Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
It was as though she were dreaming.
Edith stood outside the door to Martin’s chamber, her hand hovering over the wood. Her eyes almost watered as she lifted her knuckles to knock. She was about to begin her first official lesson on the art of healing, and her heart could not have been more full.
A strange warmth spread through her chest as she swallowed, releasing a nervous breath before rapping softly against the door.
She stilled, waiting for a moment, before pushing the door slightly open.
Gracious…
Her breath caught as she stepped into the vast chamber, hesitant at first. The scent was the first thing that hit her—dried herbs.
Her shoulders relaxed as she inhaled the distinct scents of rosemary and lavender, mixed in with a few other smells she could not quite decipher. It was strong but not unpleasant. Not even close.
Her eyes betrayed her, lighting up with excitement she could not quite contain.
She walked toward the far wall, taking in the shelves that lined it from end to end. There was an array of medicine beyond her imagination: herbs, potions, bundles of roots, tinctures, and even ointments.
The lowest rows housed different glass containers, and above them was everything else she could think of. The uppermost rows were filled with books—thick, worn volumes with cracked leather spines and softened edges from years of use.
She stepped closer without thinking. Her fingers reached out, brushing lightly against the spine of one book, as though she were afraid that touching anything would snap her out of the moment.
“A Treatise on the Craft of Healing,” a voice said from behind her.
She turned quickly to find Martin standing before her.
The healer was young, young enough that people often doubted him before he spoke. He could not be more than eight-and-twenty, but there was a steadiness about him that spoke to an incredible wealth of knowledge, setting him apart from many of the Highland healers.
His face had a softness that disarmed people before he even opened his mouth, and it disarmed her now, warding off whatever nervousness she’d been holding in her chest.
He stepped past her and reached into the shelf beside her to pull out the book she’d been staring at.
“’Tis quite difficult, I must say,” he said, flipping it open. Its pages released the scent of aged parchment and herbs, and he closed it again after a moment. “But ye’ll understand it all in no time.”
Edith’s eyes followed the book as he replaced it on the shelf.
“Thank ye,” she said, her voice bright. “I cannae wait to learn from ye, Martin. It truly is an honor.”
He turned toward her, studying her for a moment, before a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips.
“So,” he drawled, “ye’ve finally been granted lessons.”
Edith nodded quickly. “I’ve been following whenever I could,” she admitted. “Since Scarlett left.”
“Aye, I ken,” he said. “Now ye’ll learn properly.”
He moved through the space with ease, guiding her first to the central table, then back to the shelves, and across it again.
He did not rush through his explanations. He took his time, naming the herbs as he went and explaining everything about them. He told her about their uses and their dangers. Valerian was the first example. Its roots were thick and fibrous, and its smell was sharp enough to make her nose twitch.
“For sleep,” he said simply. “And for pain.” He set it down carefully. “But too much of it turns it harmful, so one must be careful.”
Then came yarrow, pale and feathery between his fingers. Then elderflower. Then a small cluster of dried hawthorn berries that he placed directly into her palm without warning.
“What do ye make of it?” he asked with each plant he showed her, and she described them in her words, interrupted from time to time as he gently corrected her.
After they were done, he walked her through the methods of preservation, telling her which ones must be dried immediately and which ones lost their potency too quickly to be stored.
Edith listened intently through it all. Her gaze rarely left Martin’s hands as he worked. And whenever he paused, she repeated quietly what she’d seen him do, rolling the names of herbs carefully on her tongue as though she were afraid to mispronounce them.
She made a mental note then.
A notebook.
She would need something to note down everything she had learned, though the thought of having to ask Aaron briefly soured her mood. He might refuse, but she decided it would be useful to ask.
Martin placed a small bundle into her hands, and she looked down at it. Her fingers curled around it as she recognized the roots at once.
“Comfrey,” she said before she could second-guess herself.
Martin’s brows rose slightly. “Well done.”
Somehow, those simple words filled her with more pride than she’d expected.
Time slipped by as the lesson progressed. Martin showed her how to grind, measure, and prepare simple mixtures. He pulled another book from the shelf, placed it open in front of her once they were seated, and explained its contents with absolute patience.
“This one is more suited to where ye are now,” he said.
Edith leaned in, her eyes catching the sketches and drawings on the pages.
“Can I…” She hesitated.
Martin nodded, encouraging her to speak.
“Can I take it back to me chamber? To study outside me lessons.”
“Aye,” he said with a smile.
Edith took the book, setting it aside so that she would not forget.
Martin gave her small duties throughout the day, keeping her involved and explaining as he went. She did everything he asked without complaint, assisting him and learning without feeling the slightest hint of exhaustion.
This was her dream. It was what she’d always wanted. And now that she had it, she would not let it slip away.
By the end of the afternoon, Martin paused, studying her for a moment.
“Knowledge isnae only what ye see,” he said. “It’s also what ye feel.”
He stepped closer, gently taking her wrist.
“Here,” he murmured. “The pulse. The heart speaks through it.”
Edith stilled. She watched as his fingers shifted over her wrist, pressing against the correct point.
“May I try it?” she asked. She had never been able to feel a pulse before, not successfully at least.
Martin obliged, giving her his hand.
A small frown creased her face as she concentrated. Then, finally, she felt it, fluttering steadily beneath her fingers.
“’Tis quite slow,” she noted.
He nodded in agreement. “Aye. That tells ye somethin’.”
A soft smile touched her lips without her realizing it, and Martin’s eyes lit up at her expression.
He shifted then, guiding her other hand gently away from her side and placing it against his chest. “Now feel the difference.”
Edith’s breath caught slightly. It was strange, placing her hand against the chest of a man she barely knew. But Martin was entirely proper about it—a teacher demonstrating a lesson, nothing more. His expression never shifted, and somehow that made it easier to concentrate.
She pressed one hand against her chest and the other against his, feeling both of their heartbeats at the same time.
“Mine is faster,” she observed quietly.
Martin nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Ye’re excited. ’Tis what knowledge does.” He watched her carefully. “But learn to separate yer own pulse from the one ye’re reading. A healer cannae afford confusion between the two.”
Edith nodded, pressing her hand more firmly against his chest and closing her eyes.
And then, all of a sudden, the door burst open.