The Healer by Allison Butler Page A

his upper body to shield his brother.
    But Edan struggled up with a grimace, pushing the hide away from his face to search the water surrounding them. ‘Are there any swans about, Will?’ he said softly.
    William’s gut tightened. He studied Castle Loch, the body of water encircling Closeburn Castle, knowing he wouldn’t see any swans. The dark, murky water appeared pockmarked by the driving rain.
    ‘Nae swans, Edan,’ he said. ‘It is a foolish superstition, lad. One you’d be wise to ignore.’
    ‘But –’
    ‘Enough, lad,’ William cut in, keeping his mounting anger from his tone.
    Edan’s lips thinned, holding back the words William knew he longed to say. Looking up from his brother’s tight expression, William’s gaze collided with the healer’s.
    Pools of blue stared at him from the opposite end of the boat. He glared at her, daring her to voice the questions lurking in her moist, wide eyes. She blinked rapidly and turned away.
    She looked as if she’d fallen into the loch. Three times. Her wet, red-gold hair hung dark and lifeless, plastered to her head. The only colours in her oval face were her pink lips, rain-washed and full, and the sapphire eyes that now refused to meet his. She shouldn’t be so appealing in such a dishevelled state but, much to his disgust, he found she was.
    God save him from swans and curses and a foolish Englishwoman, whose claims as a healer should be enough to drive any thoughts of desire from his thick head and cool his unruly body.
    With a gentle bump, they reached the jetty on the inner side of Castle Loch. Ian downed the oars, and with practiced ease he scrambled ashore to steady the craft so its passengers could alight. Once Donald and his charge climbed out, William followed. His brother’s weight was no hardship.
    He headed for the iron-studded gates with long strides, swiftly passing his clansman and the healer. One of the massive gates swung inward at his approach. As he stepped through into the walled courtyard, the downpour doubled its force and became a deafening torrent. Hunching over Edan, he absorbed most of the water teeming from the wretched sky above.
    As they neared the first-floor entrance to the tower, Closeburn’s steward held open the iron yett, the defensive gate of metal bars, allowing him entrance. Just inside the doorway William paused, and felt his mantle, wet and heavy, lifted from his shoulders.
    ‘‘Tis good to see you home and whole, laird,’ the steward said.
    ‘My thanks, Malcolm.’
    Edan shifted in his arms, pushing the hide away from his face to offer the aging steward a weary smile.
    ‘And you too, master Edan.’
    ‘The others will follow soon,’ William said. ‘Is all prepared above stairs?’
    ‘Mary –’
    ‘Is right here to escort you, laird.’
    The plump older woman sailed into view. William hadn’t missed the subtle grace of her hand as she’d approached, making the sign of the cross. She then clucked and fussed over Edan, showing no outward concern at seeing the lad in his brother’s arms instead of standing on his own two feet.
    ‘Everything is ready as you requested,’ Mary finally said.
    ‘I did not doubt it.’
    ‘Then why did you bother asking?’
    William hid his smile. Her familiar, gentle chiding felt so...normal. After three days of constant mayhem, he welcomed it.
    He strode through the archway leading into the hall and swept the occupants with his gaze. Preparations for the evening meal clattered to a stop, as men and women turned to stare wide-eyed at him carrying his brother. He gave a brisk nod in acknowledgement and turned toward the stairs, fighting to retain the brief sense of peace Mary’s scolding had granted.
    But it disappeared beneath growing frustration. The dread he had seen in the eyes of his clan folks settled heavily in his mind. He took the stairs two at a time.
    Damn his ancestor to hell for supposedly shooting the swan in the chest with a crossbow bolt .
    Edan gasped.
    Peering