Page 9 of Following Her Highland Journey (The White Witch’s Apprentices #2)

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I sobel approached Adair just as she managed to get young Finn to fall into a deep sleep. His fever was still high, but Adair had successfully controlled it to a safe level while it continued to do its work of fighting his illness. "Yer nephew is restin' now," she told Isobel as the woman reached her. "I'm about tae check his wound; I thought it better tae wait until he was unconscious. Ye neednae stay if ye're easily sickened."

"I'm not," Isobel replied. A pause followed, then she admitted, "I once was. But I'm not anymore. May I stay, or will I be a bother tae ye? I can even help, if ye direct me."

Adair smiled. It was clear that, regardless of whatever else was going on, Isobel was the kind of woman who would not simply sit to the side while others suffered. That made her think of her sisters, and hope Fia had not been scolded too much upon her return to the monastery. "Very well. Make sure yer hands are clean before we work."

Isobel seemed surprised by the request. "Is me nephew an animal tae be sacrificed?" she asked. Nonetheless, she accepted the fresh bowl of cooled boiled water and soap that Adair offered her, and scrubbed until Adair deemed it satisfactory.

"It's important when treatin' wounds, trust me," Adair insisted. "I ken the men at the universities are still debatin' such thing, but oftentimes I find their reliance on nothin' but words written by other men blinds them tae what's in front of their eyes."

Isobel smiled a little at that. "Men are often blinded by whatever crosses their path. It's a wonder the world hasnae fallen apart with them in charge."

Adair answered that with a small smile of her own. "That sounds like somethin' one of me sisters would say. Can ye pass me that instrument over there?"

They worked like that for a while, casually bantering in a way that made Adair realize that this was a woman she could clearly see becoming a friend given enough time. Isobel was patient, kind, hardworking, funny, and willing to listen, when she was clearly nervous about what Adair was doing to Finn.

Once the wound was checked, drained, and dressed, Adair sat back, tired, and Isobel did the same. Their conversation lulled, and then at last came the question that Adair had been dreading.

"How dae ye ken Henry?" Isobel asked. "He says ye kent each other in the past."

"He saved me life." Adair did not want to lie to this woman, and besides, doing so would serve no purpose. "From the very Laird who's done all this tae yer people."

Isobel nodded. "I kent he'd escaped McNair after savin' a young woman from a life of forced marriage. I didnae ken anythin' else about ye."

So Henry hadn't spoken about her then? That shouldn't have hurt, but it did somehow. Nonetheless, Adair confirmed what Isobel had said. "He got me out when he could have left me behind. I owe him a great debt."

"He's a good man. He saved me, as well," Isobel replied, and there was an affection in her voice that to Adair sounded all-too familiar. "When me family…anyway, if it hadnae been for Henry, Finn and I would have been gone like the rest of them."

"That sounds like Henry. He always wanted tae help people." Adair fetched a fresh bowl of water and washed off her hands again.

"Were ye lovers?"

The question was so abrupt, so inappropriate coming from a stranger, that Adair almost gasped in shock. She was not a shy woman; as a healer she had seen and heard much, and the other girls often told tales that may or may not have been true. But to be asked so brazenly…

But then, what propriety was there to be had when surrounded by a whole clan's worth of people who were dead and dying? And by the note in Isobel's voice, it was clear that the bluntness was necessary: the poor woman would not have been able to get the words out otherwise.

She's in love with Henry, then. The thought filled Adair with a chill that she tried to ignore. "We were never lovers," she told Isobel. "He was a friend tae me in me imprisonment, no more than that."

Was that true? Had it really been no more than that? Adair had fallen for him, there was no doubt about that, but…had she been deluding herself all this time? And even if Henry had been caught up in the romance of it all, the last five years apart meant that was all so long ago in history that it may as well not matter. Didn't it?

Isobel seemed to relax at those words. "I see. Ever since we came to live together five years ago, I've wondered about the rest of the tale. Thank ye for telling it."

Adair's heart sank even further at those words, but she forced herself to remain smiling. "I will go tae the next patient now, and allow Finn tae rest. He'll be all right until mornin', I promise. Would ye like tae come and help me?"

"I'd love to," Isobel said, her face and tone both open and genuine. She hesitated a little and said, "Though, I'll be honest, I'm not experienced in practical work. Mostly I tell them stories or sing tae them tae help them through the pain."

"Stories have power too," Adair assured her. "When I was a prisoner, Henry?—"

There was a small pause. Both women looked at each other, then both dropped their gaze.

"Come." Adair smiled even wider, as though it would erase the awkwardness. "Let's get to work."

Adair was ready to fall asleep by the time she was done with the work she needed to do for the day. She'd tried to keep going, but one of the resident healers had very firmly reminded her that she'd be useless to them if she didn't also get some rest. When she stepped outside of the makeshift hospital, he was there waiting for her—Henry, older and more tired-looking than the man she'd known five years before, but unmistakable with that smile.

"Care for somethin' tae eat, Miss Healer?" he asked lightly, indicating the basket she saw hooked over one of his elbows. "Come. I ken a quiet place. And it's stopped rainin', so we dinnae need tae worry about that at least."

It had stopped raining, though it was still fairly cold. Nonetheless, Adair smiled and nodded, warmth flooding her as his smile widened in response to her own. She moved forward until she was walking by his side, and the two of them began to head off to a space just outside of the main street of the village.

"Are we eatin' under the stars?" Adair asked as they walked, the noise of the reconstructing town fading into the distance behind them. "As lovely as that sounds, I think it may snow this night. It's quite cold."

"Dinnae worry," he assured her, "I have somewhere ye'll like."

They didn't talk much until they arrived at a small stone wall, low to the ground. He helped her over, and then in front of them there sat a little stone house, a farmer's cottage, in disrepair but still recognizable.

"Oh!" Adair exclaimed, her heart lurching at the sight. It was smaller than the home she'd grown up in, but she could not help but be reminded of it nonetheless. "It's abandoned?"

"Aye, but not unlike the rest of the place, because of the attack." Henry offered his hand and she took it, allowing him to lead her inside. Despite its ramshackle outside, it was neat and clean, if a little bare, inside. "The most profitable farm in the area, the farmer used tae own it. Still does, technically, but he and his family moved tae a much bigger house years ago. I'm friends with him, and he lets me come here sometimes tae…think."

Adair watched as Henry laid out a thick blanket on the floor of the one-room cottage—there were no tables, and only a single chair—and began to arrange a selection of food and drink from his basket upon it. There was nothing fancy there, of course, but Adair noticed he was trying his best to make it look like a feast for her nonetheless.

"Tae think?" she asked, probing gently before she was ready to dive further in. "Not tae…live?"

Henry struck a flint and, a few seconds later, a candle flickered to life. Another few moments of work and some pre-prepared logs in the fireplace were aflame, providing them a little warmth. He pointed up at the roof, which was filled with gaping holes, and at the dampness on parts of the floor around them. "This place isnae fit for livin'," he replied, shrugging, "Not without extensive repairs that I cannae afford, especially not now when all money is being routed tae the village. And besides, I have a home, such as it is."

"With Isobel?" Adair guessed, voicing the question though it hurt.

Henry averted his eyes. "With Finn and Isobel, aye," he mumbled. "Come, sit. Let's eat before the fire is used."

Adair hesitated for a moment, then she did as he'd asked, sitting next to him. He was roasting something over the fire now at the end of a long stick, and a smell of cooked meat was rapidly filling the air, causing her to finally realize how hungry she was. "Henry, about?—"

"I still cannae believe ye're here, Adair," he told her, and she wasn't sure if he simply was avoiding her question or he just hadn't heard her. Either way, his words and excitement sounded genuine. "I thought…I half expected tae come back tae the hospital and I'd imagined the whole thing. Did ye really find the Witch, like ye said?"

And so Adair told him her story; how she had found Mor and the other girls and how they had taken her in and trained her to be more than she could have ever hoped to be. She told him of lovely, wonderful Fia, the sister she'd grown closest to in all this time who had let her go even though she probably ended up getting scolded for it. She talked about the others, too, all of them, even Caiside who had been with them for long enough to be a huge part of Adair's heart.

"Caiside McLeod?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow as he did. "I remember that marriage. I heard all about it; they say the lass is the one really rulin' the clan."

"And why not?" Adair asked, mildly amused that even Henry would know this so-called secret. "By blood right, it belongs tae her, not Lorcan, nae matter how wonderful he might be."

Henry held up his hands, chuckling. "Mercy! I didnae say there was an issue with it. Rather, I find it admirable. A lass who can stand up for what she believes in…well, despite what they may want ye tae think, men have a powerful admiration for such a woman."

"Oh aye?" Adair tilted her head, studying him, trying to hide the wicked smirk that threatened to break out onto her face. "Shall I write tae Caiside then? Tell her she has an admirer?"

"Incorrigible even now, I see! But tease me all ye like. I'm sure Lady Caiside is witty and intelligent and all a man could ask for, but even the finest candle flame pales in comparison tae a man who's seen the sun," Henry replied.

Their eyes met for a moment too long, and Adair felt the mood shift. The intensity behind that green was unfathomable. Who was the sun to this man? She longed for it to be her, longed for him to have been seeking her all this time just as she had been seeking him—but how could that be true? Perhaps, most likely in fact, his sunlight came from the pretty, intelligent, kind if a little reserved Isobel.

"It makes sense. If I were a man, she's the type of woman I'd love, as well," Adair spoke with a sigh.

Henry's expression grew confused. "What?—?"

"There was another girl." Adair pushed ahead. She did not want to dwell on this topic, did not want to spoil this moment. She was sure that in the morning it would all be gone, but she had dreamed of seeing Henry again for so long…well, she would have it while she could. "Or should have been, anyway." Better to relive this pain than face a fresh one.

Henry frowned, the distraction obviously successful. "Should have been? What do ye mean?"

And so Adair told him of Lily, and the horror that the poor girl had been through. Henry's expression grew grim, though not shocked, and it made Adair wonder how many of the same stories he had heard and witnessed again and again from the poor girls here in this clan. Her blood boiled with anger as she spoke, and by the time she was finished, all thoughts of romance and pain about Isobel had moved to the back of her mind. Her focus was on what she had come here to do.

"And so ye gave everythin' up tae right this wrong?" Henry asked when she was finished. He was watching her carefully, but not as though she might break. "Tae help whoever ye can so they dinnae end up like that poor lassie?"

Adair nodded, though the task felt monumental now. Each person she helped filled her with hope, but the gap seemed impossibly large now between war and peace. "I…I must do what I can. What happened tae Lily, what could have happened tae me…"

"I ken. I…I ken," Henry replied. He seemed at a loss for words, then shook his head. "I sometimes wonder if I should be doin' more. If I should make it kent that McNair blood runs in me veins, even if I am a bastard. I have nae illusions about takin' over the Lairdship, but maybe it would inspire others tae rise against him. I feel a coward, hidin' out here."

Adair watched him just as closely as he'd watched her. He seemed troubled now, a little crease in his forehead, and it was clear his words were genuine. "Ye're no coward, Henry. Ye're helpin' these people, and…and ye risked yer whole life, gave up everythin' ye ever kent, tae save me five years ago when ye were still half a boy."

He smiled, and when she shivered, he held out an arm. Without even thinking about it, she sidled closer, nestling into his side as they'd done sometimes in that cold cell. His voice still sounded sad when he spoke. "I gave up a lie. That's all."

She didn't have it in her to argue with him, not now. "How did ye even escape? I was so sure they'd killed ye."

For a long time, it seemed like he wouldn't answer. But eventually, he said, "Me uncle wanted me kept alive at first, for me mother's sake if naught else. They wounded me badly, but delivered me tae the dungeons. McNair put me in the same cell he once kept ye in. But when he came and questioned me and I wouldnae give ye up, his patience ran thin. He telt me I'd pushed him for the last time, and set a date for me execution."

"His own nephew!" Adair exclaimed, though she wasn't sure why she was even surprised. It was already more than clear that Laird McNair's heart had warped with spite and darkness instead of human warmth. "And so?"

"I wasnae the only one who hated what he'd done, what he still does," Henry replied tiredly. "I had friends in the guards, friends who'd kent me since I was a boy. One of them helped the stablemaster and his daughter get out, and two came back for me. We all fled together. The lass and her father and one of me friends went all the way south, perhaps tae England, I dinnae ken. I hope they made it."

"But ye stayed in Scotland. Even though ye had family down there?"

Henry shrugged. "I never kent me father, nor would I ken how tae find his family even if I looked. Scotland is me home. Me mother's home. It's who I am and who I've always been. And…" he trailed off.

"And?" she prompted, wriggling in his arms so she could glance up at his face. "And what?"

"And I hoped I'd find ye, one day," he admitted.

A strange combination of happiness and regret filled Adair then, and her eyes prickled. She was so confused about what she was feeling, so desperate to understand what he was feeling. What did it all mean?

"I looked, I…but as I telt ye, I never found ye. And eventually, I had tae stop," Henry told her at last. "I've a bad leg these days; I never fully healed, and I kent that if I didnae find work tae keep meself goin', one bad winter was all it would take tae finish me off. Gareth and Michael, two of the lads who'd helped me escape, had already started workin' for Laird Martin. They convinced me tae join them, and when I learned what a good man Laird Martin was, I would have been a fool tae deny them. So Gareth kept tellin' me, anyway."

"Where is Gareth now? Did I meet him today?" Adair asked, but by the way his muscles tightened at the question she knew the sad answer before he spoke.

"Dead. He died in the first attack, just a week ago," Henry replied, weariness flooding him now. "Naebody could have guessed McNair's push forward would be so aggressive. Michael's alive, ye might meet him tomorrow. He's helpin' with the reconstruction."

Adair knew it was impulsive, but she had to do something. She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around him, turning it into a full embrace. "I'm so sorry. About yer friend."

"I'm sorry about yers," he replied, and his arms closed securely around her.

They held each other like that, and their talk turned to lighter things. Adair told stories of Fia's flirtations, of Duncan's wild tales, of Mor's strict kindness, and in turn, Henry reminisced about Michael's jokes, about how Gareth used to cheat terribly at cards, and about his friendship with Laird Martin. They spoke until the fire had long since gone out about everything and nothing, wrapped up in each other mind and body, and the only conspicuous omission was Isobel. Neither mentioned her, and neither would, Adair knew—not tonight.

Henry's voice trailed off at some point, and it soon became clear he had fallen asleep. Adair wondered if she should wake him and send him home, but drowsiness had taken her too, and she felt so warm and safe here by his side. Her shelter, found at last.

So, when sleep beckoned, she let it take her. And that night, she did not dream.