Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was a classic case of denial.
Edith stood up, joining Martin as he helped Angus onto the bench, even as he swore himself capable of doing everything on his own.
“Lie still,” Martin instructed gently, wiping the sweat that had beaded along Angus’s hairline with a napkin.
Edith bit back a smile. It was interesting to see him like this, less brooding and more proactive. Or perhaps it was just the way he was as a healer, going out of his way to make a patient comfortable.
She moved to the table, collecting the tools she had laid out earlier. It was a small collection—a small bowl, a wet rag, a dry rag, and some herbs.
Her hands were steadier than she’d expected, given the nervous flutter that had taken over her entire body moments before Angus arrived.
Ye have prepared for this, Edith. Ye ken what to do.
“Lady Edith will examine ye today,” Martin announced, his voice carrying his usual calm authority. “Ye will answer her questions honestly.”
Angus eyed her warily. Of all the cooks in the kitchen, he was the least familiar with her. He was new in the castle and mostly kept to himself, assisting the older woman occasionally.
“Are ye certain she kens what she’s doing?” he asked.
Martin nodded. “Quite certain,” he said. “More than certain, in fact.”
Edith’s heart swelled with pride, though she kept her expression neutral as she stepped closer to her patient. She could not allow the praise to get to her before her actual performance, lest she make a mistake.
“Angus,” she said, “how long have ye been feeling unwell?”
“I am nae unwell,” Angus insisted, attempting to sit up on the bench.
He swayed, and Martin caught his shoulder, steadying him without comment.
Edith pressed her lips together. “I see,” she murmured. “How do ye feel?”
She listened carefully as he explained his symptoms, noting the things he tried to play off as though they were not a big deal. Afterward, she continued exactly as she had practiced, checking his pulse first with the same careful attention Martin had taught her.
She noted the dampness on his brow, the faint tremor in his hands, the slight pallor in his palms and cheeks.
“Yer pulse is quick,” she said. “Have ye eaten today?”
“Aye. This mornin’.”
“And have ye slept?”
A pause. “Nae much.”
“How much is nae much?”
Angus shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps… two hours.”
Martin’s brows rose slightly, though he said nothing, allowing Edith to continue examining the cook.
She pressed gently on his side, watching his reaction, then listened to his breathing the way she had been taught.
“Ye have been workin’ through the night,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Preparin’ for the fair, I guess.”
“Three nights,” Angus admitted weakly. “The Laird wanted the kitchens ready for the feast after.”
Edith nodded slowly, the picture forming clearly now.
“Fatigue,” she declared. “Brought on by exhaustion and likely worsened by skipped meals. There may be a touch of fever as well, though nothing serious.”
“And the remedy?” Martin asked, his voice devoid of the slightest hint as to whether she was right or wrong.
Edith considered for a moment.
“Rest,” she replied, straightening. “At least a full day, away from the kitchens entirely. Broth and plenty of water. Elderflower tea for the fever so it wouldnae worsen. And feverfew, if his head begins to ache.”
Martin’s expression brightened.
“Good,” he said. “Very good.” He turned to Angus. “Ye heard her. A full day’s rest, beginning now.”
“But the preparations for—”
“Will continue without ye,” Martin interrupted firmly. “As will yer employment, should ye collapse mid-service and embarrass the entire kitchen.”
Angus grumbled something under his breath but did not argue further, allowing Martin to help him to the door, presumably to deliver him to the infirmary as promised.
Edith remained where she stood, her chest filled with something warm and unfamiliar—pride, she realized. Genuine, unguarded pride in something she had done entirely on her own.
She had diagnosed a patient. Properly. With her own hands and her own careful attention, exactly as Martin had taught her.
When he returned a few minutes later, his expression carried the same quiet satisfaction it had before.
“Ye did well,” he said simply.
“Truly?”
“Truly.” He studied her for a long moment. “Ye have a gift, Edith. A genuine one.” He paused, something almost wistful crossing his face. “Ye would make a fine healer… if ye werenae to become a lady.”
The words settled over her slowly, then all at once.
She had wanted this for so long, longer than she had wanted almost anything else in her life. Months of stolen lessons, borrowed books, quiet afternoons sketching herbs in an abandoned library because there had been nowhere else for her ambition to live.
And now Martin had said the words plainly.
Ye have a gift.
Relief and joy surged through her, and before she could think better of it, she turned and threw her arms around him in a brief, grateful embrace—unguarded and entirely without thought for propriety or appearances.
“Thank ye,” she said against his shoulder. “Truly. For everything.”
Martin patted her back awkwardly, clearly unaccustomed to such open affection. “Ye earned it,” he said.
Another voice sounded in the quiet chamber. A huff, if it could be called that, and Edith removed herself from the hug. She turned, her heart skipping a beat when she found Aaron standing in the doorway.
How long has he been watching?
His arms were crossed, his expression shuttered in the particular way she had come to recognize and dread. She had not heard the door open. She had not known he was there at all.
“Me Laird,” she said, straightening at once. Her earlier joy ebbed, and her chest tightened with a feeling she did not understand. “I didnae hear ye arrive.”
Aaron said nothing. His jaw was tight, his eyes flicking briefly between her and Martin before settling on nothing whatsoever, as though looking at her directly required more than he was willing to give at that moment.
“Me Laird—” Edith took a step forward without thinking, and his eyes flickered to her for the briefest moment.
Then he turned and walked out.
The door closed quietly behind him, quieter than she had expected, and somehow that made it worse than if he had slammed it.
She stood frozen for a moment, the warmth of Martin’s praise collapsing entirely beneath the weight of what had just happened.
“Edith?” Martin’s voice was gentle, concerned.
She blinked, forcing her expression back into something steady. “’Tis nothing,” she said. “I am certain he just came to fetch me for the fair.”
Martin did not look convinced, but he did not press further either.
Edith considered following Aaron, but the thought lasted only a moment before she dismissed it entirely.
What is the point?
Aaron did not care that she had embraced Martin out of pure joy and nothing else. She knew it. She believed it. He cared only that someone might see it, that it might raise questions about the arrangement he had built so carefully for his purposes.
That is all this had ever been to him.
She squared her shoulders, gathered the tools from the table, and began putting the chamber back in order with hands that were not quite as steady as they had been minutes before.
“Shall we discuss yer final lesson?” Martin asked, breaking the silence.
Edith nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Aye. Please.”
She would not think of Aaron’s face. She would not wonder what had truly unsettled him, or why his silence had felt so much heavier than his usual sharp words.
Besides, she had a fair to attend. A role to play. And after today, only one outing remained before her freedom was entirely her own.
She held onto that thought carefully, the way she had learned to hold onto things that kept her steady.
It did not help nearly as much as she wanted it to.