Chapter 1
“And ye say ye have been changin’ the dressings every day?” Emma asked suspiciously.
Her patient was an old man with tremendous amounts of hair sprouting out of his ears and a decided aversion to taking the advice of his healers.
His small shack needed a good clean and tidy, too. Given time, she might try to clean it up herself or recruit some of the younger people from the nearest village to do it for him.
But, right now, she had no time to do anything beyond changing the dressings on the old man’s leg ulcer. There were another three patients to see before heading back to the Keep. As it was, they wouldn’t get there before dark.
Dark in these parts brought more than just an absence of night. It brought danger. Emma imagined that she could already hear wolves howling in the forest while bandits and murderers bestirred themselves for a night’s work.
“Aye, I have,” the old man shot back, seemingly offended. “Of course, I have.”
Emma glanced down at the filthy, crusted bandage, which clearly hadn’t been touched since they’d been there last week, and looked up at her mentor for advice.
Delphine had taken up residence in an old armchair by the door when she had arrived—almost every house seemed to save a seat specifically for her—and was leaning forward on her walking stick.
She sighed heavily.
“Save us yer lies, Edmund. If ye do nae change the dressings, that ulcer will go septic. How do ye fancy having youn’ Emma here sawin’ off yer leg? Eh?”
Edmund blanched. “All right, all right. Well, ye are here now.”
Delphine leaned forward, squinting at the wound. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be, and the darkness of the little shack almost certainly wasn’t helping.
“A lionweed paste,” she said firmly.
Emma nodded, rifling through her heavy leather satchel for the correct item.
The satchel was full of teas, tinctures, pastes, powders, and more.
It had some items a person might find in a surgeon’s case, as Emma and Delphine were the only healers around here for miles.
All day, every day, they treated injuries, sicknesses, and the side effects of old age, and delivered babies.
So very many babies. Emma wished they’d give her a rest with the babies.
At one time, she and Delphine had carried a satchel each. But now, Delphine could barely hobble up and down the steep Highland hills, so Emma had to carry it all herself.
She took out a small tin of lionweed paste. It was mixed with water and crushed campion leaves and was good for treating infections and keeping wounds clean. They were almost out of it—poor old Edmund was in luck.
Lionweed was one of those strange plants that had a different name in every clan, and its medicinal properties were often overlooked. Delphine sent Emma out to gather bushels of the stuff every other day. It grew in abundance, and some people thought it was a weed.
She smeared the paste on Edmund’s open wound. He flinched but bore the sting manfully.
The wound treated, Emma wrapped it up again, scolding him about changing the dressing, and then they were done.
It was a relief to step out of the musty shack and into the open air.
“It’s a pity,” Delphine said, breathing in deeply. “Edmund was a fine man, once. Now, he’s all alone, in pain and afraid. I daresay I’d have had nay sympathy for a person like that when I was young, but now that I’m old… well, I see my future a little too clearly.”
Emma slipped her arm through Delphine’s, helping her down the rocky outcropping that led to the main path.
“Ye arenae old, Delphine. Besides, ye have me to care for ye.”
Delphine chuckled. “I’m nigh on seventy, lass. Me eyes are going, me ears are all but gone, and I can barely walk. I appreciate yer optimism, but it’s nae helpful.”
Emma bit her lip. It was hard to argue with that.
Delphine’s hair was bone-white, her eyes a pale blue, and her skin papery and white.
She’d always been a strong, stocky woman, but over the last few years, her frame had shrunk until there was almost nothing left of her.
She leaned heavily on a cane, and the damp weather seized up her joints until she could hardly move.
“I think we will have to dispense with the last three patients and go straight home,” Delphine said heavily.
Emma flinched, glancing at her. “What? But…”
“I cannae go on, lass. I’m sorry. We’ll visit them first thing tomorrow.”
“I can go to see them. I’ll take ye back to the Keep, then…”
“Nay,” Delphine said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I willnae leave ye wander the lands yerself. It’s dangerous.”
“Delphine, I’ll be twenty-five at the end of the year.”
“Aye, and that’s the most dangerous age for a young lassie.
She fancies herself ever so wise and thinks that because she’s nay longer a girl, she’s out of danger.
Well, she isnae. Ye arenae. Ye are a pretty lass, Emma, and the best apprentice that wretched laird offered me. I’ll nae stand to lose ye.”
Emma decided not to argue further. She didn’t bother to point out that before she’d been apprenticed to Delphine, she’d worked in a particularly seedy and infamous pub in a lower part of town, where the women were commodities as much as the ale and pies.
Only her reputation as a bright young healer kept her safe.
She didn’t think she was particularly pretty, either. She saw plenty of elfin, delicate Scottish ladies about the Keep wearing fur, velvet, and jewels, their hands smooth and white, perfect from never having done any work.
She snuck a glance down at her own hands.
Healer’s hands, people called them. She had strong hands, nimble for picking out delicate plants, and calloused from raking through dirt, rocks, thorns, and nettles to get to the things she wanted.
And like every other healer she’d ever known, her fingers were stained green from the second knuckle downwards, a stain that had never quite washed away.
Actually, that wasn’t true. Delphine’s old, arthritic fingers were starting to lose their greenish tinge, and the old healer was not pleased about that. Not one bit.
Aside from that, Emma wasn’t particularly impressed with her own looks. She was short, with an admittedly good figure, but one that would be clumsy beside those graceful ladies. She had brown hair, the exact color of mud, and blue eyes.
Hardly unusual.
“Come on, lass!” Delphine called over her shoulder, and Emma was a little shocked to find that her mentor had gone a few steps ahead.
She cast one last look around the craggy, stony hillside. She could just see the eaves of Edmund’s house poking out and sent up a quick prayer to whatever deity might be listening, asking for him to be safe.
Then, she hurried to catch up with Delphine.
Emma never failed to be impressed by Keep MacPherson.
She’d seen the towering battlements from a distance when she had been young and once or twice had even come close to enough to place a hand on the weathered, mossy stone walls, which were older than anyone else she knew.
It was ancient, strong, and awe-inspiring.
It would outlive everyone who sheltered inside it, and it had withstood the strongest of sieges in the past.
Keep MacPherson was a famous place. It seemed almost ridiculous that she was living here now.
“Ye got here just in time,” the sentry standing guard on the door said off-handedly. “We were about to close the gates.”
Emma swallowed hard, trying not to imagine being locked outside the Keep at night. She was so used to the security of its walls and armed men that she’d almost lost the knack of keeping herself safe. Not ideal.
“So early?” she asked, pausing. “It doesnae usually close for hours yet.”
The sentry shrugged. “Laird MacPherson’s orders. They say that there’s bad weather coming in, anyway.”
Emma opened her mouth to say something else, but Delphine jerked her away with surprising strength.
“Ow! Delphine!”
“Ye had that look on yer face,” Delphine commented. “The look that says ye are about to shut off yer mind and just say whatever ye like.”
“I wasnae going to do any such thing.”
“Come off it, lass. Ye have been my apprentice for a good, long while, and I know ye well enough by now. I’ve told ye time and again, ye cannae speak badly of the Laird to his people.”
Emma reddened. “How do ye know I was going to say that?”
Delphine shot her a look. “All right. What were ye going to say, then?”
Emma bit her lip and looked away. She had been going to comment that Laird MacPherson didn’t seem to have considered anyone else outside the Keep when he chose to lock the doors early. In hindsight, she was glad she hadn’t said it. The Laird was popular with his people.
Not with her, though. She saw straight through his posturing, his handsome face and superficial charm, and saw the selfish rake of a man inside.
Not to mention that awful nickname he’d given her.
The two women crossed the courtyard, slipping through a narrow, half-hidden doorway set in the wall beside the laundries.
The air was filled with the incessant slosh of water, the diligent scrubbing of cloth on washboards, and the vague scent of hot water and soap filled the air.
Emma knew from experience that the smell got sickening after a while.
She was glad to close the door behind them, shutting out the noise and smell, and escorted Delphine along the long, narrow corridor to the Healer’s Chambers.
The Chambers had originally been on one of the upper floors, but when Delphine had begun to struggle with the stairs, Emma had swallowed her pride and asked the Laird to give them rooms on the lower floors.
He’d obliged, and although Delphine had been outraged at first, it was clearly a choice for the better.
Emma unlocked the door to their chambers with the heavy brass key she kept in her pocket—along with many other things, like herbs, plants, and the occasional toad—and hustled Delphine over to her threadbare old armchair.
Delphine settled in with a sigh and a smile. “Ahh, that’s better. It’s good to rest my old bones. Dinnae bother setting up the fire, lassie. I’m going out to see old Jim Urquhart later. That sprain of his isnae healing up, and he’s nae a young man.”
Emma winced. “Jim doesnae like me. He still willnae let me take care of him. I bet it’s because I’m a woman.”
“Actually, with Jim, I’d say it’s more because ye are young. He hasn’t known me for the last four decades without realizin’ that women are just as capable as men. I’d better get going.”
Delphine began to lever herself slowly and painfully out of her chair, and Emma got to her feet.
“I’ll come with ye, then.”
“Nay, lassie, ye stay here. Get the medicines ready for tomorrow, eh?” Delphine said, smiling affectionately at Emma. “I know ye care for me, lass, but I’d like a little time alone.”
“Of course,” Emma said, backing away.
When the door closed behind Delphine, Emma was left alone in the cavernous Healer’s Chambers.
The Chambers consisted of a large, circular room, with smaller boxrooms branching off it. There were rectangular stone tables set at intervals for inspecting patients, specimens, mixing medicines, and more. Delphine was strict about not mixing the tables.
Bushels of herbs, savory and tangy, hung from the ceiling. Aside from the usual medicinal herbs, there were onions, wild garlic, carrots, and more.
Most of the box rooms contained books. There was a tremendous collection of books here at Keep MacPherson, although most were stored in the library.
There, in the Healer’s Chambers, the books were about medicine, anatomy, and other sciences, as well as a few other textbooks thrown in for good measure.
The collection had been scraped together over several generations.
In her youth, Delphine had written books on herbs, animals, and medicines.
Even now, she often had Emma draft essays on various topics.
That was one of the reasons that she’d chosen Emma as her apprentice in the first place—Emma could read and write. Two box rooms had been allocated as their respective rooms, although Emma’s was currently full of books and herbs.
Their collection of herbs, plants, and so on was carefully arranged on shelves, running almost all the way around the walls.
The jars were all well-labeled, and Delphine kept an inventory system that made sure that they didn’t run out of the vital herbs, like lionweed for infection, lavender for nightmares, or shell-root to make blood clot in a wound.
It had taken some time for Emma to get used to the system, but now she knew what herb was in which jar before her fingers even touched it.
Better get to work.
She shook out her apron. Delphine wasn’t tolerant of laziness and expected Emma to pull her weight.
Still, since it was likely Delphine wouldn’t be back for some time—not when she could gossip with Jim Urquhart—Emma took her time. They had a list of patients they would visit every day and notes on what medicines they may need.
She was busy consulting the list when the door to the Chambers opened and closed.
“Just a moment,” Emma called, turning to pick out a jar of dried rosemary from the herb shelves. “Delphine isn’t here, so I’m afraid it’s just…” She turned to face the new patient, and her voice trailed off. “Me,” she finished.
Laird MacPherson grinned at her. “Ye don’t seem pleased to see me, Butterfly.”