Page 46 of Sins of a Scot

“What is that?” Owen asked.

“First, I am administering Lavender oil behind her ears.” The healer looked Iseabail in the eye. “It’ll calm and stabilize yer heart rate. The more distressed ye are the quicker any venom left in yer body will travel through it. Though, I dae think yer protector?—”

“Owen,” Iseabail said.

“Owen,” the healer confirmed, “has managed tae get most o’ it out.”

“And what about Owen? Shouldnae he have some too?”

The healer turned and handed the bottle of oil to Owen. “It will dae ye nay harm. Just in case.”

Owen screwed his nose up, and took a sniff. “Great, now I’ll smell like all the lasses.”

“Better that than be dead,” Iseabail countered.

“Ye heard the healer… I’m sorry, what is yer name?”

The old man smiled, while pressing leaves against the wound on Iseabail’s leg. “Thomas,” he said.

“Thank ye, Thomas.” Iseabail smiled up at him.

“Ye’re very welcome. I’m glad I can be o’ some help.’

“But ye heard Thomas,” Owen repeated. “The poison isnae deadly.”

“Nae,” Thomas interjected, “but it will make ye unpleasantly ill,” the older man confirmed.

“Ye see?” Iseabail said, opening her eyes wider and nodding to the bottle. “Please, Owen. Fer me.”

Owen rolled his eyes and shook his head in obvious disbelief that he was about to dab lavender oil onto himself, but when he did it, Iseabail was far more relieved and smiled broadly at him.

“Happy now?”

“Aye. Considerably,” she said a little too smugly.

Thomas clearly found their banter amusing for he smiled to himself as he worked. “Ye two make a fine couple,” he said. “In fact, it is nice listening tae how deeply ye care fer each other.”

“Och, nae,” Iseabail shook her head. “We’re nae married.”

This news seemed to surprise Thomas, and looking from Owen to Iseabail, he inclined his head, raised his eyebrows and said, “Huh.”

Sometime later, once the healer had checked Owen over and was satisfied, he had likely managed to avoid poisoning himself, he said, “Now, ye may be out o’ the woods, but I would suggest ye rest here in the village tonight.”

Iseabail’s widening eyes seemed to induce the soft comfort of the old man. “Now, now. There’s naething tae worry yersel’ about. I have applied a poultice o’ plantain leaves that will ensure nay harm will come tae ye. Only, I think it best that ye rest the night. Are ye in any hurry tae move on?”

Iseabail looked past the healer and caught Owen’s eye. Owen shrugged noncommittally and shook his head. They were only wasting time, after all.

“Nae really,” Iseabail replied.

“Good. Then ye should stay. The tavern will have a room, and ye’re in luck, for we have a wedding celebration this night. Ye can stay and enjoy the festivities. We are a small community, and close. I’m sure ye will be welcomed openly.”

“Will ye be there?” Iseabail asked.

“Of course.” Thomas smiled. “I am nae only the healer, but a musician. Without me, there will be nay beat from the bodhran.”

“Then we will definitely be there,” Iseabail beamed, “fer I dinnae want tae miss that.”

When they arrived at the tavern, word had already spread of their arrival.