“Like he’s lookin’ for someone,” Darragh muttered under his breath.
“That’s what I thought.” McDonough punctuated his words with an exaggerated flourish of his hands. “I’m nae sure who, though. I daenae ken much about him nor his private affairs.”
Darragh absorbed that quietly. He knew exactly who Laird Mackenzie was looking for. Glancing at the sun in the sky, Darragh realized he wouldn’t have time to make his rounds anyway.
“What did he?—”
For the second time that morning, Darragh was cut off. This time, though, it was by the cry of bagpipes. It seemed that he’d severely underestimated the time.
I do believe the Saints are testin’ me, but to what end I cannae be sure.
* * *
“What is that?” Amelia whispered to herself as she shuffled a bit closer to the fire.
Within the glowing embers, something was beginning to take shape. The white-yellow logs were falling against each other, seeming to melt together, though she was sure that wasn’t possible. She thought she saw legs. Then, a body grew, a neck, and a muzzle. At first, she thought it was a dog.
“Nay…” she murmured, “it’s a wolf.”
Before she could get any closer, bagpipes wailed, and she scuttled backward. It was only by the grace of a higher power that she didn’t end up toppling into the flames. As she put a hand over her chest, she told herself that she was safe.
The Lairds belong in counsel rooms and great halls. Nae the kitchens. Nae amongst cooks and healers.
“Eat,” Isla said, appearing in front of her as though she’d just materialized there. She thrust a plate piled high with eggs, bannocks, and haggis. When Amelia took it, she said, “Ye can eat in the great hall, or ye can eat here.” She stopped mid-step as she walked away. Looking over her shoulder, she added, “It is best for yer health if ye sit while ye take yer meal, but we will be grabbin’ a few spare herbs from the kitchen stores if ye’d like company.”
Then, as if she were embarrassed, Isla walked away. She still held her chin high, but there was a sharp stiffness to her shoulder that Amelia recognized intimately. Smiling, she followed the girl, snatching a fork from a nearby table as she walked.
“Ye’re right,” Hazel was saying to Isla as she placed herbs into the basket she was holding. “But just because ye’ve gotten better at the administration of laudanum before bandagin’ someone, that doesnae mean that ye’re ready to be takin’ care of patients without any oversight.”
“But last year there were so many men comin’ to see us with mindless injuries,” Isla sighed. Amelia nearly laughed around the mouthful of haggis. “Would it nae be helpful if I could take care of the ones that only have minor cuts?”
“Many of those men will claim that the minor cuts are life-threatening injuries,” Hazel countered, locking eyes with Amelia, the two of them sharing a private smile. “Egos that big require a certain amount of… delicacy. I daenae think it comes innately to ye, dear.”
Isla shifted, tilting her head to the side and squinting up at her mother. “What could ye possibly mean by that?”
Amelia had to turn away from the scene for a moment, busying herself by eating several bites from her plate. As Amelia worked her way through her food, Hazel somehow managed to keep herself from laughing. It was a skill Amelia could only hope to learn one day.
“I mean that bedside manner is somethin’ we must all be taught,” Hazel said, the professionalism in her voice only maintained by the very thing she was describing. “Ye do an excellent job with Amelia, that’s true. Men are more difficult than women; they just willnae have ye think it. They keep theirpain all hidden, and if they do let it out, they’ll exaggerate it because they’re afraid of appearin’ weak.”
“That doesnae make a bit of sense,” Isla replied incredulously.
“And that,” Amelia said, polishing off the last of her meal, “is why ye’re nae ready to be treatin’ them on yer own.”
Isla whipped around, frowning. Before she could argue with Amelia, Hazel explained, “Ye must learn that some things just daenae make sense, Isla. Men are one of those things.”
“I daenae thinkyemake sense,” Isla grumbled petulantly. It was the first time Amelia had seen her frustration boil over in the way that made her act her age. “Why would ye nae justtellthem they’re nae dyin’ from a scratch? Why should I have to coddle their feelin’s?”
“Ye daenae have to worry about their feelin’s when ye’re just havin’ a conversation with them,” Amelia cut in, sensing that Hazel was about to give the girl a lesson about being a polite, proper lady. “Say what ye mean and let them lick their wounds in private. But if ye’re healin’, ye must consider how the injured person feels. Ye wouldnae want to be told ye were overreactin’ if ye were hurt, aye?”
Isla looked between Hazel and Amelia, disbelief palpable on her face. Incredulously, she said, “I absolutely would want to be told if I were overreactin’.” She huffed, shifting the basket of herbs to her other arm. “What sense do men make?!”
Amelia’s laughter bubbled over, free and unbidden. As Hazel’s own quiet giggle joined her own, it hit her with stunning clarity that she did not want to leave this place. Not only did she want to weather the storm that her father’s visits would surely bring here, but she also wanted to stay long past that.
These two are family. And Darragh… I want to stay.
“What could the three of ye possibly be cacklin’ about over here?” Mrs. Rowan asked, coming to a stop next to Amelia. She seemed amused, almost pleased at the jovial mood she’d happened upon.
“I’m nae cacklin’,” Isla interjected. “They’re laughin’ at me as if I’m the insane one for nae understandin’ men’s egos.”
