Page 8 of Following Her Highland Journey (The White Witch’s Apprentices #2)

7

T here was no green left around the castle town of Clan Martin. Adair paced past the castle slowly, seeing that half the keep had been destroyed, with rubble scattered on the grounds. The Laird had been killed outright along with his wife, and there was no word on what had happened to his children. Adair hoped they had somehow escaped, though the deep sadness within her accepted the fact that this was probably not the case.

The clouds above were dark grey, but Adair was not nervous, at least not by that measure. It was a sign of normal Highland rain, not of any oncoming storm. She could not take it as a bad omen, especially not at this time of year. She tried to convince herself of that as she forged ahead. There was only forward left to her now, only the chance to keep going and make things right. Nothing else mattered.

It only took a quarter hour to reach the center of the castle town from there, and it was a grim sight. Though many refugees had fled, those too weak or injured or stubborn to make the journey had stayed, and now they were trying to rebuild a village that had been reduced to no more than rubble and ash. It had started to rain, and they must be struggling to see, but they kept it up nonetheless.

A few buildings still remained, and it was clear that many families had been gathered into those as attempts were made to rebuild their homes. As well, someone had set up several temporary shelters that would at least keep out the winter cold and rain. The largest building, which seemed to have served as a town meeting point, had its doors wide open, and Adair saw injured men and women being carried in and out—a makeshift house of healing like the abbey hospitals in Elgin and Aberdeen and St. Andrews. This was where she was needed.

As she pulled her hood tighter around her to protect herself from the rain and moved forward, she noticed that several of the men helping with the rebuilding and even some of the men and women helping to care for the sick were wearing brooches or other insignia that clearly marked them as part of other clans. She didn't know enough about politics to recognize which clans exactly, but it gave her heart to know that, even in this time of desperation, the people of the Highlands had not abandoned their own.

"What can I do for ye, miss?" a hooded guard asked as she reached the door of the house of healing. "Are ye in need of aid? Visitin' a relative?"

"I'm a healer…" she started, but trailed off as she looked up and caught the man's gaze. A pair of green eyes, deep as the leaves on an evergreen pine, stared back at her.

It was as though the rain stopped. As though time stopped. As though her very heart stopped there and then at that moment as Adair stared into Henry's eyes. He stared back, the shock in his gaze as real as her own.

Her hand trembling, she reached out and gently lowered his hood. He didn't stop her. His hair was a little less bright than it had once been, longer and messier too, but it was the same strawberry blond that had captured her attention at the farm so long ago. Still transfixed, she stood still as he moved next, his hand moving under her own hood to cup her cheek and turn her to face him properly.

Adair's skin felt like it had burst into flame when his skin touched hers. She shook her head, not to dislodge him, but to let her hood fall away so that he could see her properly. They stood there like that, her hands resting on his chest, his hand holding her cheek, for a moment or an hour or several millennia, Adair didn't know which.

"Henry," she breathed, and the spell was broken. The rain was falling once more, heavy and icy against their exposed heads, the noise of the hospital rose around them, and time went back to normal. But he was still here. He was here.

"Is it really ye? Adair?" Henry asked, awe in his tone, a sound so sweet Adair's heart almost shattered there and then. It was really him, really his words, not a voice in her head but her Henry here and now, alive and well. He lowered his hand and stepped back away from her, and Adair felt an ache even at that small loss. "What are ye doin' here?"

"I…I…I could ask ye the same question," she stammered, then swallowed, getting a hold of herself. The rain flooded down even more heavily, but she ignored it. "I thought—I thought ye were dead. But ye're here. Ye're here!"

He was marveling at her, looking just as awestruck as she felt. "And I feared the same for ye. I hoped he'd escaped, prayed it, but Adair, I thought…oh, God above. Did ye make it tae the witch? Did she aid ye?"

"Ye're here ," Adair whispered. She couldn't seem to make other words come. "I kent ye were alive. I kent it. Oh, Henry!"

Something in him seemed to shift as she said his name, and in an instant, he'd closed the gap between them again, this time pulling her tight into a warm, safe embrace. His arms wrapped around her, and she held onto him tightly, her head resting against his chest, reassuring herself over and over again by the sound of the steady beat of his heart.

Alive.

She had found him.

Adair wasn't sure how long they stood there, the rain soaking through their clothes and into their skin, the only real thing in the world the fact that they were in each other's arms. She knew she had started to cry at some point, and she suspected that Henry might have as well, though with the weather and the fact that her face was buried in his chest, she had no way to tell for sure.

A sudden crash above them broke the moment, and Adair yelped as they jumped apart. "Was that…was that thunder?" She'd been so sure there was no sign of a storm, but…

"It wasnae thunder. It was only some of the men with their wagons bringin' supplies over the hill." Henry's words were soft, soothing, and they brought her back to the nights when he'd talked her down from her fears all those years ago. "Come. We're soaked, and if ye dinnae change out of those things, ye'll catch a chill."

Adair nodded mutely, following him inside the hospital building. Chaos reigned inside. Though it was clear they were trying their best, there were very clearly more injured and sick than there were healers or even space to help them. Some people lay in beds, most on blankets or pallets on the floor, and a group of two or three healers were running back and forth between them all. Adair immediately took a step forward, but Henry caught her hand.

"We need tae get ye changed," he reminded her. "Ye'll be of nae use tae these people if ye collapse from an illness."

"Aye." Adair agreed with him, of course, but she mostly felt dazed. She allowed Henry to lead her through the hospital into a small room at the back, her mind in a daze. She was having trouble understanding how it had come to this. She'd woken this morning with a path in mind, and now here she stood.

With Henry. Henry!

"There are spare clothes over in that box. They're men's, but ye should find somethin' that keeps ye warm and dry until we can get ye a spare dress," Henry told her, pointing. He himself removed a clean, dry shirt and peeled off his own wet one without a second thought.

Adair stared as he did. His torso was toned and muscled, but thin white lines streaked it in odd patterns that she realized were probably scars. He had obviously suffered several stab wounds, perhaps in the very fight he'd taken on to save her life. The fight in which she'd been sure he had died.

She moved forward, hypnotized. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand raised to trace one of the scars, a jagged line that trailed from his collarbone close to his heart. He let out a low sound when her fingers touched his bare skin, but he did not move away as she traced the damage there. Adair could feel his eyes fixed on her and heard his breath catch more than once. Warmth radiated from his skin, and her own body reacted to it, urging her to step closer.

"I got that the night I lost ye," he said quietly, the unexpected rumble of his voice vibrating through the hand which still rested on his chest. "The night I thought ye…I thought…God above, Adair, I had nae idea ye survived. I hoped for it. Prayed for it, every night. But I never dreamed…"

Adair looked up, her eyes meeting his. Almost unconsciously, she took a step closer to him, her hand now flat against his chest. "I went tae the White Witch. Just as ye'd planned."

"Ye found her, then," Henry said, his voice low and full of something Adair could not understand. He moved his hands, reaching to where her cloak was buttoned at her throat. A deft motion of his fingers and the wet material fell away, pooling on the ground and leaving her standing in only her dampened dress. "I should have kent ye would. Ye're a survivor, Adair. Ye always have been."

Adair felt herself trembling in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. She moved her hand now, tracing a slow path from the scar on his chest to a white slash on the sensitive part just under his ribs. As she did, he let out a low breath and closed his eyes.

"Did ye look for me?" she asked quietly. "Did ye think of me?"

"Every day. Every night," he mumbled. "When I could. But a year passed, and then two, and I…"

Her body was tingling all over now, urging her to move even closer, to close the gap between them and press herself against him. She only barely managed to hold herself back as she whispered, "Me too."

Henry opened his eyes and looked down at her. She saw a smoldering fire there, an intensity and heat she had rarely seen in a person's eyes, and she wondered if it was reflected back in her own.

"Ye have tae change out of those wet clothes," he reminded her without breaking eye contact. Adair's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she had the wild idea that he would aid her further in doing so. Indeed, his hands twitched, seeming to be moving to help her remove her dress, until?—

"Henry, I…what? What is this?"

The woman's voice seemed to break the spell, and Henry and Adair jumped apart, dropping contact from each other so quickly that it felt like Adair's skin had been scalded. Adair knew she must be blushing, but she did her best to gather herself properly before turning to face the woman who had entered the room.

She was a pretty woman, with shoulder-length bright blonde hair and deep, warm brown eyes. She was tall, and perhaps a little older than Henry, in her late twenties or so, but it only seemed to add to her majestic appearance. Adair was sure she was the kind of woman that any man would fall for in an instant. She looked so out of place in all this chaos that her presence only added to the part of Adair that was increasingly convinced that this was all a bizarre dream.

"Isobel," Henry greeted. He was clearly trying to sound casual, but his voice sounded dry, and there was something else in his tone. Guilt? It couldn't be, could it? Unease settled in Adair's stomach at the thought. "I was just showin' Adair here where tae get dry clothes. She's here tae help us."

Isobel raised one eyebrow. "Well, it seems ye've shown her," she said. "Away with ye. I'll help the lass change if she needs it, Henry. And ye seem tae have forgotten yer own shirt."

Henry laughed awkwardly. "Adair, I'll see ye this evenin'. Seems we have much tae catch up on." And then, with a last glance at Adair, took the dry shirt and left, pulling it over his head as he went.

Adair and Isobel stared at each other, then Adair said, "Thank ye, truly, but I am nae in need of any help."

She expected Isobel to respond coldly, but the woman smiled, though it was clear by her expression that something was still troubling her. "Of course, dear," Isobel told her with a nod. "Ye're here tae help?"

"I'm a healer," Adair explained. "I came tae see if I could offer anythin' tae McNair's victims. I…"

Isobel nodded again. "As ye say. Well, help yerself tae what we have, as I'm sure Henry told ye. And when ye're done, may I be the first tae take yer attentions?"

Adair looked this perfect woman up and down, frowning a little. "Of course, but…forgive me, are ye sick?"

Isobel's expression faltered, and for the first time her perfect demeanor cracked. "No, it's…it's me nephew," she explained. "He's only thirteen, but he tried tae fight. None of the healers…"

Adair held up a hand. The words were all she needed to hear. Whoever Isobel was, whatever was going on with Henry, it could wait. "Give me five minutes tae change," she said. "Then take me tae yer nephew."

To Henry, the world suddenly seemed a different set of colors than it had only a few moments before. For the past five years, his life had felt like he'd been viewing the earth around him through a thin filter of grey, but now there was brightness once more. Despite the seriousness and suffering around him, despite the rain outside and the uncertainty of it all, dawn had finally come when Adair had appeared back in his life.

He had searched for her, that much was true, but given his injuries and the path he'd had to follow to survive, it had not been as extensive a search as he would have once hoped. And besides, he'd been so sure she was dead. He'd sent her to the White Witch based on a half-remembered tale his mother had told him, though he'd mostly been convinced it was just that. Still, he'd thought back then that Adair would have better luck with a fairy tale than with his evil uncle.

And she'd lived. She'd thrived . And now she was here, no longer a scared little girl but a beautiful, skilled woman with fire in her eyes, making his heart sing once again. His skin still prickled even now where she had touched his bare chest, and he tried not to think about how much he'd longed to pull her closer.

Guilt coiled in his stomach and he grimaced, casting his eyes out over their makeshift hospital. He could see her there, the flash of her blonde hair as she worked over three patients at once, paying special care to young Finn.

"She's doin' a grand job. Seems a lovely lass," Isobel's voice said in his ear, and he turned to find her standing next to him. "Where did she come from? Were ye expectin' her?"

Henry smiled at the sight of her, though it also made the guilt curdle more strongly. The sight of Isobel always pleased him, but Adair's sudden appearance confused things. He could tell that Isobel knew something was amiss, but what to say to her?

"She's from me past," he admitted. "The…the lass. The one the Laird abducted."

Isobel tilted her head to the side, studying him. "Is that so, aye? Ye never telt me ye had such a…close relationship with her. Or that she lived."

"I didnae ken that part. I grieved her, Isobel. I thought…" He trailed off, sighing. "I never lied tae ye. Everythin' I've told ye about before we met is the truth."

She reached out and touched his hand, such a familiar gesture of affection between them that they barely noticed it anymore. This time, though, Henry could not help but notice how it did not set his skin alight as Adair's touch had. "I believe ye, Henry," Isobel told him softly. She was a woman with a good heart, but not one who suffered fools or liars. That much was clear in her gaze now. "But I also believe there's much, much more tae yer story than I am aware of."

Henry considered this for a moment, then bowed his head. "Aye. Well, there's always more tae every story."

Isobel chewed her lip, then nodded. "So tell it tae me, then. Tell me everythin'."

Henry's eyes traveled back to where Adair was now sitting next to Finn's bed, mopping the boy's brow. His heart panged and his stomach clenched more tightly. "It's not me story tae tell. But I can swear tae ye on me life, Izzy, Adair would never hurt ye nor Finn. If she promised she'll help him, then she will."

"I believe ye," Isobel said again, though there was a sadness to her tone now that Henry didn't like. "But if ye will tell me only part of the tale, then I think I shall have tae get her tae tell me the rest."

Henry wanted to do something to explain, to remove the obvious hurt in Isobel's eyes, but he couldn't. After all, he barely knew the whole situation for himself. He had ended up in this mess and been contemplating his path long before Adair arrived, but now she was here, it simply brought everything into focus. Isobel was the main person in his life, his family, but how could he even begin to tell her it all when he barely understood it himself?

Before he could answer, Isobel had already left his side and was heading toward Finn's bed where Adair was working. Henry watched her go, troubled.

Tonight, when his shift was over, he would go to Adair. He would learn what had happened to her and where she had been all these years, and perhaps even explain his own situation—such as that was possible. And after that, well…

A grunt of pain from a man nearby distracted him, and Henry approached the soldier, a man in his late forties who was nursing a bandaged stump where his arm had once been.

"More pain reliever?" he asked. "Shall I fetch one of the healers?"

The injured man grunted. "Dinnae bother them. Just give me a leaf tae chew."

Henry obliged and watched as the pain faded from the man's face with the help of the medicine. "Anythin' else? Water, maybe?"

"Ye're one of the guards," the soldier said instead of replying. "Ye a fighter, son?"

"I ken me way around a sword," Henry replied.

"Then do me a favor. With me infection, I might not live long enough tae do it—so when the time comes that they attack again, make sure ye use that sword and cut that bastard McNair down," the soldier said. He coughed, then laughed a sad laugh. "Or at the very least, lad, make sure these lassies stay protected while they try tae cure our sorry arses."

His words brought reality back with a jolt, and Henry nodded grimly. Adair, Isobel, and what they both meant to him…until his work was done, it was not the time to dwell upon such things. "I'll do me best, sir," he promised the older man.

Then Henry returned to his post, a vigil guard, ready to protect them into the night. For as long as it took.