Chapter 12 #2
“Aftyn.” He addressed her in his usual disinterested tone. “How fares the abbey?”
There was no “How are ye, daughter” to be had from this man. She expected none. She took the seat he indicated and told him about the damage to the kirk’s roof and the injured men. “None of ours.”
He nodded and put a hand on the papers he’d been reading when she entered, as if ready to return to them. “I will ride over soon to speak to the abbot and offer our assistance in rebuilding.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate yer offer,” Aftyn told him and stood, taking his comment for dismissal.
“Everyone is returned?”
“All but the Lathan healer and two of his men. Rabbie and our men returned with me. Neve will follow soon.” She didn’t want to tell him that Neve remained behind because of Hamish.
The laird leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands. “And what did the Lathan healer do there?”
So that was what he truly wanted to know. What Jamie had done. Not how she and Neve had helped. “Mostly he tended a priest who was badly burned as the kirk’s roof collapsed. Neve and I cared for the rest.”
“So the man he tended still lives despite his injuries?” The gleam in his eye betrayed the first true interest he'd shown.
“And is improving. The abbot calls it a miracle he survives, and that no others took worse hurts.” The minute the words left her mouth, she wished she could pull them back.
She'd just made her father even more interested in the Lathan healer.
Clearly, he had no interest in anything she and Neve had contributed, how many wounded they'd tended, or what else might have happened while they were there. She’d hoped when she told him they'd tended the rest, he might ask what they’d been called upon to do.
If he'd showed any interest at all, she would have been proud to tell him how much they’d learned, and used that knowledge in caring for the abbey's brothers.
“Indeed. Perhaps I’ll make that visit sooner than I planned. Very well. Go to yer rest.”
Aftyn escaped her father’s presence before he could comment that even with the little he'd asked her to describe, if the abbey no longer needed her services, they must not be worth much.
Jamie looked up as Fearchar entered the chamber he’d shared with the burned priest for the past two days.
Fearchar closed the door behind him. “How is he?”
Jamie shrugged. “I’ve kept him in a light healing sleep, both for the pain and deep enough to encourage the repair his body needs, but not so deep that he canna drink as much as we can give him. I got him to sit up and eat a little.”
“That’s amazing. The blisters on his face are nearly gone, too.”
“If I took them away completely, that wouldha been noticed. They’ll last only another few days, and they willna pain him. Once he is well enough to leave his care to others, I will remove the healing sleep. The man will remember nought of these days since the fire.”
“Surely that will be counted as a blessing by all who care about him.”
“Have ye seen aught of the abbot yet today?” The greatest danger Jamie faced came from the well-intentioned abbot, who insisted on seeing his man every day.
Jamie could not deny him, but Bhaltair and Fearchar stood sentinel at the door and were masterful at delaying the cleric until Jamie covered the burned man’s injuries and opened the door.
The abbot seemed satisfied that his priest continued to breathe well and sleep, claiming healing rest was God’s blessing.
Jamie didn’t argue. He might be right, though he couldn’t know the kind of healing rest his priest benefitted from.
The talent that ran in Jamie’s family came from somewhere.
His mother had never speculated, simply accepting that her ability came from her mother and grandmother and on through the generations.
The abbot’s explanation was as good as any.
“He was having his midday meal when I left the hall. He’ll be here soon, I think.”
“I’ll be ready.” Jamie lifted the covering and showed Fearchar the man’s hand. Muscle tissue now plumped the flesh that just days ago had been exposed tendon and bone, and shiny pink skin edged in red, extended from his palm onto each finger.
“I didna think ye could do that,” Fearchar told him, eyes wide. “He canna ken the debt he owes ye.”
“Nay, he canna ken.” Jamie shook his head and dropped the cover over the hand. “Never. He owes me nought. He took honorable—but foolish—action to save a relic of great value to the abbey. He might have died there.”
“He’s damn lucky ye were nearby.”
The door opened and Bhaltair leaned his head in. “The abbot is on his way.”
Jamie nodded. “Send him in.”
When the abbot asked, Jamie gave him an edited version of the state of the man’s injuries, continuing to make light of the burns he’d treated.
Then he reminded him that his priest needed rest. Jamie was loath to reveal the hand that had held the crucifix quite yet.
In another day, he’d awaken the man and work with him to ensure the new flesh he’d given him would let him regain the use of it.
Without Jamie’s healing touch, his ruined hand would not have mattered. He would have died, but that truth could not be shared, no matter how devoutly the abbot believed in miracles. He might also believe in witches.
The abbot prayed over them as he usually did and thanked Jamie for his devotion. He turned to leave the chamber when an acolyte reached the doorway. “The Keith laird is here to speak with ye, Abbot. I placed him in yer study.”
“Thank ye. I’ll be there in a moment. See that ye offer him our best wine.”
“Aye.” The lad left.
The abbot turned to Jamie. “Come with me, lad.”
To meet with the Keith? Nay. He did not want a repeat of his earlier interview with him. “I should remain with my patient.”
“Ye have taken such care of him that he willna miss ye for a few moments.”
Jamie knew when he was outranked. “Verra well.” He gestured toward the door and followed the abbot out, stopping long enough to ask Fearchar to remain within the chamber and fetch him if his patient needed him.
Laird Keith rose when they entered the abbot’s study and bowed over the cleric’s hand. “I am here to see how else my clan may aid ye,” the laird said.
“Yer men, and yer healers have already done so much. The injured are getting well, and yer men assist my young men with rebuilding the kirk’s roof. I canna think of anything else ye might offer us. Ye have been generous.”
“I will give ye any aid ye need,” the laird repeated.
“I ask only the boon of this healer for a few more days,” he said and smiled at Jamie. “He’s been a godsend for my most grievously injured man.”
Laird Keith glanced at Jamie, a speculative gleam in his eye that immediately put Jamie on his guard. The abbot’s praise had only served to increase the Keith’s interest in him.
“I will leave that up to ye, healer Lathan. I’m aware yer man Niall is doing well enough without ye. But we look forward to welcoming ye back to the Keith keep when ye feel yer job here is done. Those of my people ye treated still require yer care.”
“I understand the healer Aftyn returned to ye recently,” the abbot interjected.
“Aye, but she hasna the skill this man possesses, and we have our own grievous injured and ill who need his care.”
“I feel I owe ye a boon for putting our needs ahead of yer own,” the abbot began.
“Not I,” the Keith answered, “but perhaps the healers and my clansmen who still aid ye.”
That comment surprised Jamie. It sounded very unlike the laird Jamie had met, but perhaps the abbot’s benevolent presence had inspired the Keith’s generosity.
“Indeed. I will offer the highest honor I am able, and hear their confessions personally,” the abbot said.
Surprised, Jamie frowned. He’d never heard of a senior cleric hearing confession of anyone other than junior clerics.
Certainly not members of the flock tended by those junior clerics.
But it didn’t matter. Jamie had no plans to take him up on the honor he offered.
If all went well, he and his men would be on the way back to the Aerie in two days.
Three at the most. Leaving Aftyn behind, if she still refused to come with him. That thought didn’t set well.