Page 22 of Highland Storm

“Take it with you,” he told her. “But I want it back someday.”

“Oh, I couldna,” she said, closing the book and running her fingertips reverently over the leather covering. There was an engraving of a plant on the cover, and behind it was a bright star.

“Learn what you need in order to heal your loved one.”

Her head snapped up in surprise. “How did ye ken?”

“Anyone who is as determined as you, must have someone they care about that they want to cure.”

“I do,” she admitted, but said nothing more.

“Please take care of it, and don’t let it fall into the wrong hands. Some of the herbs are poisonous, and that is knowledge that could be dangerous if an enemy got hold of it.”

“But . . . I am a MacNab. I am yer enemy,” she reminded him. “Yet, ye give this to me anyway? Why?”

“I don’t believe you are the enemy. Besides, you remind me of someone I once knew who was very special to me. Phoebe, I can see the future sometimes, and I see you being part of the MacKeefe Clan someday.”

“Nay!” she spat, not wanting that to be true. After all, the MacKeefes were responsible for her cousin, Osla’s death. “I promise ye, that’ll never happen.”

“Don’t make promises you won’t be able to keep.”

She didn’t know what that meant and neither did she care. She opened up the pouch that was slung over her shoulder, being held by a long strap. Then, carefully, she placed the book right next to the mugwort. “I dinna ken how I can ever repay ye, Orrick.”

“You can repay me by bringing me some Common Centaury from the Isle of Kerrera when you return my book.”

“But . . . I’m no’ goin’ to the Isle of Kerrera,” she told him. “I am a prisoner here, and that is impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible if you believe it can be so.” The man spoke with wisdom, sounding as if he knew something about the future that she didn’t. “Shall we go and tend to Hawke’s wound now?” He got up and led the way across the room.

Orrick blew out the candle before reaching over to open the door. A shiver ran up Phoebe’s spine and she felt as if something was going to happen, but she didn’t know what. As she left the room, she wondered if she would ever be able to repay the sorcerer’s kindness. But the Isle of Kerrera was so far away from here. Even if she did manage to escape, she’d never be able to get to the isle and back with the rare herb before her father passed away.

Chapter 8

Hawke brushed away something wet tickling his nose, opening one sleepy eye and then the other. He almost jumped out of his skin when he found four beady eyes staring at him and two long tongues lapping out to lick him once again.

“Egads, stop that!” He jerked upward to a sitting position, forgetting momentarily that he’d taken a blade to the shoulder yesterday. The pulling of his stitches and the sharp pain reminded him. “God’s toes!” he ground out through gritted teeth. His hand shot to his wound and his eyes darted back to the wolf and the wolfhound standing on the bed staring at him. They were panting in his face.

“Och, ye’re awake.” Logan sat leaning back on a chair with his legs stretched out and resting on the bed. Ethan leaned against the bedpost cradling a tankard in his hand.

“I told ye he wasna dead,” said Ethan. “And Jack and Trapper just proved it.”

“Of course I’m no’ dead, but ye two will be if ye try a stunt like that again,” Hawke warned them. “Off the bed,” he commanded, and both the animals leapt to the floor and disappeared in the shadows. He stared at Logan.

“What?” asked Logan, having no idea what he meant.

“I was talkin’ to ye, no’ the mutts. Get yer feet off my bed.”

“Calm down and have somethin’ to drink,” said Ethan, handing him his tankard while Logan reluctantly moved his feet to the floor.

“How long have I been sleepin’?” asked Hawke, running a hand through his long, tangled hair. He took the tankard from Ethan, thinking it was ale or whisky and chugged some down.

“It’s already mornin’,” said Ethan, picking up a hunk of bread from the table, taking a bite and then giving the rest of it to his dog. Logan’s wolf howled in protest.

As soon as Hawke swallowed, he realized he was drinking red wine. He spit out what was left in his mouth and threw the tankard to the floor. The wolf ran over to investigate and lick it up.

“Come here, Jack,” said Logan, holding out his hand. “That madman might hurt ye.”

“Aye, why are ye throwin’ tankards around the room?” asked Ethan.