Highlander Enchanted(19)
“I do,” the healer replied with a laugh. “I have seen it heal wounded men and grow wheat during a drought. I have seen the members of Laird Cade’s clan speak to the trees and coax water from the ground. His clan has had no home for five years. When he returned from the Crusades two years ago, he wept upon learning the fate of his people, and forest creatures lay down their lives at his feet to feed his starving family.”
Isabel listened, awed by such tales but more so by the idea of Black Cade weeping for his kin. “What kind of a man is he?” she asked. Hearing her question, she flushed and rushed on. “Forgive me. T’was unbecoming. I fear my fever is addling my head.”
The healer touched her forehead once more. “I have a tonic for this and pain. When I have finished with your injuries, I will make you some.”
“Thank you,” Isabel said. She sat quietly as the healer dabbed poultice onto her bruises and scrapes.
“I can help you undress, if you would like to rest?”
She nodded and rose, pleased when the brace around her calf prevented the shooting pain from earlier.
The healer lifted her gown over her head and helped her into a kirtle before moving to the fire to place a kettle of water at its center.
Isabel sank into bed, unaware of how weary she still was until she was off her feet. Her forehead and the back of her neck were clammy. She shifted pillows to prop her upper body up and rested back with a deep sigh.
The healer brought her tea smelling heavily of herbs. Isabel sipped it. The pungent flavors mixed together to create something barely tolerable. She downed the mixture and handed the goblet back to the healer, who held out the pink encased gem.
“You dropped this,” the healer said.
Isabel hesitated then stretched for the pretty trinket. “Thank you.” She placed it around her neck. “Laird Cade will not mind if I borrow it for a short time?”
“For certain not,” the healer replied. “He respects magic and knows he must listen when it beckons him. The crystal has chosen you, and so, you must not part with it. Laird Cade would never fault you for accepting it.”
The talk of magic left her uneasy, but Isabel was able to appreciate the sentiment behind the custom. She blinked heavily, her mind growing suddenly sleepy.
“The tonic will help you rest. I will send up food this evening,” the healer said with a smile.
“What is your name?” Isabel asked, struggling to keep her eyes open.
“Marie.”
“Thank you, Marie.”
“It is my pleasure, my lady.” Marie curtseyed once more and opened the door, paused, and closed it. “My lady, Laird Cade is the greatest warrior in the Highlands and a just, kind laird. He knows no limits when protecting his kin, and he never breaks an oath. But he bears darkness from his time away. I fear some days it will swallow him, and I pray daily to your god and ours this does not happen.”
Isabel tried to speak. Her lips here too heavy and her eyes drifted closed.
Chapter Ten
When Isabel awoke for the second time in Laird Cade’s bedchamber, it was dark. Moonlight shone through the windows while firelight glowed across from her. A cool chill reached her, and she snuggled beneath the coverlets, breathing in the scent of heather and the Highlands.
Her body no longer ached, though she remained more lethargic than usual. She tested her injured leg, surprised to feel no pain when she lifted it. Shuffling to the edge of the bed, she swung both legs down and stood carefully.
No pain shot through her. Isabel took several steps and started to relax. The healer’s tonic and sturdy brace had done better than any healing she experienced at home. She walked towards the fire and paused near its warmth. Tugging up her sleeping gown, she sought some sign of the bruise or bump on her leg but found neither. Her shin appeared to be healed.
What would Father Henry say about heathens using magic on her? Was she tainting her soul by allowing it?
“How can magic that does good be bad?” she mused aloud.
She dropped her skirts, grateful for the lack of pain anywhere in her body. The faint flicker of light drew her attention to the window.
The crystals hanging from the sill were glowing in the moonlight, casting tiny bursts of colors onto the stone floor.
She studied them from a distance, wary of the strange magic the healer claimed existed in the Highlands. The heavy amulet at her chest was warm, and she lifted it to find it, too, glowed, but not from moonlight. Its internal spark kept it lit. At once uneasy and mesmerized, she debated what to do about such a power that should not exist. She went to the window.
“My god,” she breathed and gazed up at the crystals. They, too, were lit from within, brilliant sparks of color swaying in the night breeze.
How was this possible? She drew nearer and started to reach for a purple one when her eyes fell to movement and light outside the second bank of windows. The bedchamber was in a corner of the hold overlooking the bailey and stables on one side and the rolling, grassy moors on the other. She shifted to the windows overlooking the hills.
Flickers of colors – similar to those hanging from the sill – flashed in the night. Except they were not attached to or held by amulets but free to dart around the lone figure of a man in their midst.
His massive sword at his back, Black Cade’s form was unmistakable. He strode into the night without a lantern, surrounded by the strange sparkles of color. It was hard to deny magic existed when she saw it so clearly.