Chapter Six
Mistress Stirling jumped from her seat, set the paper and pen down on Evan’s desk, and ran from the room before he could say a single word to her. He looked over at the stablemaster, MacDuff, who they were in the middle of interviewing. “It appears our interview will resume at another time.”
The man nodded, stood, and left the room. With nothing else to do at the moment, Evan followed him out of the library and down the corridor, where he was greeted with a great deal of wailing.
Mistress Stirling was bent over a wee lass who was screaming to bring down the roof. “What’s the matter with the lass?” Evan shouted over the noise. God’s toes, the bairn had strong lungs.
Mistress Stirling shook her head, her hands frantically removing the young lass’s dress. “I dinnae ken. She has no fever.” She looked up at the man wringing his hat in his hands. “When did she start fussing, Finlay?”
Fussing? The lass could shatter the walls with her wails. Feeling a bit rattled at the noise, Evan regarded Mistress Stirling. “Mayhaps we should summon a healer. I am sure either Mrs. Brody or Mrs. MacDuff would ken who to send for.”
Mistress Stirling, her maid—who had joined them—and the Finlay lad all turned to stare at him.
What had he said?
“My laird, Mistress Stirling is a healer,” Meggie explained in a hushed breath, almost as if she admitted the lass was a saint.
“Aye. That’s good, then.” He probably should have continued on his way, but since the interviews had been cut short, he was left with time on his hands, so he decided to watch Mistress Stirling work.
“Agnes, dear, can ye tell me where it hurts the most?”
The bairn touched her tummy, the screams stopping for a minute.
Mistress Stirling used the tips of her fingers to touch the wee lass in different places.
Since the bairn continued to wail, ’twas hard for him to ken where it hurt the lass the most. But apparently, Mistress Stirling’s experience was great indeed, because she kept nodding and uttering soothing words as her fingers played over the lass’s stomach.
Then she looked up at Finlay. “What did ye eat for yer last meal?”
At least that’s what he thought she said. She could have said was the heat for real. He couldn’t hear anything except the wee one’s wails.
The brother bent close to Mistress Stirling’s ear and said something that caused her to raise her brows. “Meggie, fetch me my herb bag.”
The maid rushed off, and Mistress Stirling stood, glancing at the lass’s brother. “Carry Agnes upstairs. I will need to purge her stomach.”
Since that didn’t sound like something Evan would be interested in witnessing, he returned to the library, where Alasdair joined him.
“Whatever is the racket going on?”
“One of Mistress Stirling’s clansmen arrived with his wee sister, who seems to be in pain.” He poured coffee from the pot that sat on his desk. He had already informed the cook that he was to have hot coffee available all morning.
He looked expectantly at his brother, who shook his head. “I dinnae ken how ye can drink so much of the stuff. One cup at breakfast is all I can handle.”
After taking a sip, Evan said, “It seems our unexpected guest is a healer.”
“Ye dinnae say? Makes me wonder what other secrets the lass is hiding.” Alasdair sat back in his chair, grinning at Evan’s revelation. “Mistress Stirling is certainly interesting. Different from any other lass I’ve met. Spirited…brave…”
Evan was stunned and equally annoyed to feel what could only be described as jealousy at his brother’s words. “Aye, but I’m not sure all of her secrets are as helpful as this one.”
“What do ye mean?”
“I dinnae ken. I just have this feeling that there was more of a reason for her to leave her home and travel to Fife. I questioned her on it just a short while ago. She stuck to her story of claiming the property was hers, but when I pushed her, I still got the feeling she was hiding something. The lass refused to look me in the eye.” Evan cocked one ear in the direction of the ceiling.
Silence. The wee lass had stopped screaming.
“It sounds as though our healer has done her job. She’s quite intriguing.
” Alasdair grinned again, making Evan want to smash it off his face.
He did not want him admiring Mistress Stirling.
Only because—he told himself—it would complicate things.
How, he wasn’t entirely sure, but reasons would occur to him shortly.
“Stop grinning like a loon, brother. The lass is still a stranger to us, and we need to watch ourselves around her.”
“What?” Alasdair had the nerve to laugh. “If ever there was an uncomplicated lass, it’s that one.” He motioned with his thumb toward the ceiling.
“And what do ye ken of complicated lasses? Most of yer bed partners have no more brains than that goat.” He waved his cup in the direction of the animal standing in the library doorway. He dropped his coffee cup and jumped up. “What the hell is that?”
Alasdair turned in his chair. “I think ye already said it. Appears to be a goat.”
The animal stared at him, then ambled into the room. “What the blasted hell is a goat doing in the house?”
“Oh, so sorry, my laird.” Meggie rushed in after the animal. “I’ll take him outside.”
“Is he one of the tenant’s goats?” Evan asked as the animal walked farther into the room, looking around like he owned the place.
Meggie grabbed the animal around the neck. “Nay. He is Agnes’s pet goat, Myrtle.”
“The wee lass?” He thought he remembered her name as Agnes.
“Aye.” She tugged. The animal refused to move.
“Her pet goat?” he repeated.
“Aye. She keeps him in her cottage, and he sleeps alongside her.” She walked around the goat and attempted to push him forward.
Evan looked over at Alasdair. “He sleeps alongside her in her cottage.”
His fool brother was laughing so hard, he couldn’t speak.
This day was certainly not going the way he’d planned.
First, Stirling clan members had arrived before he expected them, the interviews he and Mistress Stirling were conducting had been cut short, and now there was a sick lass upstairs, and her pet goat was munching on one of his books. “God’s toes!”
Evan glared at a red-faced Meggie. “Get the blasted animal out of here and outside. Find MacDuff and have him put the thing somewhere.”
As Meggie tugged and, in turn, pushed on the animal, who had decided he wanted to stay right where he was, Mistress Stirling hustled into the room. “Oh, there he is.”
Evan scowled at her. “Mistress, ye new arrivals brought a pet goat with them.”
“Aye. I ken. Wee Agnes wants him to join her upstairs.”
“Upstairs? Where the bedchambers are?” He hadn’t realized how loud his voice had become until Meggie—still pulling on the goat—and Mistress Stirling both cringed.
“’Twill calm the lass down,” Mistress Stirling was brave enough to mumble, avoiding his eyes.
“Let the bairn have her pet, Brother,” Alasdair added, wiping the tears from his eyes. “If it makes her feel better, it cannot cause harm.”
“Cause harm? The thing was eating one of my books.” He picked up the tome and waved it at the group who all stood staring at him, expressions from uneasiness to laughter on their faces.
He rubbed his eyes with his fists. “Verra well. Let the lass have her animal.” He pointed a finger at Mistress Stirling.
“The minute the wee one falls asleep, I want that animal out of the castle and to the barn, where it will stay. Do ye understand?”
“Aye.” Mistress Stirling said something in the goat’s ear, and the blasted animal walked alongside her as easy as ye please. Evan glared at his brother, who choked on his laugh.
…
That evening, Evan, Alasdair, and Mistress Stirling arrived almost at the same time to the dining table.
They had managed to complete the interviews of the castle staff, and Evan was looking forward to traveling from tenant to tenant tomorrow to get the lay of the land.
The sky had cleared up right before sundown, and he hoped the good weather would continue.
“How is the wee one?” Evan asked as he shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap.
“Much better. It turned out she ate some berries when they stopped along the road. I’m not sure what she ate, but whatever it was, we brought it back up.” The lass flushed, most likely realizing what she said was hardly proper dinner conversation.
“So ye are a healer on top of everything else?” Evan reached for the platter of braised salmon with a peppercorn sauce. He added buttered potatoes, kale, and warm bread to his plate.
Mistress Stirling’s hand halted as she scooped potatoes from the bowl. “What do ye mean on top of everything else?”
Evan hadn’t intended for his words to come out so harsh, but apparently they had, since both of his dinner companions looked at him with a confused expression. “I apologize. I dinnae mean anything by that,” he mumbled.
God’s toes. Was he always to make a fool of himself when around the lass? It seemed he was either yelling at her, insulting her, or giving her orders. He shook his head and decided to remain silent for the rest of the meal.
“I’m sure he only meant that ye show a lot of spirit and bravery for a young lass.” Alasdair smiled at her, making the tasty salmon turn to dust in Evan’s mouth.
“I can speak for myself, brother,” Evan growled.
“Not verra well, apparently.” Alasdair smirked and took a bite of bread.
If Evan’s jaw got any tighter, it would surely snap. He took a sip of wine and a deep breath. “’Twas helpful that ye ken a bit of healing, mistress. The wee one seemed to be in a lot of pain.”
“Aye. I warn my people all the time to be verra careful about what they eat from the berry bushes. Some of those berries could kill with merely one or two bites.”
“How did ye learn so much about healing?” Evan asked. He’d like to learn more about her and, at the same time, have a conversation that didn’t involve him snapping at the lass.
“‘My mum was a healer. When I was old enough to study the craft, I followed her around and learned a great deal from her. She was a wonderful woman. My da was not the only one who suffered at her passing.” Her words fumbled at the end of the statement.
“So ye were left to raise yer brother?”
“Aye. He is the sweetest thing too. When you get to ken him, ye will be quite pleased with him. Well mannered, smart, and verra helpful.”
And hopefully not of the wailing type that had arrived that afternoon. “Where did Finlay and his sister settle?”
“Since we haven’t yet visited the tenants to see if there are any empty cottages, I put them both in one of the bedchambers upstairs.”
“Without the goat, I assume?”
Mistress Stirling became very interested in her meal.
He rested his fisted hands holding his fork and knife alongside his plate. “Mistress Stirling? I asked ye a question.”
She wiped her mouth and looked at him with the most innocent look he’d ever seen on a woman’s face. His eyes snapped to Alasdair, who choked.
“Is that not correct, mistress?” He felt the muscle under his right eye start to twitch.
“What is that you said again, my laird?” She leaned forward, as though her hearing had suddenly left her. He narrowed his eyes, knowing what her answer would be.
The silence in the room was broken by the bleating of a goat who wandered into the dining room.