Chapter 18 #2
She let herself into the chamber without waiting for an answer to her knock, already unwinding the old linen wrap before she’d properly crossed the room. She was small, precise, and had been treating the O’Brien clan since before Edward could walk.
He had not meant to come in. He’d been on his way to the granary stores when Beathag’s low, dry voice carried through the half-open door, and he stopped.
He was standing at the far wall with his arms crossed, his skin prickling hot under his wool jacket, before he’d properly decided to enter at all.
She said nothing for the first two minutes of the examination. Her unhurried, weathered hands unwound the white linen from Chloe’s ankle. She turned the joint once left and then once right, her calloused thumbs probing deep into the flesh.
When she pressed two firm fingers directly along the swollen outer edge of the bone, her sharp eyes darted up to lock onto Chloe’s face. Chloe gave nothing away. Her features remained a smooth, carved mask, her breathing shallow and steady.
Beathag’s thin mouth compressed into a tight, hard line. A clear sign she had noticed the fierce effort it took to keep that face still.
Edward stood at the far end of the chamber, his huge arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared unblinkingly at the rough stone wall.
“Bend it,” Beathag commanded.
Chloe drew her foot back, her jaw tightening by a fraction as she bent the joint.
“Further.”
She pulled it closer to the bed, her knuckles whitening where she gripped the mattress linen.
Beathag made a low, guttural sound that was neither approval nor its opposite, and set the slender foot down on the low wooden stool. She straightened her old spine, pressing her palms together, and peered at Chloe over the square silver rims of her spectacles.
“Another three days of rest,” the healer said, her voice dropping like a stone, “and ye’ll be sound.”
“Two,” Chloe said instantly.
Beathag glared at her through the lenses.
“I have been restin’ for nearly a week,” Chloe said, her voice level and entirely without apology. “The swellin’ is gone. I walked the full length of this stone corridor this mornin’ without any difficulty.”
“I am aware of what ye did this mornin’, yer maid told me,” Beathag replied. “Ye also gripped the wall with both hands the entire way down.”
“Out of habit,” Chloe said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Out of necessity.” Beathag looked at her.
"Out of caution," Chloe said, a small smile taking the edge off it. "Which isnae quite the same thing."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the space between them. Beathag studied her for a long, measuring moment. Then, her head snapped around, and she looked directly at Edward.
He said nothing. His jaw remained locked. He was not going to insert himself into a battle of wills between two stubborn women.
“Two days,” Beathag finally barked. “Then I will examine the bone again if Mrs. Donnan agrees. We’ll have to ask her.”
“I am here,” Mrs. Donnan said from the open doorway.
Edward had not heard the heavy scrape of her boots arrive. He was fairly certain Beathag had not either, though the old healer gave no outward indication of surprise.
Mrs. Donnan stepped into the chamber, her dark skirts swishing against the floorboards. She looked down at Chloe’s bound ankle, flicked her gaze to Beathag, then to Edward. “Two more days of rest,” she decreed, her posture rigid as iron. “Then we will see.”
“That is what I said,” Beathag agreed smoothly.
“Good.” Mrs. Donnan turned to Chloe. “Then we are agreed.”
Beathag began rewinding the long strip of white linen.
Edward uncrossed his heavy arms, his muscles pulling tight.
He forced his eyes back to the stone wall, but he was aware of Chloe sitting perfectly still on the very edge of the mattress.
Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her lips pressed shut, saying absolutely nothing.
She had been doing that ever since he stepped through the door. She remained quiet. It made the air between them thick, carrying a faint scent of the lavender water on her skin and the dry peat smoke from the hearth.
“Two days,” Edward said, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
Beathag glanced up at him, her hands frozen on the cloth. “That is what has been decided.”
“And then she can ride?” He directed the words straight to Beathag, which was perhaps slightly less honest than saying them directly to Chloe, but considerably easier on his chest. “If ye both agree she’s fit.”
A heavy pause hung in the room. Beathag pulled one of the knots tight, tying off the linen wrap. “If the joint is sound, aye.”
Edward gave a single, sharp nod and moved toward the door. His boots thudded heavily on the floor, and his shoulder was almost through the threshold when Chloe spoke, her voice quiet and low.
“Thank ye.”
He came to a sudden halt, his hand clutching the rough oak frame.
She avoided his eyes, her gaze staying on her folded fingers in her lap, her pale face calm.
The weak morning light from the high window caught the bright copper strands in her dark hair and illuminated the small splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Suddenly, a brief, vivid memory slammed into his chest. The sight of her standing against a small tavern window, those same freckles stark against her skin. The memory brought with it the sudden, phantom heat of her skin against his palms.
He did not move. His hand stayed locked on the door frame.
“For comin’,” she said, still not lifting her eyes from her hands. “Ye didnae need to.”
“Aye, I did.”
That got her eyes up. “Because ye’re me husband?”
“Because Beathag tells ye what ye want to hear when it suits her, and ye tell her the same right back. Between the two of ye I’d never get a straight answer otherwise.”
The corner of her mouth moved, gone before it settled into anything. “So it wasnae for me, then.”
“I didnae say that.”
She looked at him properly for the first time since he’d come through the door. He found he had nothing ready for that, and the quiet went on a beat too long before he broke it himself.
“Rest the two days,” he said, rougher than he meant it. “Then we’ll see about the ridin’.”
He was through the door before she could answer, boots loud on the stone.
The granary inspection took him the better part of the morning. A severe problem was developing with the eastern storage bay. Dampness was seeping through the lower foundation stones, not flooding yet, but persistent and steady.
He went through the grain inventory with his steward, his voice flat as they discussed the necessary repointing of the affected masonry wall. He made three sharp decisions, deferred a fourth, and finally emerged into the open courtyard at midday with the logistical problem only partially resolved.
His thoughts remained stuck. They were still lingering in the moment she thanked him. The memory of her bare shoulders at the window burned at the back of his eyes.
He crossed the muddy stones to the training yard.
Tyler was running Duncan through rapid footwork drills. Duncan’s technique had undeniably improved.
Tyler circled the boy, wooden blade loose in his grip. “Feet first, sword second. How many times have I told ye that?”
“Feet first, sword second.” Duncan reset his stance without being told twice.
“Again. Faster.”
Duncan ran the sequence again, quicker this time, and Tyler made a low sound in his throat that might have been approval, if a man were forced to guess at it.
“That’s it?” Duncan asked, breathing hard. “That’s all I get?”
“Ye get a grunt. Ask the Laird for more than that and see how far it gets ye.”
Edward watched the exchange from the iron gate without announcing his presence. The boy’s left shoulder was still dropping too low on the recovery, leaving his flank exposed, but his feet were significantly cleaner than they had been a fortnight ago, and the natural speed was coming.
Tyler’s eyes caught him at the gate. Edward shook his head slightly, a silent command to keep going. Tyler instantly returned his full attention to Duncan, his wooden practice sword whistling through the air without missing a single step.
He stayed for about ten minutes. It was enough time to see what he needed to see, which was that the boy was doing well. That was all he ever required from anyone under his command. He turned and left the yard without saying a word to either of them.
The long afternoon passed in a blur of clan tallies and ledgers. He worked methodically. He ate his bread cold. He did not go near the nursery.
He told himself it was the ledgers keeping him from it. He told himself that right up until the light went out, and after that, he stopped bothering to tell himself anything at all.
Two days. Then she rides, and it stops bein’ me business where she sleeps.