Page 10 of Enchantment of a Highlander

“I’m glad it’s eased your nausea.” Celia set the extra bundles on top of the table and carefully eyed the girl. The swell of her pregnancy was almost invisible despite being four months along.

Celia saw no perceptible limp or wince as Bessie walked, but she wanted to ensure no injury had been sustained in the attack. “I’m glad you made it home safely,” she said.

Bessie’s eyes widened. “I almost dinna make it home at all,” the young woman said. “There were men in the forest. So many men. Celia, they shoved me on the ground and demanded coin.” Her cheeks went red. “Ye know I dinna have coin. I told them as much and they grabbed me up by the arm and held a blade to my throat.”

Her gaze turned distant and her fingers pressed protectively over her little stomach. “Then this man I’ve no ever seen came from nowhere, a verra large man, and he told me to run. I should have stayed close, to help if I might. I shouldna have left him to die with them, but I…I…”

Bessie’s eyes glazed with tears. “I was so afraid. I’ve been so afraid since Connor died.” Her face glistened with falling tears. “And now I may have gotten a man killed.”

A soft sob broke from her lips and tugged at Celia’s heart.

“He didn’t die.” Celia was grateful to offer the woman solid reassurance. “He came to see me not long after you left, with a cut on his chest.” The image of the new laird’s powerful chest rushed into her mind, as did the way those light eyes watched her with such burning intensity.

Bessie straightened. “A cut? Was it deep? How do ye know it was him?”

“It was but a nick,” Celia fibbed, using the man’s own words. Alec. Alec MacLean.

She turned the cold side of her emotion to the memory. “He told me about the battle and he scared them off before they could do any real harm.”

Bessie nodded and her shoulders hunched forward once more, cradling her own small frame in frailty like her sharp hipbones cupped the babe in her womb.

“You did what you had to do to protect your baby, as any mother would have done.” Celia spoke in a gentle voice and moved her hand over the woman’s shoulder, where it hung with hesitation.

A decade and a half had passed since Celia had touched someone without the intent to mend a break or stitch a wound. Her hand withdrew an inch, as if of its own volition, the act of touching someone in comfort so foreign a concept, her hand did not want to comply.

But this was a form of healing, was it not? To comfort an aching heart.

One could comfort without love, couldn’t one?

She lowered her palm to Bessie’s trembling shoulder. It was an awkward attempt, unnatural feeling in such a way it left her cheeks hot with embarrassment. She quickly withdrew and clasped her hands together lest she make so foolish a decision again.

Bessie did not appear to notice the failed attempt. She pulled the sleeve of her chemise up to her elbow. “One of them grabbed me,” she said miserably, and lifted her arm.

Three deep gouges showed where fingernails had raked across her skin. Angry red skin already swelled on either side of the wound. This was what Celia knew how to handle and why she’d made up the flimsy excuse of the teas in the first place. She might not be able to comfort, but she would keep the pregnant woman as healthy as was possible.

“I have my things here with me.” Celia looked up at Bessie. “May I?”

Tears shone bright in the woman’s eyes. “I can’t afford to—”

“It’s fine,” Celia reassured her.

She cleaned the wound with more of the thyme infusion and rubbed a plantain and agrimony infused salve across the torn flesh.

When she was done, Bessie gave her a shy smile. “Thank ye for helping me. I know I dinna have coin, but perhaps…” She pursed her lips with obvious hesitation. “Perhaps I can share some information with ye,” she said in a soft voice. Her breath smelled like peppermint from the tea. “But ye canna tell anyone. We’ve all been warned to keep it quiet, aye?”

She rose abruptly, closed the shutters, and snapped the latch into place.

Celia wanted to press her for clarification, but knew she must be patient.

“Something happened on MacDougall lands two days back,” she whispered. “Women were burned to death on the lawns before Aros Castle.”

A chill slipped over Celia’s shoulders and trickled down her spine.

“They were accused of witchcraft. There were three of ’em.” Bessie’s brows furrowed. “I hear Laird MacDougall is starting the trials again. Ye need to be mindful.”

“Me?” The word came out like a gasped exhale.

Bessie nodded solemnly. “There are some who say ye heal so well there is more to ye than just herbs.”