Page 18 of To Wed a Witch (Reluctant Brides #3)

O ne month later.

The sound of laughter echoed through the Healer's cottage as Aidyn toddled after a wooden ball. Bhaltair sat at the kitchen table in the back room, reviewing ledgers, but his attention kept drifting to his daughter—for that's how he'd come to think of her—as she played nearby.

"She'll be walking properly soon," Sìne observed, settling beside him with a cup of cider.

Even after a month of marriage, the simple pleasure of sitting beside her husband still made her heart flutter.

Lately they'd had very little time like this to enjoy the quiet, which is why Bhaltair joined her in the cottage on days when the clan did not require all of his attention.

"Aye, and then we'll have real trouble on our hands," Bhaltair replied with a smile that transformed his usually stern features. "She's already getting into so much mischief."

The changes that had swept through the clan in recent weeks were nothing short of remarkable.

With the dowry funds, Bhaltair had been able to purchase grain stores for the winter, proper tools for the smithy, and materials to begin essential repairs.

The clan members moved with renewed purpose, their faces less gaunt, their children's bellies finally full.

Better still, the men who had been camped beyond the border had finally left, and his guardsmen and scouts had heard nothing more from them.

Bhaltair remained vigilant but slept easier at night knowing the threat to Sìne and Aidyn was hopefully gone.

"Ada says the new ovens are working well," Sìne reported, reviewing her own mental list of the day's accomplishments. "And we've finished the last of the food preserves. The root cellar is properly stocked now for winter."

Her healer's cottage had been transformed from an empty grain store into a proper workroom, complete with shelves lined with clay pots containing her carefully prepared remedies.

The clan members had begun seeking her out for various ailments like cuts that needed tending, winter coughs, the aches and pains of hard labor.

She'd also helped the midwives deliver four babies and new additions to the clan.

Each successful treatment had slowly worn away at their superstitious fears.

"Ye've worked miracles," Bhaltair said quietly, reaching over to clasp her hand.

" We've worked miracles," she corrected. "All I did was provide the coin and boil some fruit."

"All ye did," he repeated with gentle mockery, "was give our clan someone who cares whether they live or die, whether their bairns have enough to eat, whether their wounds heal well." His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "Ye've given me much more."

Heat flooded Sìne's cheeks at his praise, but before she could respond, Aidyn had reached their table and was pulling herself up on Bhaltair's leg, demanding attention with unintelligible babbling.

"What's this now, wee one?" he asked, lifting her onto his lap with practiced ease. The sight of the fierce warrior cradling Aidyn with such natural tenderness never failed to make Sìne's heart melt.

"Da," Aidyn said clearly, patting his chest with her small hand.

The word hit them both like a thunderbolt. Sìne's eyes filled with tears as she watched Bhaltair's face transform with wonder and fierce joy.

"Did ye hear that?" he asked hoarsely.

"Aye," Sìne whispered. "Her first real word."

"Da," Aidyn repeated proudly.

Bhaltair pressed a kiss to the top of her curls, his voice thick with emotion. "That's right, sweeting. I'm yer da, and I always will be."

The moment was interrupted by urgent voices outside. Through the window, they could see a small group of people hurrying toward the cottage, a woman's desperate cries carrying clearly on the air.

"Please! Someone help my lad! He's dying! He had a fever."

Sìne was on her feet immediately, her instincts overriding everything else. A fever? "Wait! I'm coming outside," she called. Her instincts told her to be wary of fevers. If contagious, they had the power to wipe out an entire village.

Bhaltair moved to intercept her. "Sìne, be careful, I'll come with ye—"

"No! Please call Paisley from the garden, tell her to take Aidyn to our chamber. A child is sick, I need to make sure 'tis nothing that can endanger us all," she replied firmly, already moving toward the doors.

"Will ye wait!" he said. But Sìne was already outside.

Bhaltair cursed, then strode out the back door and roared for Paisley to take Aidyn.

The maid appeared and took Aidyn immediately.

Bhaltair gave her strict instructions to remain in their bedchamber, then he gestured for a nearby guardsman to escort them to the Keep before Bhaltair went after his wife.

***

T HE WOMAN STUMBLED through the cottage gate. She was from one of the outlying settlements, her clothes travel-stained and her face streaked with tears. In her arms, she carried a boy of perhaps five years, his small body limp and burning with fever.

"Please, my lady," the woman gasped, falling to her knees before Sìne. "The traveling healer said there's naught to be done, that my Drew is cursed and will be dead before dawn. But I heard tell ye have the gift of healing..."

"Stay back!" Bhaltair shouted to the crowd that was moving closer.

Sìne was already kneeling beside them, her trained hands moving over the child's fevered form.

His breathing was shallow and labored, his skin hot and dry to the touch.

But she could feel the steady beat of his heart, see the slight flutter of his eyelids that suggested he was fighting the illness with everything he had.

"What traveling healer?" Bhaltair asked, his voice sharp.

"A learned man who came to the village two days past," the woman replied without taking her eyes from her son.

"He was very friendly, even gave Drew a sweet treat to eat.

Said he'd studied in foreign lands, knew all manner of cures.

But when my Drew took ill, he just shook his head.

Said the boy was beyond mortal help, that only dark magic could have struck him down so completely. "

Sìne's hands stilled for a moment. Something about the woman's words troubled her, but she pushed the feeling aside.

She rapidly fired questions at the woman, needing every detail from before he fell ill to now, including what he'd possibly eaten or drunk.

"Were there others in the village who came down with the same affliction? "

The woman shook her head. From her responses, Sìne knew two things with certainty: the first was the boy was not contagious, and second, if what she suspected was true, then time was of the essence.

"Help me carry him inside," she said. "I think I ken what ails him."

Bhaltair immediately swept the lad gently into his arms as they strode to the cottage.

"My lady," the woman whispered, hope and fear warring in her voice. "The healer said anyone who tried to cure my boy would be dabbling in witchcraft. That heaven has him marked for death and 'twas sinful to interfere."

"Then 'tis fortunate for yer son that I dinnae take healing advice from traveling strangers," Sìne replied crisply.

***

S ìNE WORKED QUICKLY . The boy's body wracked with convulsions that left him weak and barely conscious as he lay on the bed.

His lips already tinged blue, his breathing shallow.

But she'd seen similar symptoms before. If he'd been brought to her sooner, she could have given him a tincture to purge his stomach contents, but this.

.. this was deliberate. She had already ruled out his mother from the woman's earlier answers, but there was something niggling at her.

Sìne set it aside as she focused on the task at hand.

His mother hovered in the corner, quietly weeping.

"What is wrong with him?" she asked.

"He's been poisoned," Sìne replied.

"Poison!" the woman and Bhaltair said in unison.

"Aye, 'tis why I need to work fast."

Bhaltair glanced at her with a worried expression. "What do ye need?" he asked.

"I need fresh milk, if ye can fetch some, and cold water from the well, a full pail if ye please," she replied.

Bhaltair disappeared without a word as Sìne rummaged through the jars on her shelves until she found the dried roots she was searching for.

"What can I do?" the woman asked.

"I need ye to try to keep him calm. It helps if he kens ye're close by. He can still hear ye." The woman nodded and immediately moved closer to soothe her son.

Sìne washed and dried her hands, then crumbled the dark, aromatic root between her fingers, breathing in its musky scent.

The pieces went into her iron pot with hot water from the hearth.

As it steeped, she selected a bundle of juniper branches from a hanging satchel and tossed them onto the fire.

The sharp, clean smoke immediately began to fill the room.

"What is that smell?" the mother asked, lifting her head from her hands.

"Juniper, to cleanse the air. It'll help him breathe," Sìne replied, not looking up as she strained the dark tea.

When Bhaltair returned with the milk, she poured it slowly into the steaming brew, watching it turn the color of rich earth.

She then waited until the mixture cooled to a lukewarm temperature.

"Now we lift his head gently."

Bhaltair lifted the boy into a sitting position and cradled his slack jaw. Sìne began trickling the mixture between his lips, massaging his throat to encourage swallowing. "This will coat his belly and slow the poison's work while the Angelica root fights it."

The boy's mother asked, "Angelica? I've never heard tell of such a remedy."

Sìne was moving about the cottage again. She soaked clean linen in the cold well water Bhaltair had collected. "It comes from the angel herb, some call it the root of the archangel for its power against poisons."