Page 13 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

Alasdair remained by the door, feeling like an intruder.

Apart from the physician, only the family remained—including the two terriers who were busy investigating the tolerant Ban’s puppies.

Not even Miles had stayed in the chamber.

Yet he could hardly back out of the door, since Ranulph had specifically asked for him.

After a swift glance in the old man’s direction, Alasdair’s faint hope that he might have improved since the last time he’d seen him vanished.

Pain twisted Ranulph’s face, his hands shook where they lay on top of the bedcovers, and the color had leeched from his skin, leaving him looking little more than a corpse.

He’d never say it aloud, but it would be a blessing for Ranulph when he passed.

After Freyja greeted her grandfather, she stood back and pulled her large satchel from her shoulder and placed it carefully on the floor.

“Let’s make ye more comfortable,” she said before turning to the physician. “Lamont, a word if ye please.”

She inclined her head, indicating they should move away from the bed and Alasdair watched, fascinated, as the physician pressed his lips together in undeniable displeasure at her request but obeyed, nonetheless.

They stood a short distance from him, and he tore his gaze from Freyja and focused on his boots, so it didn’t appear he was eavesdropping. Yet despite how they kept their voices low, he heard every word.

“I should be obliged if ye’d kindly cease the bloodletting.” Even though she framed it as a request, it sounded far more like an order, and Alasdair couldn’t help casting an incredulous glance her way.

In his experience, no one, least of all a woman, questioned a physician’s method of treatment. But then, this was Freyja, and she was unlike any other woman he’d ever met. Her gaze was fixed on the physician, who stiffened in clear affront at her words.

“That’s most unwise, my lady. The treatment is working as it should.”

“Indeed. And it’s time to try an alternative.”

“Yer grandfather is my patient, and I’ll not allow anyone to use the devil’s work on him.”

Devil’s work? Who the hell did the physician think he was, to speak so disrespectfully to Freyja?

He’d taken a step towards them before he even realized, ready to defend her integrity against this educated oaf, when she jabbed her finger in the physician’s chest. Staggered by her action, he halted, even as admiration for her nerve spiked through him.

“Ye’re living in the past, and that’s a fact. Have ye not heard the poppy is no longer reviled in yer rarefied circles?”

“Lady Freyja.” Condescension dripped from each word. “Yer obsolete remedies may ease the peasant women ye are graciously inclined to assist in their hour of need, but ye must leave real medicine to those who know what they are doing.”

Pompous turd. Irritation surged through him, and he took another stride closer to them. It didn’t matter that Lamont was likely correct, he had no right to devalue Freyja’s skills in such a manner.

“I know what I’m doing.” There was a sharp note of frustration in Freyja’s voice now and her cheeks flushed a deep red.

“Just as my foremothers knew for generations, while yer profession turned its back on ancient wisdom. But I’m not going to stand here arguing with ye.

We shall see what my grandfather wishes to do. ”

“Yer grandfather is in no fit state to make such a decision.”

He’d heard enough of Lamont’s barely disguised contempt, and he went to her side, ignoring the poisonous glare the physician arrowed his way. “Lady Freyja, might I pay my respects to yer grandfather?”

She looked at him, and while he’d expected to see anger shining in her eyes, it was the hurt lurking there that stabbed him through the chest. She put on a brave face, but Lamont’s contemptuous dismissal of her skills had wounded her all the same, and a surge of unexpected protectiveness burned through him.

By God, if he wasn’t a guest of the MacDonalds, he’d damn well call Lamont out. But now wasn’t the time, and he battened down the urge to grab the physician by the neck of his pretentious long dark robe and sling him from the chamber onto his arse.

It was a satisfying fantasy. A pity it was unlikely to ever occur.

“Afi asked ye to join us, so I’m certain he wishes to see ye.” Freyja’s reply to his question pulled him back to the present and he smiled at her, pointedly ignoring Lamont as they made their way to the bed.

Lady Helga turned towards him at their approach, her face a regal mask hiding her feelings, as Lady Roisin surreptitiously wiped tears from her cheeks with her fingers. And again, he felt like an outsider. Because he was. He always had been. Even in his own family. Yet how he wished he wasn’t.

He drew in a deep breath, banishing the insidious thought. He’d never harbored any desire to be a MacDonald, and that was the only way he’d not be an outsider here in the heartland of the seafaring clan.

Just as Freyja MacDonald would be an outsider in Argyll, seat of the powerful Clan Campbell.

Even as the thought slithered through his mind, he rejected it. Once he returned to Argyll, he’d be laird of Dunochty Castle and as his wife, Freyja would not only be accepted, but she’d also be welcomed.

He would never allow his bride to feel anything less than cherished.