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“The salve is ready, Jenny,” said Mhairi. “I added bear fat, too, to protect the children’s skin. Pure wild garlic can be harsh on the skin. If ye want to start treating the children, I’ll get the beds cleaned.”

“Would you call your friends, Artur?” Jenny asked as she took the bowl from Mhairi’s hands. It smelled like honey and sharply of something between garlic and onion.

“Aye,” said Artur and ran out.

Jenny went outside, into the daylight. The children quickly gathered around her and stood watching her carefully. Aulay was still clearing the reeds out of the building.

“Who wants to go first?” asked Jenny, and when no one volunteered, she said, “Who’s the bravest of you all? The bravest son or daughter of Somerled?”

Everyone raised their hands. “I!” cried every child in the group, and Jenny smiled.

“Artur,” she said. “You have the name of a legendary king. Why don’t you go first?”

Artur nodded and stepped forward. “Aye.”

Sticking his chest out, he stood calmly as Jenny dipped her finger into the salve and applied the mixture around the boy’s mouth and onto his sores on his hands. “Do not lick it,” she warned. “Well done, you.”

The next child came, and she applied more of the salve. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ceana,” said the girl.

“Beautiful name, sweetheart. How old are you?”

“Ten winters.”

“Oh, and already learning sword fighting.” She finished the girl’s mouth and looked at her hands. There were sores on the backs of her palms, and Jenny spread the salve over the yellow crusts. “How do you like living here?”

“I like it fine. ’Tis my home.”

“And what do you do for fun here?”

The girl shrugged. “We run. We play tag. We go to the woods and pick berries, go fishing and swimming in the sea. Play with dolls.”

Jenny beamed. “Sounds delightful. You’re good to go. We’ll fix your home, and you won’t be sick as much.”

Jenny was delighted she was finally doing something right. And Aulay was finally backing her up. She felt useful. She felt like she was in her right place. She could help the children in Middle Ages also.

As she treated the rest of the children, the stack of reeds rose next to the orphanage. She was so impressed that Aulay cared for these children. Was it his way to fill the void that was left in him because he was childless just like her? She recognized a similar void in her own heart. That was one reason why being a pediatrician was so fulfilling.

As he went in and out of the orphanage, their eyes met from time to time, and she found it hard to look away.

CHAPTER 13

“Please, listen to me. She has a chance to get better, I promise,” the sound of Jenny’s strange accent rolled to Aulay’s ears from the corner of the building in the courtyard. Her voice did something to him. It sent a tremor of joy through his veins, and there was that pull that tugged him to her.

It was the day after he and Jenny had worked all day on the orphanage. Yesterday, she and Mhairi had personally stripped the dirty bed linens and washed them in the stream under the guard of one of his men-at-arms. The orphan girls went with them to help. The linens had dried before the sunset, and the children had slept in clean beds. Aulay had ordered one of his carpenters to work on a wooden floor for the orphanage, and he said he’d do it in two sennights.

As Aulay stepped from behind the building, he saw Jenny crouching before Ailis, who held Una in her hands. The bairn was wailing. Ailis sat on the same pile of firewood in front of her home, which was one of the first in a group of similar houses. Behind Jenny, following the main path in the bailey from the gatehouse to the main keep, a chicken strutted past them and leaned down to peck at the ground. Workers and servants walked up and down the path with sacks, baskets of produce, and carts with firewood.

A gust of strong wind blew a cloud away and a ray of sunshine fell on Jenny, setting her red hair ablaze.

“Step away from me, witch,” said Ailis angrily. Her voice was raw, and she coughed out every word. “Bhatair told ye”—cough—“nae to”—cough—“interfe—” Cough, cough, cough.

Poor Una’s crying also rasped as she wailed.

“Please, I’m just trying to help,” said Jennifer. “You’ve just lost your husband, and you’re grieving. Maybe that’s why you’re getting worse. You’re burning up. Both you and Una need medical help urgently.”

“She told ye nae to interfere,” said Laoghaire, who was passing by with her maid and a bunch of flowers in her hands. “And how dare ye wear my aunt’s dress?”