kyla told Emma about the cruel Mother Superior, her harsh rules, and Agnes’s determination to break them.

“I saw her slap and beat that poor girl—but the worst was when she’d lock her away,” she added softly.

Emma’s mind reeled, and her blood ran cold.

“And ye could just see that poor Agnes wanted to be free. Her whole body and soul craved it.” Kyla shook her head slowly. “And now, as Lady MacLarsen–”

Unable to bear it, Emma fled, nearly blinded with her tears. She rushed out of the garden, down the alleys, knowing that Kyla did not have the answer to the question burning in her heart.

But she knew who might.