Page 16 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

C lad in a somewhat ill-fitting and faded kirtle that Davina had found waiting on her chair when she walked in from the solar, she was ready for more planting.

When she and Feather scampered down the path to the infirmary, there was no sign of the wicked goat. Fortunately, the weather had cleared and the mud pool had subsided.

Broderick greeted them with a slightly worried expression and a faint frown. “Are ye all right, Davina?”

“Dinnae fret, Broderick. I am well. I didnae catch me death of cold, as the laird was kind enough to allow me the warmth of the castle tae bathe.”

He bent to bestow a pat on Feather’s head and tickle her under the chin. “Shall we go now tae the kitchen tae break our fast before we begin the day’s work?”

Davina nodded. She was eager to thank Ailis for her kindness toward Feather and she guessed the new-old kirtle had been provided by her.

As they turned down the path to the kitchen, she caught sight of Everard heading in the opposite direction with his bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder and his long sword in his hand.

“The laird is well armed this morning. Nay doubt he intends tae have a sparring session with Ulric.”

“Ulric?” That was a name Davina had not heard before.

“Aye. He’s a hulking great tree-trunk of a lad. A Viking I’m told. He stays in the crews’ barracks most of the time, although I’ve heard he’s a wife and weans in the village. A fine seaman, one of the gockman’s favorites.

As they entered the kitchen Ailis greeted them with her customary scowl, although it softened into a smile at the sight of Feather.

She looked Davina up and down and a smile broke out on her broad features. “Lass, I didnae ken if that kirtle and chemise would fit ye, as it was worn by me daughter-in-law who’s a sight larger than ye. Jonnet will take it in fer ye.” She held Davina at arm’s length, scrutinizing her. “At least it’s nae too long.”

Davina chuckled. The kirtle was, indeed, expansive, but the sleeves and the hem were the right length. “I thank ye and yer daughter-in-law.”

“I’ve sent the clothes ye had on yesterday tae the laundress. She’ll rinse away the mud and they’ll be good as new.” She gave Davina a sideways look. “What were ye thinking, lass, tae end up face down in the mud?”

Davina felt her face flush with heat, managing a smile at the good-natured teasing. Although, the doubted if she would ever live down the episode with the pesky goat.

Mildred strode into the kitchen and took a seat beside Davina and Broderick, while Ailis ladled porridge into three bowls and passed them along. They helped themselves to cream and honey.

As she’d done so many times, Davina compared this friendly gathering and the delicious porridge with the miserable mornings she’d spent in silence at the Priory.

They finished their break-fast and she and Broderick were about to return to the infirmary, when Mildred raised a finger. “A word, lass.”

Broderick walked off after bidding them goodbye and Mildred drew Davina aside, where no one could hear them.

“Are ye falling in love wi’ Laird Everard?” The housekeeper’s face was a picture of concern. She rubbed a hand across her chin. “I beg yer pardon if I speak too directly tae ye, Davina, but I have seen how ye look at him. And…” She shrugged. “I’ve seen how he looks at ye. As if ye’re a sweetmeat he cannae wait tae devour.”

“I… I… dinnae ken what tae say,” Davina stammered. She was quite unprepared to answer such a question. “I’ve nae notion of falling in love, or what it might feel like.”

Mildred patted her hand.

“I ken ye’re unversed in the ways of seduction and lovemaking.”

Davina gulped in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to compose her flustered thoughts. “I ken a little of such things. I gleaned some from the gossip of one or two lasses who stayed in the Priory at Iona during me time there.”

Mildred sighed, scratching her head. “I dinnae mean the fantasies of young girls, lass. I mean the reality of being swooped into a man’s arms and kissed soundly. So soundly that ye forget where ye are and what yer name is.”

Unable to speak, Davina shook her head. She understood only too well what Mildred was referring to. She had dreams at night, hot and glorious, where she was in the laird’s arms, with his lips on hers. From such dreams, she awoke in disarray, all of her humming with a strange desire.

“I can dae nay more than warn ye. The laird will wed a lass from a family equal tae his. Mayhap the daughter or niece of a laird. A lass he might nae love, but one whose alliance wi’ her clan will bring advantage tae the MacNeils.”

Tears stung Davina’s eyes. One or two rolled down her cheek, which she quickly dabbed away.

He will never look at the likes of me. A poor lass who daesnae ken even her faither’s name.

“I understand.” She offered a brief curtsy to Mildred. “I thank ye fer yer concern. I ken the laird would ne’er wed wi’ the likes of me.”

Mildred reached for her hand and gave it a kindly squeeze. “I’m sorry, Davina. I only wish tae protect ye. Many a lass has been misled by her own passions and the charms of a handsome lad, finishing in ruin and heartbreak.”

Davina walked back to the infirmary with a heavy heart. There was no doubt, Mildred meant well, but her warning had come too late. What she felt for Everard MacNeil would not disappear simply because it was unsuitable and dangerous.

As she walked through the infirmary door, Broderick was donning his cloak, Feather weaving herself around his legs. Beside him was a basket containing a selection of tinctures and salves as well as rolled-up strips of linen for bandages.

“Ah, I am glad ye came before I left.”

Davina raised a puzzled eyebrow. He’d said nothing about going out when they were breaking their fast.

“A message has just come from the village. Seems a child has been a tad reckless in climbing a tree. He’s fallen and is wailing fit tae wake the dead. Mayhap he’s broken a bone or two and bumped his wee head. The fisherman who brought the message is waiting now tae take me over the bay tae tend tae the lad.”

She quickly checked the contents of his basket and took one more salve from the shelf. “Arnica. It will help heal the bruises which the boy is sure tae have.”

“Thank ye, Davina. I am confident tae leave ye here as I ken ye are a born healer.”

After he’d gone Davina rolled up her sleeves and swept the stone floor as she did each morning. Then, taking her mortar and pestle she got on with grinding seeds and dried herbs with oil to make a salve as Broderick had shown her. Concentrating on the task helped to keep her thoughts from straying to Laird Everard, as they seemed to constantly do. When it was done, she ladled the paste into two waiting jars and placed them on the shelf.

Rather pleased with her efforts, she washed her hands in water from the cistern outside the door. She was drying them on a rough flax cloth when a young man she recognized as one of Ranald Dunbar’s crewmen came puffing down the path.

He skidded to a halt beside her. “Is the healer here?”

She shook her head. “He’s gone tae the village.”

The man huffed, a concerned expression on his face. “That’s nae good. There’s a problem down at the sparring yard, behind the crew’s house.”

On hearing this, Davina’s throat constricted. Everard’s been injured. It took effort to keep her voice steady. “I am a healer also. I can help, if ye tell me what the problem.”

“’Tis a big man whose leg is injured.” The fellow looked her up and down. “Ulric the Viking. Ye’re a wee lass. I dinnae ken if ye can manage.”

She pshawed at this, grateful that it was not Everard who was suffering. “’Tis me or naught. As I said, the healer has already sailed over the bay and willnae return fer a number of hours.”

The man gave a rueful nod. “I thank ye, Mistress.”

Davina straightened her spine to make herself as tall as she could. “I am Mistress Davina, and tae whom am I speaking?”

“Begging yer pardon, Mistress. Me name is Ban.”

She nodded. “Wait a few moments Ban, until I’ve collected what I need, and I will accompany ye tae the yard.”

Hurrying inside she managed to catch her breath while she collected several ointments, a tincture for pain, and another jar of arnica for bruising. She took down several rolls of bandages and placed it all in her basket.

She hastened out, mindful of Feather’s woebegone expression as she pulled the door shut behind her. She followed Ban along the slipway, scarcely giving any thought to the water lapping beside them. They took the path leading to the crew’s quarters and the sparring yard.

Ranald Dunbar turned to greet them as they came into the yard, Everard, his back to them, was supporting a large, ginger-haired lad she supposed was Ulric the Viking.

Everard greeted her with a worried smile.

“I dinnae ken if the lad has broken his leg. We were sparring wi’ our swords when his foot rolled on a stone and he went down, twisting his leg as he fell.” He helped the man across to a large rock where he could sit. “As ye can see, Ulric is nae a small lad. When he falls, there’s quite a weight hits the ground.”

Ulric was true to his heritage, fair, with pale blue eyes. A veritable giant of a man, he was even larger by a scrap than Everard. He was biting his lip against the pain, and looked at her with pitiful eyes, begging for help.

She turned to Ranald Dunbar. “Can ye go intae the crew’s house and boil the kettle?” She handed him a package of dried leaves. “If ye can make a tisane out of these, it will soften Ulric’s pain.”

He took the little packet and hurried off. Turning to Ulric she asked, “Can ye bend yer leg?”

He nodded and she took his swollen leg and bent it gently, checking to see that it was not broken and that his knee was in the place it should have been. His sharply indrawn breath told her that even under her gentle touch, he was suffering.

“Me laird, now that I ken Ulric’s leg is nae broken, can ye support it? Hold it straight fer me so that I can test tae see what the problem is.”

Everard obeyed her silently, supporting the big Viking’s leg on his own bent knee. The leg was swollen and, at first, it was difficult for Davina to tell where it was damaged.

“Ye’ve nae twisted yer knee, Master Ulric, but it seems ye’ve done some damage tae yer ankle.” She looked askance at the angle of his foot.

She gently felt along his foot and around his ankle, acutely aware of Everard’s penetrating gaze taking in her every move. “Can ye straighten yer foot, lad?”

Ulric moaned, but slowly moved his foot to the position if should be in.

“Methinks ye’ve a sprain. ‘Tis nae broken, I’m pleased tae tell ye. I’ll bind yer ankle and foot and ye mustnae stand upon the leg until this is better.”

“Can I be of assistance tae ye, Davina?” Everard spoke for the first time.

“Just continue as ye are, support his leg while I tend tae it.”

“Aye, lass.”

She felt her cheeks burning. There she was giving orders to the laird. And, what’s more, he was obeying. She looked up at him for the first time. He smiled as their eyes met. It was then she realized his shirt was only carelessly strung around his shoulders and that he was bare chested.

Confronted for the first time with a man’s bare chest, and one that was not only broad and imposing, but taut and well-muscled, with a sprinkling of dark hairs, she could hardly tear her eyes away. Her gaze fixed on the dark arrow of hair disappearing down the front of his britches.

Everard cleared his throat and she snapped her eyes away, hastily refocusing on Ulric, just as Ranald Dunbar emerged from the building bearing a steaming, scented, brew. He handed it to her, she breathed in the aroma, nodded, and handed the precious tisane to Ulric.

“Drink this lad, but take care, it is hot. It will dull the pain as I get on wi’ dealing wi’ this ankle.”

The man took it in his great hand and sipped. While she waited a few moments for the drugging tisane to do its work, she applied a tincture to the lower part of his leg, his ankle and his foot. “This will help wi’ the swelling and will ease yer pain too.”

Once Ulric was almost smiling and clearly feeling no pain, she set about binding his ankle. First, she made sure his foot had movement and was aligned correctly. Then she took the longest strip on the roll and, beginning with his foot, bound him, foot to knee. Once she’d tied off the bandage she got to her feet and turned to Dunbar.

“He’ll need a crutch of some sort. If ye’ve a stout piece of oak that can be whittled tae fit, he can use it tae get around.”

Dunbar headed off again in search of whatever he could find that would do the job.

“Me laird,” she said with some difficulty, averting her gaze from his bare chest. “If ye can assist the lad tae his bed, he can rest awhile, until the potion I’ve given him wears off.”

He gave her a knowing nod, causing another rush of heat to her cheeks.

Turning to Ulric she said firmly, “Ye are nae tae set foot tae the ground until I’ve told ye.”

Everard got to his feet and, slinging the still-smiling Ulric’s arm over his shoulder, hoisted the man to his feet. Then, supporting Ulric’s weight as he half-hopped, and half-dragged his leg they progressed slowly across the yard and around the corner of the house.