Chapter 2
Laird Thomas MacPherson was only twenty-nine, which was pretty young for a laird.
He was also the most irrational, infuriating person that Emma had ever met.
He almost seemed to enjoy waltzing into the Healer’s Chambers and making trouble.
He seemed to watch her while she was working, which annoyed her to no end.
She wasn’t sure why it annoyed her. Emma was used to being watched while she worked.
Delphine always hovered at her shoulder, watching her every movement, poised to give advice.
Patients watched her with wide eyes while she prepared pastes, powders, teas, and tinctures, and none of that had ever bothered her before.
Delphine’s scrutiny didn’t even fluster her anymore.
But somehow, when Thomas watched her, Emma found herself making mistakes. She’d slop the mixtures over the side of their earthenware dishes or spill boiling water when she was trying to pour out a tea. It made her dislike him even more.
Or rather, it made her want to dislike him even more.
He would have been easier to dislike if he hadn’t been such an effective laird. He squeezed taxes from the rich and eased the burden on the poor. He managed the Keep politics with ease and kept up good relationships with the surrounding clans.
He was a good man, everyone said. People whispered about when he’d marry, and clan lairds had sent their daughters and nieces over to meet him.
Laird MacPherson had charmed them all and sent them home fluttering and excited.
Nothing had come of it, of course, but he had managed to smooth over any ill feeling afterward.
“Dinnae call me that,” Emma said sharply.
“Call ye what? Butterfly?”
“Aye, that. And what do ye want?”
Thomas folded his arms, grinning. Emma couldn’t help but feel that she’d misspoken. She often felt like that around him.
“Is that how ye talk to all of yer patients, Emma?”
She clenched her teeth. It was tempting to hurl the pestle and mortar at him, but she refrained.
She couldn’t crack another one. Delphine would kill her.
“Fine,” she said tightly. “How may I help ye today, Me Laird?”
“That’s much better. Mind if I sit?”
Without waiting for a reply, Thomas hooked his foot around the leg of a rickety old chair, deftly whisking it towards him and facing Emma. He took a seat, unfolding long and strong legs.
It couldn’t be denied that he was a handsome man. There was a reason that just about every laird’s daughter, sister, or niece dreamt of marrying him, and the reason was currently smirking at Emma right now.
Thomas MacPherson was tall and slim but deceptively strong. His hair was a glossy black, and black brows framed startlingly light green eyes. His face had a vulpine look, with his long, pointed nose, sharp chin, and crafty smile. There was something about him that attracted women like magnets.
Not Emma, though. Of course, not Emma.
He didn’t respond immediately, and Emma leaned forward, resting her hands on the stone table.
“Nae to be rude, Me Laird, but I dinnae have all day.”
He only chuckled, picking at his fingernails. “Aye, ye certainly look busy.”
“I am busy!”
“Ye are back early.”
She flushed. It was on the tip of Emma’s tongue to retort that she was only back early because Delphine was tired and needed to come home. She quickly bit back the words. It wouldn’t do to reveal just how old and frail Delphine was getting.
She didn’t believe that Thomas would turn Delphine out of the Keep, but… well, better to stay quiet about it all.
He narrowed his eyes at her, tilting his head to one side.
“That’s it? Nay sharp comeback? Nay witch’s curse?”
“For the last time, Me Laird, I am not a witch. We’re healers.”
“Aye, green-fingered through and through. I need something for a headache. It’s been plaguing me all day.”
His request, when it came, startled her a little. This happened more often than Emma would like. She’d get so caught up in arguing with the infuriating man she tended to forget that they were laird and healer. So, when he finally told her what he wanted, it was almost jarring.
Remember yer place. Do ye want to go back to the McCade?
She shuddered at the memory of that place.
“A headache?” Emma said finally, forcing all thoughts of the McCade and its hideous customers out of her mind. “What for?”
Thomas chuckled. “If I have to tell ye what for, I’m nae sure ye should be treating anyone.”
She rolled her eyes. “Och, I just wanted to know if ye were partying all night. If so, I think there’s something else ye could do to ease yer headaches.”
“And what’s that? Tell the ladies that I am unavailable? They’ll nae like that, I can tell ye.”
Emma leaned forward. “Nay. Go to bed earlier.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “Ye know, some people ask to speak freely before me. Nae you, eh, Butterfly?”
“Dinnae call me that, or I’ll mix hemlock with yer medicine.”
Thomas seemed to have lost interest. He was now inspecting a ring on his index finger. It was a hammered silver design of a wolf, or a dog, or something. Emma hadn’t spotted that ring before.
Not, of course, that she spent much time looking at Laird MacPherson’s hands.
She turned to the herb shelves, picking up a tub of herbs.
Ground briar’s tears ought to take the edge off his headache, mixed with a mint tea to hide the taste.
She was tempted to measure out the herbs into a cloth, as they did for everyone else, and hand him the wrapped parcel and send him on his way.
But Delphine wouldn’t like that. She always said that the Keep healers needed to keep the Laird on their side, and perhaps there was some sense in that.
So, Emma made quick preparations to make up a tea.
While the kettle boiled, she ground up the briar’s tears even finer than before and sifted them into a chipped mug. She would steep them in the tea for a least five minutes, then strain out the pulp. It wasn’t the most pleasant of drinks, but it would handle a hangover well enough.
She glanced up from her work and found Thomas’s eyes on her. He was watching her work, his expression mildly curious.
She didn’t like seeing him without his usual wolfish grin and crafty expression. It made him look… human, perhaps? Either way, it bothered her, and she did not like it.
“What?” she snapped.
“How long will it take the tea to be ready?”
“Ye know what they say about a watched pot never boiling.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Have ye been eatin’ wormwood? Because ye are bitter today.”
That was almost funny, but Emma bit back her smile just in time. He was like a naughty child, you couldn’t smile or laugh at him or you’d encourage him.
“It’ll take as long as it takes. If that bothers ye, then ye will just have to put up with yer headache.”
“I’m a busy man, ye know.”
Emma raised her eyebrows sarcastically.
“Busy doing what? Romancin’ innocent young lassies?”
“There is nothing innocent about the lassies I romance, let me tell ye.”
Emma flinched back. “Is that meant to be a joke?”
It sounded too much like the sort of thing she’d heard back in McCade.
“These women arenae innocent, trust me. They want it, all of them.”
The words still sent a crawling sensation down her spine, filling her with the urge to hunker down and hide.
The smile faded from Thomas’s face.
“Are ye all right? It was just a joke.”
Emma slammed the pestle and mortar down on the table far harder than was necessary. “Well, it wasnae funny.”
There was a tense silence between them.
What are ye doing? He’s the Laird. If ye arenae careful…
He leaned forward, making her jump again. “Look, Emma—”
The door opened, and he broke off abruptly.
Delphine stepped inside, looking older and greyer than before. Her expression lit up when she saw Thomas.
“Ah, Laird MacPherson! Good to see ye. What brings ye here?”
“Och, I’m just here for a headache potion.” Thomas laughed, getting to his feet. “Here, sit down. It’s good to see ye, too, Delphine.”
“I hope Emma wasnae talking back to ye too much,” Delphine remarked, eyeing Emma suspiciously. She lowered herself slowly and painfully onto the seat. At that moment, the kettle began to sing, allowing Emma to turn her back to the scene behind her.
“Ah, ye know me, Delphine. I give as good as I get.”
Emma turned mutely from the fireplace, bearing the heavy, well-used kettle. She poured out a mug full of hot water, watching the green powder swirl through the water. A scent of mint and the unmistakable scent of briar’s tears filled the air.
“That smells strong,” Thomas said. He was watching her, Emma could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to glance his way.
“Let it steep for five minutes,” she said. “Then strain out the pulp, if there is any.”
“Thank ye,” he replied, stepping forward to take the mug. His hand, large and calloused, appeared in Emma’s field of vision. The ring glinted on his index finger, and she could now see it was neither a wolf nor a dog, but a fox.
Well, that made sense.
“Good day to ye, Delphine,” Thomas said, inclining his head. “And ye, Emma.”
Then, he was gone, closing the door gently behind him, leaving only the smell of mint, briar’s tears, and fresh-cut grass in the air.
She wasn’t sure where the grass scent had come from.
“Out with it, lass,” Delphine said after the silence had stretched on for a few minutes.
“What do ye mean?” Emma asked, trying to sound as off-hand as she could. “What’s wrong?”
“Why don’t ye tell me? Ye are white as a sheet. Did he say something to ye?”
Emma bit her lip, closing her eyes. He probably hadn’t meant it. The simplest sentence sent her reeling back to that awful pub.
She could smell the scent of smoke, roasted meat, and unwashed bodies hanging in the air like a miasma. She heard the babble of chatter and laughter, glasses clinking together.
Emma remembered, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, a dirty hand wrapping around her waist-length hair.
The girls in McCade kept their hair loose and their hems high.
The man had yanked with all his strength, sending her head snapping backward.
She tumbled uncontrollably, unable to free herself or even control which way she was going.
The man pulled her to him, his breath stinking like a sewer.
She could never hear what he had said, even in her nightmares, but she knew he’d said something filthy.
Then, one of the barkeepers had yelled at him, telling him that she was the healer and should be left alone. The man had reluctantly let her go and seized another girl right away.
Emma shuddered. There’d been other instances, but that one stuck in her mind the most. She kept her hair cut short now. It barely skimmed her shoulders these days and was braided behind her ears and pinned into a little twist at the nape of her neck.
“I don’t like men who play about with women,” Emma said at last. “Sometimes Laird MacPherson gets this look on his face. A hungry look. I used to see it in McCade all the time, usually just before…”
“He’s nae like those men,” Delphine interrupted gently. “I’ve known him since he was a boy. Men have needs, ye know. Women too.”
Emma pursed her lips. “Well, I dinnae.”
Delphine shrugged. “Laird MacPherson is a good man. Still, I think the sooner he marries and settles down, the better.”
“Well, I’d only been here a few months before I ran into some lassie coming out of his chambers.”
The memory stuck in her mind, irritating her for some reason that didn’t seem to make sense. Emma couldn’t remember the woman in question, only that she was strikingly beautiful and one of the kitchen maids. Emma had gone beet red and scurried back the way she’d come.
Delphine laughed quietly.
“If ye are talking of Margot Timmins, there was no taking advantage involved. Margot likes a wee bit of fun, but she doesn’t want to be married. Not for a good long while, at least. I would take a special woman to tempt him, I think.”
“Or a foolish one,” Emma muttered sourly.
Delphine levered herself up out of her seat, wincing in pain. “We’ll have rain later, mark my words. My joints are screaming at me.”
Emma was vaguely aware of feeling irritated, upset that the subject of Laird Thomas MacPherson had been abandoned.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she spent so much time thinking about the man and trying to bring him up in conversation.
Was she trying to convince everyone else that he was a worthless rake?
Well, even if he was a womanizing fool, he was certainly a good laird. That wasn’t in doubt.
She glanced up from her inspection of her hands and caught Delphine watching her, her expression strange and unreadable.
“Are ye sure ye are all right, lassie? Ye seem… troubled.”
Emma swallowed back the strange, bubbling feeling in her chest, and forced a smile. “Aye, I’m fine. Tired, I suppose. I think we ought to arrange for someone to visit Edmund. I’m terrified that we’ll go next week and find him dead.”
Delphine considered this, nodding thoughtfully. “Aye, that’s a point, lass. Tell Laird MacPherson about it.”
Emma blinked. “Him? Why should he care?”
“It doesnae matter whether he cares or nae. Let me tell ye something, lassie. For all Laird MacPherson can be childish at times and even a wee bit thoughtless, he’s the sort of man who gets things done. And at the end of the day, that’s all that matters. Getting things done.”
On this closing note, Delphine made her slow, painful way towards her room. Emma absently threw a fistful of herbs into the mortar and began to grind it into a fine powder.
It had been a while since she had gotten free of the McCade. There was another pub nearby, the Sinner, which was probably just the same. Although from what she’d heard, the Sinner was meant to be better.
But she didn’t intend to find out. She liked it here, so it didn’t make sense to offend Laird MacPherson.
If only he’d stay out of her way.
If only the idea of him staying out of her way wasn’t so disappointing.
Emma worked the mortar and pestle harder and harder, trying to force away the strange ache in her chest. When her wrist began to throb, she slowed down.
“Easy on the pestle and mortar,” Delphine called from her room. “I can hear ye grinding away from in here. I don’t want ye cracking another one of those things. I’ve never known a lass to break stone before.”
“Her ears work well enough when she wants them to,” Emma muttered, red-faced.
“I heard that, too!”