Page 32 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“Uncovering treasure,” was the reply that drifted down. Then footsteps thundered on the floor above and clattered down the stairs as Kinellan hove into sight, a pistol in his left hand, the ancient Seton broadsword clutched in the other.

Startled almost out of her wits by the sight of him so strangely armed, Jane had to stifle a laugh. “Are you planning to fight pirates, Kinellan?”

He stopped and glanced down at himself, then chuckled. “I found what I could and intend to use whatever is to hand.” He tucked the pistol in his belt, gripped the hilt of the sword, now looking like a pirate himself, and stepped to the back window. “Did you see any movement at all?”

“Not out the front window, no.”

He unbolted the door. “Come on then, and be quick. I’ve one shot only before I’ll have to try to run the blighter through.” They stepped out onto the small porch, both of them darting glances all over the yard, but not even the leaves were rustling. “Go now, Jane.”

Holding up her long skirt, Jane raced for the well, its sides made of fieldstone with a crude frame overtop of it, a winch above to wind the bucket up or down. Despite Kinellan’s claim that the lodge hadn’t been used in ten years, the bucket held suspended above the wooden cover seemed serviceable rather than decrepit as she’d expected. She flipped the cover over and quickly unwound the rope, lowering the bucket swiftly into the well. At last she heard a splash and the rope tightened as the bucket filled. “Hurry, hurry,” she whispered, turning her head, trying to see all around her at once. Nothing moved, which didn’t make her any less jumpy.

The rope creaked and strained with the weight of the water, then stilled. Jane grasped the handle and began to wind it up again. “Come on, come on.” She struggled with the crank. How had she not known that a bucket of water would weigh so much? Miraculously, however, the bucket continued to rise. Finally, it came into sight and she grabbed it, set it on the side of the well, and made to untie the rope.

“No.” Kinellan’s voice was so low it took her a moment to realize he’d spoken. “Don’t untie it. Pour it into the other one.” He nodded to a more battered-looking bucket on the ground near her feet. It very well might leak like a sieve. But if she wanted to get back into the house as quickly as possible, she would have to trust to luck.

She tipped the full bucket over, into the older one, and prayed. Miraculously, the vessel was tight. “Thank you, thank you.” Jane smiled and glanced around again, suddenly confident they would come through this ordeal. Her gaze shifted from the woods, and what might be lurking in them, to one particular tree about five yards away. Her mouth dried at the sight of this gift from heaven.

A glance at Kinellan showed him absorbed in staring into the woods off to the left of the lodge. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her at all. She put the empty bucket back on the rim of the well, turned to her right, and raced toward the tall tree with the graceful, swaying branches.

“Jane!”

Drat. He really shouldn’t bellow so. It would likely draw the intruder to the rear of the lodge. She reached the tree, skidding on the soft earth under its overhanging branches. No time to harvest discriminately. Grabbing a handful of the smaller hanging branches, she pulled upward, stripping the slender shoots from the larger limbs. The bark was smooth but had some knobs that tore the flesh of her palms. Ignoring the pain, she came away with a handful of the slim greenish stalks. She turned back toward the well to find Kinellan standing there, staring at her, his entire face a grimace with hectic spots of color in his cheeks. The bucket filled his left hand, the pistol his right. That arm must be in agony from the wound. Still, she’d gladly endure his wrath to have this plant to include in her medicinal arsenal. She hurried into the lodge, none the worse for her unexpected adventure.

The door slamming behind her brought Jane up short. Slowly she turned to face Kinellan’s anger.

“What did you think you—”

“It was a willow tree.” Being on the offensive was always an advantage.

“What?” He blinked, his ire replaced by surprise. For the moment.

“A willow, with willow bark. When steeped, it makes a tea that is good for pain. It can also be used as a wound wash and helps with inflammation.”

He scoffed. “Something else you learned from the army surgeon?”

“No, actually I learned about it from my Granny Munro, when I was a girl.”

Kinellan looked taken aback at that information. He could scarcely dismiss her relative out of hand. It didn’t hurt that the story was true.

She dropped the bundle of sticks on the table, picked up one, and began to strip it methodically. “We would come to the Highlands for gatherings each year and I’d help my grandmother when she was tending to the sick or wounded. She swore by the healing properties of willow bark.” One thing her army officer husband had taught her was always advance. Push through resistance until you reached your goal. She took the full bucket of water out of his hand. “So let me brew some tea. If you drink it, I believe you’ll feel better. Then I’ll cleanse your wound with it to help it start healing.” Please don’t fight me on this, Kinellan.

After a long moment of Kinellan staring at her as though he’d happily waste a shot on her, he sighed and tucked the pistol into his waistband. “What an entrancing surgeon you would have made, my dear.” A slow smile came over his face, and Jane’s anxiety retreated. She didn’t want to be estranged from him, especially not now.

“I fear I have neither the skill nor the patience for such work, although I will admit, I found it fascinating when I was following Tark with the army early in our marriage. I’ve seen my share of blood and death, and learned a good deal about how to prevent it.” With a deep sigh of relief, she returned his smile and hurried to the fireplace. Tipping the bucket into the cauldron over the embers, she poured until a third of the liquid remained. “We’ll let that heat for a bit, while I peel the twigs. Then I’ll let them steep, so we’ll have plenty both for the tea and the wash.”

She bent to her task and when the willow twigs had become a pile of the curling bark on the table, Jane swept them into her hands and dumped them into the boiling water. She kept glancing from the pot to Kinellan to the bright clearing beyond the window. Nothing stirred, but that seemed to make the tension in the room thicken. Perhaps a distraction might not come amiss. She lowered her voice to a sultry tone. “Soon, my lord, I must make a request of you.”

He regarded her with a wary eye.

“As I must wash your wound”—she grinned at him—“I’ll need you to take your clothes off.”

Chapter Fourteen

“A charming proposition, my dear, at any other time.” Kinellan shook his head. “I will gladly disrobe for you, but only if I can do it here. I need to keep on guard.”

She sighed impatiently. “Can you at least sit while you do so? You could faint again, and I am not prepared for that twice in one day.” Gingerly, trying to jostle his left shoulder as little as possible, she peeled his jacket from him. He winced a couple of times but managed it fairly quickly. “Now the shirt.”

With a smooth, practiced movement, he pulled the shirt over his head. “Ahhh. Damn.”