To Love A Highlander (Highland Warriors Book 1) Page 16

  “She is the reason your wife and bairn died,” MacPeters added with a firm nod as if his remark confirmed it as truth.

  Craven nodded at the empty chair beside MacPeters. “The healer will be joining us shortly.”

  Edward turned and cast an anxious eye at the closed door. “She is here? That is good. She deserves to be punished harshly for what she did to your poor wife.”

  The door opened then and Espy entered, Dylan following her into the room and shutting the door behind him.

  Craven saw that her cheeks were still tinged with color from her spirited ride, though she had taken the time to re-braid her hair that the wind at torn at. He almost smiled seeing the dark strands that stubbornly refused to stay tucked away, much like Espy herself.

  “Lord Craven,” she said and gave a respectful nod.

  “Sit, Espy,” he said, pointing to the chair beside MacPeters.

  Espy walked over to the empty chair, MacPeters tilting to the side as if he feared being too close to her, though it could have been her scar, either way she paid his reaction no mind.

  Craven signaled Dylan and he walked over to him and handed him the pouch of herbs.

  Craven waved the pouch at the physician. “Where did you get this?”

  MacPeters squinted his eyes as if having trouble seeing it. “I have no idea what that is.”

  “It is the pouch of herbs you gave my wife and insisted be made into a brew for her to take daily,” Craven reminded with a hardened tone that had MacPeters twitching nervously in his chair.

  “I did give her a pouch of herbs,” he said with a nod, then quickly shook his head. “But I have no idea if that is the pouch.”

  “You are a skillful physician,” Espy said. “You should recognize if the mixture of herbs is yours.”

  “Of course I can,” MacPeters snapped, “and I do not need a daughter of an irrational physician, who thinks she knows better than learned men who treat people wisely, advising me.” He stuck his hand out to Craven.

  “You knew my father?” Espy asked curious.

  “Every physician knew of your father whether they had ever met him or not, and they not only laughed at his ridiculous ideas, but warned of them as well. But then what could one expect when he wed a woman who claimed herself a healer and who was from the godforsaken Highlands.”

  Before Craven could chide the man for disparaging his home, Espy spoke up.

  “If you find the Highlands so distasteful why did you remain here? Why not return to Edinburgh?”

  MacPeters’s chin went up. “I do not need to explain myself to you.”

  “But you do need to explain yourself to me,” Craven said. “So tell me what kept you here in my home… the beautiful Highlands.”

  MacPeters stumbled over his words as he attempted to offer a suitable explanation in a way of an apology until he finally cleared his throat and gained control of his words. “Laird Eason inquired if I would be interested in being his personal physician since he suffers from several lingering ailments. I chose to stay and help the man as best I could. It is by his kind graces that I have come here, though I do not know why since I had nothing to do with poor Aubrey’s death. Unless, of course, you want me to confirm that it was the healer who killed your wife.”

  Craven dropped the bag of herbs in MacPeters’s hand. “Right now, I want you to confirm if that pouch is yours and what herbs it contains.”

  MacPeters opened the pouch, gave it a sniff, then grabbed some of the mixture with the tips of his fingers and gave it a look. “I do believe this is the pouch I gave your wife. It contains basic herbs that would help ease her worries, since many women get hysterical when giving birth and make their delivery that much more difficult.”

  “What herbs would that be?” Espy asked.

  “I should share with you—a Highland healer who knows nothing—the skills of a learned physician. I think not,” MacPeters said resentfully.

  “You may not tell her, but you will tell me,” Craven ordered, the deep scowl on his face warning MacPeters that he had no choice.

  “As you wish, Lord Craven, though I request that this woman—this charlatan—be removed from the room first,” MacPeters said.

  “Espy remains and I strongly advise you to do as I say without question or Laird Eason will be told of your failure to cooperate with me,” Craven warned.

  “I meant no disrespect, Lord Craven, it is just that this woman—”

  Craven brought his fist down on the arm of the chair so hard that it sounded as if it splintered. “You will answer me now, MacPeters.”

  MacPeters’s face drained of all color until he looked as pale as freshly fallen snow and he stumbled over his words once again before finally gaining some control of them. “Chamomile, wild mint, St. John’s Wort. Nothing that would harm your wife.”

  Espy could not hold her tongue. “Not one of those herbs you mentioned is in that pouch.”

  MacPeters snickered. “You know nothing. I am a physician and know of what I speak.”

  “Espy yanked the pouch out of his hand and dipped her hand inside, extracting a small amount. She stood and walked over to Craven. “Wild mint has a distinct scent even when dried and crushed. Do you smell any mint?” She stuck her hand under Craven’s nose.

  He sniffed and looked to MacPeters. “Not a scent of it.”

  Espy turned around and shook the pouch at MacPeters. “Did you blend these herbs yourself?”

  MacPeters’s eyes went from Espy to Craven several times, stumbling in search of an explanation. Until he finally spit out an excuse. “A physician offered to blend me a mixture that he had had good results with.”

  Craven did not care for the way MacPeters hesitated. He was purposely lying to protect himself. If the pouch of herbs turned out to have harmed Aubrey, then the physician was making certain he would not be blamed for it.

  “What physician?” Craven demanded.

  MacPeters eyes turned wide with panic and he blurted out, “MacBarnes, Samuel Mac Barnes.”

  “That is not possible,” Espy said, looking directly at MacPeters. “Samuel MacBarnes died two years before I returned home.”

  “You are lying!” MacPeters accused. “I have visited with MacBarnes several times in Edinburgh.”

  “Samuel MacBarnes resided in Fifeshire not far from St, Andrew’s University.”

  “He was visiting Edinburgh,” MacPeters said quickly.

  Espy shook her head. “Impossible. He did not leave Fifeshire due to a lingering illness.”

  “You knew him?” Craven asked.

  “I had the honor of meeting him on several occasions and the honor of attending his funeral,” Espy said, a sadness in her voice. “He was a wise and kind man.”

  “She is lying,” MacPeters said. “Send a missive to MacBarnes and you will see for yourself that he is well. He will also confirm the mixture in the pouch.”

  “You will wait here until Lord Craven receives his response?” Espy asked with a slight smile that MacPeters did not return.

  “Laird Eason needs me to tend him. I cannot linger here and it will take far too long for a letter to reach MacBarnes and for his reply to reach here.”

  “Or to have your lies discovered?” Espy asked, though it was more of an accusation.

  MacPeters jumped up. “I will not sit here and have this common woman demean my integrity.”

  Craven rose slowly out of his chair and as he did the breadth of him overpowered the room, causing MacPeters to sink down on his chair.

  Not so Espy, she remained where she was, the side of Craven’s arm brushing against hers and it pleased her to feel his strength and warmth.

  “Until I can ascertain who speaks the truth to me, neither of you will be going anywhere,” Craven ordered.

  Espy was not going anywhere anyway, so his response was meant more for MacPeters than her, and she did not think it sat well with the man.

  “Laird Eason will not be pleased with you keeping me prisoner,” Mac
Peters complained.

  “Laird Eason will be more than pleased to know if his physician is a liar,” Craven said and when MacPeters went to speak, Craven raised his hand. “Not another word. This is done until I hear from MacBarnes.”

  “I have done nothing wrong,” MacPeters pleaded.

  Craven glared at him. “You just spoke when I told you I did not want to hear anymore.”

  MacPeters wisely looked contrite and lowered his head.

  “Quarters have been prepared for you. Dylan will escort you there. Rest after your journey and I will see you at supper.”

  MacPeters bobbed his head and followed Dylan out of the room.

  Espy turned to Craven as soon as the door closed and he waited to hear her complain as MacPeters had done.

  “I need to change the bandage on your hand and make sure it is healing properly. Will you walk with me to the healing cottage?”

  Her words surprised him and stole his tongue, for she was placing his well-being before anything else.

  “It will not take long, I promise,” she said.

  He extended his hand toward the door for her to lead the way, and she did. His hand itched to reach out and take hers, lock fingers, and hold firmly. He also ached to kiss her, the thought having lingered in his mind since seeing her looking as wild and excited as the horse she had ridden. He had not been able to stop thinking that she would have ridden him with the same wildness.

  Once. He should mount her once and be done with it.

  “Why does he lie?”

  “What?” Craven snapped, for a moment thinking her question was directed to his thought that had been anything but honest, and that troubled him even more. Once, he feared, would not be enough.

  “MacPeters. Why does he lie?”

  Craven shook off his lingering thoughts of coupling with Espy and considered what she had said. “I was told MacPeters was a highly regarded physician, well-learned and well-respected by his peers. If you met MacBarnes, how is it you never met MacPeters before coming here?”

  “MacBarnes was a good friend to my father and the only physician who would even speak with him. He enjoyed hearing about my father’s adventures in foreign lands and was sincerely interested in the knowledge he had gained there. He envied my father’s courage to be different, to question current healing beliefs and be brave enough to try new ones that others scoffed at.

  “Though, he did caution my father in teaching me the things he knew. MacBarnes warned him that a woman would never be accepted as a physician. But my hunger to learn was far too great to ignore. Besides, my da was aware that I wanted to learn all I could and return with that knowledge and, together with all my mum and grandmother had taught me, help the people of the Highlands. It is why I helped Arran.”

  “Who is Arran and how did you help him?” Craven asked, wondering what this man meant to her.

  Espy could have bit her tongue for letting it slip. She had been enjoying her conversation with Craven so much that she had not given careful thought to her words. Now how did she explain what she should have never said?

  She decided on telling a partial truth. “He was an innocent man accused of a crime and I helped him escape torture and death.”

  Her words paused him in the open doorway of the healing cottage and he was glad it was empty, for he would not have wanted anyone else to hear what she had said. “You helped a man accused of a crime escape?”

  She pointed to the chair at the table for Craven to sit. “An innocent man.”

  “How do you know he was innocent?” he asked as he sat.

  “Innocent or not, his crime did not match the punishment.”

  He shook his head, finding it difficult to comprehend what she was telling him. “That is not for you to decide.”

  “It is healing well,” she said, after removing the cloth and glancing over the wound. She reached for the small crock of salve. “I suppose it was not, but how could I let a man die because he stole a cabbage, a single cabbage?”

  “What of you? You placed your life in danger because of a cabbage,” he argued, trying to ignore the intimate sensation of her fingers rubbing the salve ever so lightly in circles on the palm of his hand.

  “Not a cabbage… people in need.”

  “There are people in need everywhere. You cannot save them all,” he continued to argue, having seen the truth of that in battle over and over again. “You would have suffered far worse if you had been caught.”

  “My suffering would have been just as bad if I had done nothing. To turn away when I knew I could help someone, would have been unthinkable to me. I would have disappointed my da and mum, but worst of all I would have disappointed myself.”

  Craven did not think he had ever met anyone as selfless as Espy or as more determined to do what was right even if it caused her suffering and harm.

  “I had to save Arran. I had no choice,” she said.

  As she had had no choice with Aubrey and his bairn. She had not known if she could save his child, but she had been willing to take the chance, willing to face the beast’s wrath. She had given no thought to herself. Her only thought had been of Aubrey and his bairn.

  She wrapped the wound with a clean cloth. “Arran is a good, unselfish man. He did not deserve to die over a stolen cabbage.”

  Craven did not know why her praise of Arran irritated him, but it did, and he demanded, “You care for this man?”

  “He is a good friend,” she said, securing a knot to keep the cloth in place.

  “He is not more than a friend?” he persisted as did his irritation.

  Espy thought she heard a bit of jealousy in his tone, but that made no sense. Why would Craven be jealous? “Arran stole the cabbage to feed his wife and young daughter. What little crop they had, had been taken by the chieftain’s warriors.”

  “Who is this chieftain?” he demanded.

  Espy stepped away from him, a glare of determination in her soft blue eyes. “I will not tell you that.”

  Instead of an angry scowl grabbing hold of Craven, he smiled as he got to his feet. It was with a slight laugh that he asked incredulously, “Why?” His laugh quickly died. “You think I will tell this chieftain that Arran is not dead.”

  “No, it is that I cannot chance placing Arran and his family’s life in danger.”

  “You do not trust me?”

  “It is not that. I gave my word. I should have never let my tongue slip. Please do not ask me to betray my own word and Arran’s trust.”

  Craven wanted to believe her, but that she placed her concern for Arran above him annoyed him. “How did this all come about?”

  “I cannot. I have already said too much,” she insisted.

  “This Arran means that much to you?” he asked with a sharp tongue.

  “I did what I felt was right.”

  “Even though it was wrong,” he accused.

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I do not regret what I did and if you think me wrong then punish me as you see fit, but I will not say another word about it.”

  Craven could not stop from saying, “To put yourself in danger for a man as you did, then you must have cared for him more than you will admit.”

  Espy crossed her arms over her chest and purposely clamped her lips tight, letting him know she had no more to say.

  He continued anyway. “Was this Arran your first?”

  Espy tightened her lips.

  “How many more were there?” He met the anger that shot from her eyes with an icy shield that to his surprise failed him when he felt a jab to his heart. “It does not matter,” he snapped.

  Espy’s chin went up a notch when he took a quick step forward to stand in front of her. Her heart slammed with such force against her chest that it felt as if someone punched her.

  His hand went to her neck and he saw defiance grow stronger in her eyes. He ran his thumb along her smooth skin. “I will be the next one to bed you.”

  There was a short rap on th
e door before it flew open.

  Dylan walked in, his eyes wide, and almost out of breath.

  “What is it?’ Craven demanded.

  “The physician was found behind the barn, his throat slashed.”

  Chapter 18

  Craven sat alone in his solar, staring at the fire. Rain pounded at the window along with a chilled wind. It was just past mid-day, the downpour having started shortly after sunrise. Three days of clouds and gloom had preceded the storm, though he had attributed the gloom more to the physician’s brutal murder than the gray skies.

  His clansmen knew he would not tolerate any killing among the clan. It was his duty alone to pass judgment and issue punishment. Which meant, it was not a clansman who had committed this grievous act.

  He recalled Espy’s question when she had looked over MacPeters’s body. “Who would do this to him?”

  It had not been a thought to leave her in the healing cottage when they had learned the news. He had wanted Espy beside him, where he could keep her safe. It had also not been a thought to have her glance on the gruesome scene, but she had had a different thought.

  She had rushed past him before he could reach out and stop her once they had been a short distance from the body. She had squatted down beside MacPeters to study the wound.

  One look had told him that the attack had been quick. The ground around him had showed no signs of a struggle and the blood that pooled beneath his neck and head proved he had been killed there. Which had begged the question… what had MacPeters been doing behind the barn?

  Espy had shared similar findings with him and the conclusion reached was that MacPeters had met someone familiar to him there.

  MacPeters’s murder was another piece to a puzzle that Craven had not known existed and it had started with Aubrey’s death. A death he had blamed on Espy and was proving not to be her fault.

  Though, there had been whispers among some of the clansmen that perhaps Espy had killed the physician since he could prove Aubrey’s death was her doing. As soon as it was learned that Espy was with Craven from the time MacPeters had left the solar until the time Dylan had delivered the news, all gossip stopped. Instead, tongues began to speculate that perhaps somehow the physician had been responsible.