Freya’s eyes went wide with shock. “Ye have nay healers of yer own?” she asked, her voice high-pitched. “A clan of this size?”
Both Amara and Ayla shook their heads.
“We have to go to the neighboring clan,” Ayla explained. “Our healer used to reside in the castle, but he rode off to war with Arthur and Joseph years ago. He died in battle nearly three years ago, and he didnae have an apprentice.”
Freya blinked at the two women, the shock still plain on her face.
“Well!” she exclaimed. “Then Marissa and I will just have to teach ye everything we can. I brought some books with me, actually. Filled with me notes.”
She pushed herself up with a grunt, hand still fluttering protectively over her swollen belly. She walked slowly across the room, and Marissa couldn’t help but wonder if her feet were swollen.
It was something her sister hadn’t dealt with yet in her pregnancy when she had left Castle Reid a few days ago. But the sisters had treated enough pregnant women in their timeas healers that she knew symptoms could appear suddenly. And once they did, they tended to appear with a vengeance.
“Sit down,” Abigail commanded, seeming to think the same thing as Marissa as she jumped out of her reading chair. “Ye need to prop up those feet of yers. Ye dinnae need to be toddlin’ around after a few old books.”
“Old books!” Freya scoffed, clearly offended.
She didn’t argue, however, as Abigail put her hands on her shoulders and led her back toward the overstuffed chair she’d just vacated.
The moment Freya was tucked in, Abigail bustled away, disappearing into Freya and Michael’s bedroom.
“Where are the books?” her voice echoed through the shadowed doorway.
“At the bottom of the blue trunk!” Freya yelled back, sighing before leaning back into her seat.
She made quick work of pulling over an ottoman with her foot, sighing again as she propped her feet up on it. Her eyes flicked to the mirror, locking onto the reflections of the other three women.
“Stuck in the carriage that long,” she murmured. “It was torture on me poor swollen joints.”
“Have ye taken a tonic for it?” Marissa asked, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.
Freya shook her head.
When Marissa opened her mouth to argue, her older sister quickly cut her off.
“I’ll be drinkin’ some soon, dinnae worry yerself,” Freya said. “I just didnae want to drink it before we left. Ye ken it makes a woman want to relieve herself, and this little one is already sittin’ low in me belly.”
She pointed to the bottom of her stomach as if expecting them to be able to see it. But through the swaths of fabric that made up her traveling gown, Marissa could not tell.
“I’ll just have to take yer word for it,” she mumbled, saved by Abigail’s return a moment later with a pile of books in her hands.
There were at least five of them, all familiar the moment her eyes fell on them.
“Why did ye bring so many?” she admonished, shaking her head at her sister.
“Ye never ken when ye’re goin’ to need them,” Freya argued, pointing toward the small table at the far end of the room. “Put them over there except the red one. Bring that one to me.”
Abigail did as she was told, dropping the stack of books onto the small circular table with a thunk. She yawned as she plucked the red book off the top and handed it to her sister.
“Are ye goin’ to take another nap?” Ayla asked her with a chuckle.
“I might,” Abigail grumbled, easing herself back into her armchair. “I’ll nae be gettin’ ready for quite some time.”
Freya ignored the chatter, flipping through the book in her lap with reckless abandon before finally landing on a specific page.
“Here it is,” she intoned. “A tonic that I’ll teach ye to brew. I’ll teach ye how to read me notes anyway.”
It was clear to everyone in the room that Freya was speaking to Amara and Ayla, but it was Marissa who answered.
