He grasped her elbow firmly. There was an attendant outside the kitchens, a young boy. Kincreag directed him to pack some food and meet them in the quay.
“Where are we going?” Gillian asked as he propelled her through the keep. “And why can’t I speak to the healer? Is he a Moor? How did you find him?”
They stopped outside the door of the room Gillian and Rose shared.
“You talk too much,” he said.
Gillian did not open the door but turned instead to face him, her elbow still in his grip. “Surely it’s considered normal to inquire after the healer who is examining my father.”
Nicholas looked down at her, frowning, then opened the door and stepped inside her chambers, pulling her along after him.
“Where are we going? Why do we need food?”
“Your father pointed out that delaying the wedding in order to acquaint myself with you was useless if I made no effort to remedy that defect. So we are spending the afternoon together. You’ll need a wrap.” He went to a hook on the wall and removed her gray velvet mantle. She went to him when he held it out expectantly, letting him settle it on her shoulders. He laced it at the throat for her, as if she were a child.
“What about the healer?” she asked. “Where did you find him?”
He glanced up from the laces, meeting her gaze. His hands stilled. He seemed strangely entranced, or perhaps thinking intently. She searched his gaze, her pulse quickening.
“My lord?” Her voice came out soft and uncertain.
He dropped his hands and strode to the door. “Need you anything else?”
Gillian sighed and finished lacing the mantle herself. “No, my lord, only answers.”
He ignored this, leading her out of her chambers and back to the hall. Several of Kincreag’s men came forward, ready to accompany them, but the earl wavedthem away. As they descended the steps to the quay, Gillian mustered the courage to ask, “How are we to ever know one another if you refuse to speak to me?”
The lad was waiting below with the sack of food. Kincreag took it from him and sent him away, tossing the bag in the bottom of a boat. Gillian began to despair that she would be the only one who knew nothing about the mysterious healer when he said, “I met him in Algiers. He was the bey’s physician until he was exiled.”
“Exiled,” Gillian breathed as Kincreag helped her into the boat. How intriguing. She sat on a cross plank, nestling the bag of food securely between her feet. “For what? And how did you meet him? Were you ill? Why were you in Algiers?”
Kincreag settled on the plank across from her and just stared at her, his mouth slightly open, his brows furrowed. “Which am I to answer first?”
Gillian smiled sheepishly. “How did you meet him?”
“I’d been stabbed. I have my own leech, who sometimes travels with me. This one was useless and did naught but staunch the wound. It became festered, so I sent for another. I got Hekim. He put maggots on it and various other things . . . and well, I’m still here, aye? Most men would not have lived through a festering wound such as I had, but Hekim knew what to do.”
“Maggots?” Gillian exclaimed as Kincreag rowed them out of the castle and onto the loch.
He nodded. “Aye, maggots. And I’ve seen him work various other miracles since.”
“Miracles? Is he a wizard, then?”
He looked at her as if she were a simpleton. “Ah, no. Just a gifted leech.”
Gillian bristled at his tone but tried not to take offense. Kincreag seemed to be serious about becoming acquainted with her, and she was not about to ruin it. “Why were you in Algiers?”
He shook his head slowly. “Next question.”
She was curious about the foreign healer but didn’t want to waste her questions, in case he tired of them. The earl was where her true interest lay.
“How old are you?”
“Five and thirty.”
“How long have you been earl of Kincreag?”
“My father died when I was two and twenty.”
