Healing the Tormented Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Read online

  They came to the dell.

  “There is more than enough burdock here for me to collect,” Ceana said, as they stood looking through the trees.

  The ground was thick with the plant and several others which Ceana would collect, too. Lady Catriona would dry them and grind them into powders for use in her remedies. Ceana began gathering up the leaves into her basket, as the Laird sat upon a tree stump and watched.

  She is very beautiful.

  Ceana began to gather up the burdock, singing snatches of a song, one he had not heard before.

  “Amidst the trees the plants dae grow

  And too upon the meadow

  A blessin’ from our God above

  His love to overshadow.”

  “Ye sing very beautifully, Miss Morvell. The hands of a healer and perhaps the voice of an angel,” Raghnall said, causing Miss Morvell to look up and blush.

  “Oh … ‘tis only somethin’ I heard as a child, my grandmother would sing it for me,” she replied.

  “Yer grandmother? Ye have never made mention of yer grandmother before. She must have been a healer too, was she?” he asked, his curiosity aroused.

  “Oh … aye, but … but … but she died many years ago. It was my mother who took care of me. I … I barely remember my Grandmother,” Miss Morvell replied and Raghnall nodded.

  “I see,” he said, and Ceana went back to collecting her burdock leaves.

  Strange to have never mentioned her grandmother, but I suppose I never asked her either.

  Ceana began to sing once again.

  He was pleased to have accompanied her. In truth, she would have been safe enough on the moorland path to the dell. It was rare that anyone walked its length, for the road north was the focus of English incursions and bandits lying in wait. But he had wanted to spend time with her and to come to know her better. When he had taken her hand, Raghnall’s feelings had been further aroused, he had thought about kissing her but such a thing would never do.

  Keep yer thoughts in check, lad.

  Ceana straightened herself up and smiled.

  “I have enough burdock to last for months. Sundew and scabious are all that I need now and I can see some scabious over there,” Miss Morvell said, and Raghnall followed her through the trees to where the purple flowers were growing in a clump.

  “Then it has been a successful expedition,” Raghnall said, as Ceana placed a handful of the flowers into her basket.

  “Aye, and we shall be back at Mhaol Chaluim by late afternoon,” she replied. “And look, there is some sundew on the rocks there.”

  Ceana climbed up to where the plants were growing and Raghnall remained down in the dell, watching her. She really was very beautiful, and he could not help but find her attractive. But it was not just her pretty face he found attractive, it was everything about her.

  Raghnall had little experience when it came to women, at least those he, too, found attractive. There was no end of potential suitors but in Ceana he found a woman he delighted in, and in whose company he could happily reside. She had such an easy way about her, though he remained cautious.

  There is still some mystery about her.

  She raised a clump of sundew triumphantly.

  “There, we have everythin’ that we need,” she called down and he smiled at her, as she clambered back down the rocks.

  “Very good, let us be getting’ back to the castle now then lass, we …” Raghnall began, but then there came a cry from up above and Ceana pointed across the dell.

  “Raghnall!” she cried. “Soldiers.”

  Raghnall turned to see three men charging towards them, their swords drawn. They were calling out to one another and their accents betrayed them. These were English soldiers and Raghnall drew his sword, calling for Ceana to hurry down from up above.

  “Quickly lass, we must get away from here,” he cried, as the three men rushed towards them.

  Raghnall held up his sword, preparing to meet the first of the men, as Ceana hurried to his side.

  “I cannae leave ye,” she said, but he urged her towards the moorland path.

  “Go, I will hold them off, summon help,” he cried, as the first of the English soldiers charged towards him.

  But Raghnall was not afraid and he clashed his sword with that of the Englishman, who could not have been more than a mere boy. The soldier had a frightened look upon his face at the sight of Raghnall, whose eyes burned with anger.

  “Stand your ground,” the soldier said, his voice shaking, but Raghnall was in no mood to pay heed to him and he raised his sword, bringing it down into the soldier’s shield, which splintered with the impact.

  “Ye are nothin’ but a boy, be gone with ye,” Raghnall said, as the other two soldiers, themselves having seen too few winters, ran towards him.

  “You are our captive,” one of them said. “Come with us.” He raised his sword, though his hands were shaking.

  “Get yerselves back across the border and daenae dare return here or else it will be the worse for ye,” Raghnall said, his sword still raised, as they circled around him.

  “We do not take orders from a mere Scot,” the third said and he advanced upon Raghnall.

  I will teach ye a lesson then, lad.

  “This ‘mere Scot’ happens to be the Laird of Mhaol Chaluim and master of these moorlands. Be gone, I say,” Raghnall said.

  But the boy was spoiling for a fight and he raised his sword, charging at Raghnall, who shook his head and met him with all the force and ferocity he could muster. The boy’s sword clashed upon his own and the other two stood back, no doubt afraid of what might happen if they intervened.

  “Surrender yourself,” the boy said, but Raghnall only laughed, and as the boy raised his sword, Raghnall brought his own into the boy’s leg, sending him reeling to the ground in a cry of pain.

  “Now, let that be a lesson to ye all,” Raghnall said, as the boy writhed in pain upon the ground, his leg bleeding heavily.

  The other two soldiers wasted no time and ran off into the trees, leaving their friend at Raghnall’s feet.

  “What … what are you going to do with me?” he said, and Raghnall shook his head.

  “Well … I am nae goin’ to kill ye, though I think if the situation were reversed then ye would happily run me through,” he replied, just as Ceana came hurrying to his side.

  Chapter 8

  Ceana had watched from afar as the Laird fended off the English soldiers. She had seen them from a distance upon the heathers and it had been her foolishness in scrambling up onto the rocks which had caused them to spy her. Perhaps they had thought she was a lone woman, but they had met their match in the Laird and Ceana had watched as he had fought with the boy, now lying in agony upon the ground.

  “He is only a bairn, nae much older than the one who fell out of the tree this mornin’ back at Mhaol Chaluim,” she said, shocked at the sight of the soldier lying bleeding on the ground.

  “Aye, and that is what happens when lads are sent out to fight without the proper trainin’ or discipline. Foolhardy,” the Laird said, shaking his head.

  The boy was crying in pain and holding his leg. He had already lost a lot of blood and his two friends were nowhere to be seen.

  “And a fine thing for the others to leave ye like this,” Ceana said, kneeling at the boy’s side, as he flinched away from her.

  “Get … get away from me,” he said, but she shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  “If I dae that then ye will die out here. Let me tend the wound, I am a healer. The Laird and I were gatherin’ herbs when ye saw fit to attack us. Now, let me see the wound and perhaps I can dae somethin’ to help ye,” Ceana said and reluctantly the boy took his hands away from his leg, lying back on the ground, as Ceana placed her hands gently upon him.

  “The wound is nae too deep, but I must clean it and bandage it. Would ye bring me some moss from the stream over there?” she asked the Laird, who nodded.

  “Why … why are you helping me? He would have killed me,” the boy said, looking nervously at Raghnall, who was pulling up clumps of the moss from the water’s edge.

  “Nay, he wouldnae have killed ye, but I daenae doubt ye would have killed him. Pick yer fights more wisely in the future, lad. ‘Tis a bad idea to challenge a man such as that to fight, even when there are three of ye,” Ceana replied.

  “I did not know he was the Laird,” the boy replied, wincing, as Ceana used some of the burdock leaves to clean his wound.

  “So, ye thought I was just a woman alone out on the moorlands and ye would set upon me, unarmed and defenseless?” Ceana asked, pushing a little harder than she meant upon the injured leg.

  “No, we were under orders to patrol the moorlands. You Scots are growing bolder by the day. We have to protect our interests,” he replied.

  “By terrifyin’ a lass out gatherin’ herbs—the English have a nerve. I am glad some days that I daenae live south of the border anymore,” Ceana replied, as the Laird returned with the moss.

  With the skill and dexterity of her art, Ceana dressed the wound and made a binding from the moss so that soon the boy could sit up and clamber to his feet. The Laird found a staff for him to use, a stout piece of branch, which would support him as he limped home.

  “And ye will nae be needin’ this now, lad,” the Laird said, tossing the boy’s sword into the undergrowth.

  “I cannot return without my sword,” the boy replied, looking nervously at them both, but the Laird simply laughed.

  “Ye can return with yer sword and without yer leg if ye so wish, lad. Now, be gone and tell yer English masters that I will nae tolerate yer soldiers upon my lands anymore, ye hear me?” the Laird said and the boy nodded.

  “More will come,” he said.

  “Aye, and we shall be ready for them,” the Laird replied.

  Ceana and he watched, as the boy hobbled up the path and onto the moorlands. It was only when he was out of sight that the Laird sighed and turned to Ceana with a worried look upon his face.

  “He is right, though, more of them will come and they will nae all be frightened lads like that,” he said.

  “They will think twice before they send bairns, though. ‘Tis a wicked thing to force a lad like that to fight. He could have lost his life and another poor woman would have lost a son,” Ceana said, as they turned to make their way back towards Mhaol Chaluim.

  “If he had died it would have been his own fault,” the Laird replied, striding on ahead.

  I wonder if he would have killed the lad, had I nae been here?

  Ceana followed him along the moorland path.

  She had seen the anger in his eyes and she knew that his one determination was to protect his clan from attack by the English and any others who would threaten their lands. It had been lucky that he had been there at her side, else she would surely have been captured.

  What would the English have made of the key, I wonder?

  “Now ye see the dangers we are up against,” the Laird said, as they came to the gates, “‘Tis nae safe to be out alone. Ye must promise me that ye shall nae walk upon the heathers without me. I would never forgive myself if somethin’ happened to ye under my watch. Ye are safe here in the castle, but out there,” and he shook his head, “there are threats on every side.”

  Ceana nodded. First, it had been the Laird’s own soldiers who had taken her, then the bandits who had set upon his men, and now this. Ceana knew that the moorlands were not safe and if she were to keep the key safe, as her grandmother had instructed, then she would do well to heed the Laird’s words.

  “Aye, I will let ye be my chaperone then, Laird,” she said, and he smiled, as they walked through the castle courtyard.

  “I hope that ye daenae find it a burden to be in my company, lass,” he asked and Ceana blushed.

  “Nay … nae at all. We have had a delightful day together, even if it were somewhat dangerous, too,” she replied and he shook his head.

  “They were mere children. I could have chased them away with a stick, let alone a sword,” he replied, laughing and leading her into the keep.

  There, they found Lady Catriona sitting by the fire in the Great Hall and the Laird recounted what had happened in the dell and how they had been attacked by English soldiers.

  “English soldiers this far north, ‘tis troublin’. Raghnall, yer father would never have stood for it,” Lady Catriona said.

  “Aye, but my father is nae here and in my father’s time we had fewer enemies to worry us. These are dark times, Mother, and we must keep our counsel if we are to prevail,” the Laird replied.

  “We are safe enough here at Mhaol Chaluim, these walls have never been breached. Nae in a century,” Lady Catriona said.

  “Aye, but a clan cannae hide behind walls forever. We have crofters, the villagers, too. Men and women who rely upon us for their safety. Are we to abandon them to their fate and close the castle gates? That is nae what my father would have wished for and well ye ken it, Mother,” the Laird replied, settling himself down in front of the fire.

  Ceana was unsure whether to join them. She occupied something of a halfway point between servant and friend. Lady Catriona still intimidated her, despite the two now being on reasonable terms. She stood awkwardly with her basket in hand for a few moments, before Lady Catriona looked up at her with a questioning expression.

  “Did ye get the herbs or did ye run away, lass?” she asked, and Ceana blushed.

  “I got the herbs, aye. I am nae the sort to run away at the first sign of trouble. I brought everythin’ ye asked for, Lady Catriona,” Ceana said, determined to stand her ground.

  The Laird’s mother nodded, peering into Ceana’s basket and giving her an approving look.

  “Very well then, lass. We shall dry them and prepare the remedies tomorrow. Take them to the infirmary and leave them there,” Lady Catriona said and Ceana knew herself to be dismissed.

  “Ye can stay here if ye wish,” the Laird said, but Ceana shook her head.

  “Nay, I will go to me duties now. There are things I need to dae,” and excusing herself she hurried towards the infirmary.

  I daenae wish to over stay me welcome.

  She was mindful of the look Lady Catriona had given her.

  Her basket was full of herbs and she laid them carefully out on the work bench, alongside the bottles and potions which Lady Catriona had been preparing that day. Ceana looked at them with interest, she recognized many of them, but there were still plants she was yet to learn the usage of and strange powders she had never seen.

  Back at home, her grandmother kept many of her most precious remedies locked away. Some took days to prepare and needed all manner of dried herbs and plants, meticulously prepared and measured. Ceana used to watch her with fascination, though the preparation of remedies was far from her specialty. Whilst Ceana knew her lore well enough, she did not have the patience needed for the precise measurements required to make ointments and powders, such as her grandmother and Lady Catriona did.

  She is welcome to make the remedies. I will happily administer them.

  She arranged the fresh plants neatly on the workbench, taking up several of the bottles and examining the labels.

  Arrowroot, burdock preparation, and this is pine, crushed down, I can smell the aroma through the bottle.

  She replaced the ointments and glanced around the infirmary one final time. It was quiet, the sounds of the castle echoing from below. She crossed to the window and looked down into the courtyard, where several soldiers were gathered, deep in discussion.

  What must it be like to have the threat of the English hangin’ over ye?

  Living with her grandmother deep in the forest had given her a safety she would never know again. Of that she was certain. Now that she found herself away from the forest, she saw danger on every side. Even the castle was not safe, for what would happen if the key were discovered?

  She had not thought of it much that day, too busy with her tasks and the memory of the English attack. But now, she took it from around her neck and examined it once more. She did so every day, pondering its mysteries, though never any closer to discovering its true origins.

  What are ye for?

  She wondered, looking around the infirmary, as though a lock might present itself to her there and then.

  But the only locks there were those which took the rusty keys which hung on key rings carried by soldiers, servants, and the Laird himself. She had never seen a lock which would fit such a key as this. It caught the light of the afternoon sun, which was streaming through the windows of the infirmary and in which the dust danced. She weighed it in her hands, imploring it to give up its secrets. But all was silent.