Seven

Lachlan stood with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning at the bumbling ineptitude of the MacPherson guards. One week had passed since the attack, and while he’d made good strides on repairing the wall and the portcullis, and seeing to different safety measures around the keep—setting up vigilant patrols, blocking off the secret escape routes, and burning the scrub from around the castle, so no one could hide in it—he’d made little progress with the MacPherson warriors.

And none with Amber.

God’s truth, what did the woman want? He’d done everything he could think of to get back in her good graces—just like all the other men—right down to bringing her flowers. Except she went through the other men’s bouquets and kept any part that had medicinal qualities, discarding the rest. His bouquet she’d tossed out in its entirety.

He should have tupped her when he had the chance, good and hard. Left her screaming her release and wanting more. Or been gentle and drawn out the loving, so when she finally released, it was like naught she’d ever experienced, and she’d want more.

But, nay. He’d stopped.

Idiot.

“You’re making them nervous with your scowls,” Callum said from beside him. “They did much better this morning when you weren’t here to intimidate them.”

He grunted, about the most vocal he’d been in the last week. Unless he’d been trying to talk to Amber, that was. Then his words had come tripping over his tongue as he tried to corner her, tried to reason with her.

Callum sighed, an exasperated sound that Lachlan was sure had been accompanied by an eye roll. He refused to look over to find out.

“Quit mooning o’er some lass and help rebuild your new clan. The warriors deserve your support and full attention.”

“I’m watching them,” he said.

“Nay, you’re not. You’re thinking about the next thing you can do to get Amber’s attention. You have to let her go, Lachlan. You tried and you failed. Besides, you should be thinking about ways to use her as bait for Murray, not how to get under her skirts.”

“You doona understand. I was this close.” He held out his thumb and index finger a wee bit apart, then felt guilty for having admitted even that to Callum, which again made no sense—the brothers had always talked to each other about their lovers.

But nothing about his feelings for Amber made sense.

He blew out a frustrated breath. “I chose to take the high road. I thought she would thank me for stopping and want to continue with me later when it was safe. She thanked me, all right, and she’s barely spoken two words to me since. Even when I question her about Adaira’s recovery, all she’ll give are minimal answers, even if she’s been teasing Adaira just minutes before.”

“You sound like you’re in love with her.”

Lachlan rounded on him, shock lifting his brow. “Nay! ’Tis naught like that. I just…”

“You just want to be with her all the time, make love to her all the time. You said Darach was the same when he met Caitlin. If it’s not love, then it’s obsession—like Machar Murray.”

The heat of anger rose on his chest. “Doona compare me to Machar Murray.”

“Then doona act like him. Catch the bastard so the MacPhersons and Amber are safe, then let’s go home. Use Amber as bait.” He tapped his finger on his upper lip, thinking. “If you were Machar Murray—”

Lachlan growled, and Callum waylaid him with a raised hand.

“Just pretend. Murray stayed here for Amber, knowing the risk. He tried to kill her, aye, but hate and love are two sides of the same coin—”

“I am not in love wi—”

“Good. Then this should be easy for you. What one thing would bother you more than anything about Amber? Something she could do—if you were in love with her. Which you’re not, of course.”

He knew what it was immediately, but he didn’t want to say it. When Callum raised his brow, Lachlan grumbled, “Take another lover.”

“Aye, and if that lover is you—the man Murray hates more than any other—he would try to kill both of you. Or maybe just kill you and abduct Amber, so he could hurt her afterward. Or abduct both of you so he could hurt her in front of you before killing—”

“Stop! I understand your meaning.”

It was a good plan, but he was torn. How could he knowingly put Amber in that kind of danger? And how could he not, when ’twas the best plan they had to capture or kill Murray, leaving everyone else safe? And getting justice for his brother, of course.

And if he spent his nights with her, alone with her, he’d have her right where he wanted. An intimate setting in close proximity to a bed. He could talk to her, reason with her.

Seduce her.

“It couldnae be at the castle. He’d need access to us in order to try anything,” Lachlan said.

“Aye. We could find an isolated place, let it slip—maybe through Father Odhran—that it’s your wee love nest.”

“Doona use those words with her when you suggest it.”

“Me? Why canna you tell her? You’re her laird.”

He scowled again. Not liking the reminder that Amber refused to call him Lachlan anymore. “She’ll take it better coming from you, but I’ll be there.” He rubbed his hand over his neck and blew out a worried breath. “I doona want any others with us in the cottage, but we’ll need watchers.”

“Aye.”

He drummed his fingers on his sword’s pommel. “Callum, we’re putting her life at risk. If he captures her, he’ll—”

“I know what he’ll do, Lachlan, and worse. We willna let that happen. We’ll protect her.”

Lachlan turned back to the MacPherson men, saw them sneaking worried glances at him, and knew what Callum had said about his demeanor was true. He’d brought down their morale, and they’d had enough of that with Machar Murray.

He forced a smile and reassuring nod. Many of the men returned the smile, their shoulders straightening, their grips tightening on their weapons. They renewed their training with vigor. Aye, he’d make warriors out of them yet.

“Let’s walk the wall then visit the barracks,” he said to Callum. If these men were feeling down because of his sour face and attitude, he’d bet the others were too.

He made sure to slap several guards on the back and say encouraging words as he and Callum made their way to the main gate. They inspected the new portcullis, declared the work excellent, then walked up the stairs to the walkway on top of the curtain wall. Repairs were underway on much of the stonework, and it was already significantly improved.

The gate faced north toward the village on the shores of the loch, a distant mountain range to the west. Lachlan and Callum had hidden in the brush to the east over a week ago, and to the south was more forest.

They’d made their way about a third of the way around the wall, stopping to talk to the guards and craftsmen they passed, when Lachlan spotted someone walking away from the castle to the northwest. Although he couldn’t be sure because of the distance, it looked like a woman with short, orangey-gold hair.

He squinted. Surely it wasn’t Amber? His stomach tightened and he swore. If it was her, where the hell were her guards?

Callum leaned on the wall beside him and peered out. “Is that Amber?”

“Exactly what I was wondering.”

A warrior next to them followed their gazes. “Aye, ’tis her.” He pointed toward the tree line in the distance. “Her cottage is over there. You can just see the thatched roof.”

“She doesn’t live in the village?” Lachlan’s voice had risen, and his heart began to race.

“Nay, her family has been on their farm for as long as I can remember. I think her grandfather built it for her grandmother when they first married. ’Twas even more isolated then.”

The pulse pounded in Lachlan’s temple now, and he clenched his jaw to keep from yelling. “Would Machar Murray know this?”

The man looked nervously between the two lairds, sensing the tension even through their outward calm. “Aye, everyone does.”

Lachlan leaned out over the parapet to look at the outside wall. It was too far a drop to make without injury or death, and all the wee crevices he could have used as handholds to climb down had been filled in.

“I need rope,” he said, barely able to get the words past his tight jaw.

“You’re not going that way,” Callum said. “You’ll be exposed. And horses will be quicker.”

He was right, but Lachlan didn’t want Amber out of his sight for even a second. He turned to the guard. “Where are the nearest stairs?” He couldn’t stop himself from yelling this time, fear for Amber a lead ball in his gut.

“Just around that corner.” The man pointed to where the wall curved around an outpost.

Lachlan and Callum took off at a run toward it. Lachlan whistled sharply as he hit the stairs, alerting his men to be prepared and have his horse ready.

God’s blood! She could be heading straight to her death. Where the hell were her guards?

“What’s the matter?” the warrior called after them. “Is Amber in danger? Is Machar Murray still out there?”

Aye. And maybe waiting for her in her cottage.

* * *

Amber pushed open the door to her home. The worn wood, warm from the summer sun, felt familiar against her hands, the squeak of the hinges just right to her ears, and the smell, a cacophony of scents from her herb and vegetable gardens inside and outside the cottage, just like her grandmother. She stepped over the threshold and looked around with a smile.

’Twas good to be home, especially as she thought for a while that she’d never see it again.

Ian and his younger sister, Breanna, had checked on the place and tended the gardens and animals while she’d been at the castle, so it didn’t smell stale, and the herbs weren’t overgrown. They’d done a good job with everything.

She would have come back sooner, but Earc had ended up sicker than she’d anticipated and needed round-the-clock care, as did Adaira, who had developed an infection in her wound, which wasn’t unexpected but still worrisome.

The lass was awake now and talking up a storm, still trying to decide whether to forgive Amber for tricking her.

The worst had been trying to avoid Lachlan, who kept wanting to talk to her about…about… Gah! She didn’t even know what to call it. A kiss, aye, but so much more than that. Until him, her experience of kisses—of any kind of physical intimacy—had always been her trying to avoid it. Sometimes with force.

Her carnal pleasure had only ever come from her own fingers—which some might call a sin, but she called the perfect way to fall asleep after a stressful day.

Not that she’d wanted to fall asleep since their…kiss. She spent all day trying not to think about Lachlan, only to spend all night dreaming about him, leaving her wet and wanting—and she refused to touch herself while thinking about him again. Which left her a mass of repressed urges.

To make it worse, she felt his eyes on her wherever she went, reminding her of what they’d done. Not that she felt they’d done anything sinful, as Father Odhran would say, but the notion that Lachlan wanted to tup her and not marry her had hurt. Which was confusing, because the last thing she wanted was to get married.

Still, she didn’t like that he considered her good enough to tup on a regular basis, using her knowledge of herbs to avoid having bairns, but not good enough to marry.

Idiot man.

Nay, laird. He was her laird, and she’d best remember that…idiot laird.

She moved across the freshly swept, hard-packed dirt floor toward the shutters latched over the kitchen window, and opened them wide. Bright, midmorning sunlight poured in over her potted herbs on the sill as well as the counters and cupboards stacked full of pottery, medicinal tools, and ingredients. In the center of the kitchen sat a large table with several high-backed chairs around it. Her favorite had been her father’s chair and her grandfather’s before that. A cushion her mother had made still sat on the seat, worn from use but patched and restuffed on a regular basis.

A hearth took up one wall, and several pots hung above it: one for cooking food, a few others for brewing her medicinal teas and broths.

Three comfortable chairs sat around the hearth, not used as much since her father and then her grandmother died, although she often had visitors in the evening—friends as well as those in need of healing. Sometimes they stayed over, and she had a bed in a nook off the kitchen for them that had been hers when she was a child.

She slept there some nights, instead of the bigger bed in the corner, when she was feeling particularly scared or lonely. And she’d been scared often since her father had been killed. Scared even more when her grandmother had died, but she’d lifted her chin and continued in her grandmother’s fashion, pretending to be a witch to keep Murray away from her. But she’d known it was only a matter of time, and if he were to come for her, she’d feared it would be at night.

But then Lachlan came. And Callum and the rest of the MacKays and MacLeans. And she knew she’d survive, even if Lachlan drove her a wee bit daft.

She sighed and moved past the foot of the bed, her grandmother’s colorful quilt laying on top. She pushed open the shutters on another window, and a black, feathered missile darted through the window at her face. She shrieked and threw her arms up around her head as it cawed at her. It beat its wings before flying across the room to settle on the back of her father’s chair.

“God’s blood, Lucy!” she yelled at the crow. “You almost took my eyes out.”

She glowered at her pet crow, his wing a wee bit droopy despite her best efforts to fix it two years ago when he’d fallen out of his nest. He’d stayed with her after that, following her about as best he could on the farm, but unable to make the longer trips when she had to go farther afield—like up to the castle.

She’d been worried sick about him, and the goats, Belle and Beele, when she had to run from Murray—even though she knew one of her friends would take care of them.

All three animals were named after demons from the stories her grandmother used to tell her. Not because she was a witch, as the priest accused, but because it secretly amused her. How better to send a rude message to Father Odhran after he’d accused her of keeping the baby crow and a pair of baby goats as her familiars. Crows and goats, he said, were the devil’s helpers.

So, she’d named her pets Lucy, Belle, and Beele—shortened versions of the demons’ names the priest accused her of consorting with. She’d told no one, of course, of the private joke, not even Isla or Ian.

She felt her face for any scratches from Lucy’s talons as she walked across the room and held out her arm for him. He hopped onto it, cawing loudly several times as if to reprimand her for staying away so long.

“Oh, I know, I know. I canna tell you how sorry I am that you were so inconvenienced. The outrage of having to find your own food and shelter like a regular bird is beyond what any normal crow should have to endure.”

She unbarred and pushed open her back door, which led to the path through the trees to her garden. The sunlight dappled through the leaves, and the air still held a slight crispness from early morning.

Her favorite time of day.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she walked, taking in the scent of her wildflowers along the side of the cottage. But the scent changed as she neared the garden, became stronger and mixed. She realized something was wrong just before she heard the distressed bleat from the goats up ahead.

As Amber broke into a run, Lucy squawked and lifted into the air. He flapped ahead of her and landed on a tree. Horror lodged in her throat as she reached the end of the path and saw her beloved plants—both for eating and medicine—had been trampled beneath someone’s feet, ripped up by malevolent hands.

She scanned about for Belle and Beele, fearing the worst. A moment later, she found Belle tied up tight to a tree, her eyes wild as she struggled to free herself. From behind the goats’ shed, Amber heard thrashing and more bleating, and she ran around it to find Beele trapped beneath the wheelbarrow she used to transport dirt and plants. Lucy hopped along behind her, cawing as he went from tree branch, to fence, to shed.

“Oh, Beele. I’m here, sweetling,” she cried out as she struggled to push the heavy barrow off the goat and set it back on its wheels. Beele sprung up as soon as he was free, shaking his head and bleating, before lowering his head and racing toward Belle. Amber raced after him.

“Beele, wait! I’ll help her.”

When she reached the goats, Belle was tangled even tighter against the tree, and Beele had lowered his head, ready to ram anything in defense of his sister—including Amber, who grabbed his horns and held on, trying to soothe him.

It didn’t work, so she let go and just tried to avoid his head butts as she used her knife to saw through the rope and free Belle. Finally, the wee female loosed her head, but not before Amber was rammed several times by Beele.

“God’s truth,” she said, rubbing her thigh where Beele had pounded into her. “Serves me right for naming you after a demon.”

She looked around at the mess of her garden and nearly broke down, her heart hurting and stomach sick. Who would do such a thing? Not only to her medicinal plants and food, but to the goats as well? ’Twas likely someone had been trying to tie up Belle, and Beele had attacked them.

But to what purpose? And when? Ian had been here yesterday afternoon and had said naught was amiss.

She kneeled in the dirt to look at her plants. The damage to the stalks was recent, and the smashed vegetables were still moist. This had happened just before she arrived. She rose and peered around her, suddenly uneasy. Whoever did it could still be out there. Watching her.

Was someone trying to take revenge? Could it have been Murray? Surely he wouldn’t have stayed on MacPherson land, knowing what Lachlan would do to him if he were caught. ’Twas a sure way to die.

A loud, crashing noise sounded behind the goats’ shed, and Lucy cawed and flew to the top. Amber raced around it to see Father Odhran sprawled at the base of a large pine tree. Her first instinct was to help him, even though she knew him to be an awful and undeserving man, but then she saw the state of his shoes and the bottom of his robe—stained with the berries and plants he’d stomped on, and the dirt beneath his fingernails. Her chest constricted so tight it felt like she might stop breathing.

“You did this!” she yelled at him, striding forward through the underbrush, fists clenched.

“Get away from me, witch!” He scrambled back until he cowered against the tree trunk.

“How could you? All those plants killed. All that food and medicine wasted. And what were you trying to do with Belle and Beele?”

“Demons, both of them! I heard you.” He made the sign of the cross.

She avoided his flailing feet and grabbed the bottom his robe, yanking it so he rolled over and got a face full of dirt. “You killed living plants. God’s plants. Put on this earth to feed and help people. You’re the demon. Destroying His creation!”

“You pervert His will giving potions to the women, taking away their pain at childbirth. And you fornicate with that demon goat.”

She reeled back. “What?” If she hadn’t been so shocked by what he’d suggested, so disgusted, she would have burst out laughing. “You loathsome, foul creature. Nay, not even a creature, for even the lowliest worm brings life to the soil. All you do is hate and destroy, just like the demons you rail against.” She picked up dirt and debris from the ground and hurled it at him. He cried out and tried to crawl behind the tree on his hands and knees, but she stepped on the end of his robe and leaned over him. “I bring bairns, God’s bairns, into the world, and no matter how much I ease the pain for their mothers, it still hurts them, believe me. Not every child has as small a mind as you. You must have slipped through your mother like a wee shite, for that’s exactly what you are.”

She picked up another handful of dirt and smeared it into his hair. Then she planted her foot in his backside and pushed. “Get off of my land! And doona e’er speak to me again. If you see me, you run the other way, or I’ll drag you to the nearest well and throw you in.”

Her breath continued to saw through her lungs as he disappeared on hands and knees into the forest. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, trying to find calm amidst all the destruction and chaos. Her beloved garden—ruined. All the food and medicine lost. And what had he intended for Belle and Beele?

She trembled again just thinking about it, and then she realized that the ground shook as well—shook beneath her feet, the vibrations rising up her legs. Thundering hooves assaulted her ears moments later, and she ran back through her garden and toward her cottage. Belle and Beele followed at her heels, and Lucy flew from branch to branch in the trees above.

“Amber!” she heard Lachlan yell.

“I’m here!” she responded, and was almost knocked over as he barreled around the corner, his big hands catching her shoulders just in time to keep her upright. The warmth and strength of them made her feel safe, and she wanted to lean all the way into him.

Callum and several other warriors fanned out around them, weapons drawn, eyes vigilant.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is it Adaira? Or Earc?”

“Nay, they’re fine. Are you all right?” When she nodded, he looked around, frowning at the sight of her garden. “What happened?”

Her chest and throat tightened, and she tried to hold it back, but a sob pushed up from her belly. “Father Odhran did this. Thank God I arrived in time, or he would have hurt the goats too. He had Belle tied up so tight to the tree she could barely breathe, and he’d trapped Beele beneath a wheelbarrow. He would have killed them, I know it. You should have heard the things he said to me!”

He pulled her against his chest, and she went willingly, her head tucking beneath his chin, her eyes closing. She realized she was shaking, her breath coming in sharp gasps, and he wrapped his plaid around her shoulders.

“Let’s get her inside,” he said to Callum. “And find that donkey of a priest.”

Callum whistled then signaled with his hands as the warriors moved out. “Amber, where did you last see him and when?” he asked.

She lifted her head. “Behind the goats’ shed. He crawled into the bushes just before you arrived.”

“Crawled?” Lachlan asked.

“Aye, after my foot connected with his backside.”

He squeezed her shoulders and turned her to the back door of the cottage, but she dug her heels in and looked behind him. “My goats! Belle, Beele, come now, dearlings!” They bleated and pushed past her and Lachlan, running to the cottage door. She whistled for Lucy, and he swooped low past their heads then perched on the windowsill, cocking his head and cawing as he watched them.

“Any other animals?” Lachlan asked. “A cow perhaps? Or a herd of sheep?”

“Nay, just an ass,” she said, eyeing him.

He snorted as he walked her to the door, his big body shielding her, supporting her. “You should meet Caitlin MacKenzie, Darach’s wife. The two of you would have much to talk about.”

“Oh? Does her domineering husband try to boss her around too?”

A silence fell, and she regretted her words instantly. How could she have spoken so inanely?

“Aye, he does. But I’m not your husband, Amber.”

She felt the heat rush up her cheeks. “I know that. ’Twas just a…twist of words. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He grunted, his arm tightening around her as she tried to pull away. He didn’t let go until they’d crossed the threshold and he’d placed her in her favorite chair in front of the hearth. Lucy flew across the room with a caw to land on the back of her chair, while the goats found their pillows on the floor by her feet. They both still panted and bleated anxiously before releasing huge sighs and flopping onto their sides.

Lachlan stepped over them and said, “Should I bring Saint in too? Let him have a wee rest on your bed?”

“Nay. Your jealous old nag is not welcome. He jolted me around on purpose after you made off with me.”

“He did not. He was just hungry. I didn’t want him full before the battle.”

She scoffed. “’Twas more than that. He didn’t want me up there with you. How did he get his name anyway? He’s certainly no saint.”

Lachlan smiled, looking almost sheepish, and she raised her brows. “My foster brothers and Gregor named him. Gregor thought it would be good fortune to name him after a saint, but they couldnae agree on which one. So…he became just Saint.”

“Let me guess. They were trying to choose between the saints of thieves and scoundrels and the saint of lost causes?”

He laughed softly, and she knew by the amused look on his face it was true.

“Something like that.”

He grabbed some kindling from a bin on the hearth and set about to build a fire. The smaller wood lit easily, and he added logs until it roared in welcome. She hadn’t realized she was cold until she found herself leaning toward the flames.

“’Tis the shock,” he said as he placed the kettle above the flames. “I’ll make some tea. Do you have any valerian root?”

“Aye, on the counter, second canister from the left. How do you know about valerian root?”

“Our cook used to make it for my mother when I was a boy. To calm her nerves, she said.”

“Oh? Was she anxious?”

Lachlan made a derisive sound as he pulled down some cups and placed them on a tray. “Only when she wanted to be.”

“I doona understand.”

“Neither did anyone else…except me. My father and brother—both good men—tried to please her or fix things for her, but I knew she ne’er wanted them fixed. She had things exactly as she liked, and if they weren’t to her preference, she manipulated and schemed until she got them that way. But it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone now.”

“Ah…I’m sorry.” Amber knew people like that, and they were a trial. It didn’t matter what you did to try to make them happy, they would find something else wrong.

“Doona be sorry she died. I wasn’t. Be sorry I didn’t have a different mother.” He pulled out the valerian root then looked through the rest of her canisters, lifting some to smell the contents. “My father and brother made up for her lack, though. I was much loved by both. And then by Gregor and the lads. ’Twas a happy childhood despite her best efforts.”

She pulled her feet up onto her chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I didn’t have a mother either. She died giving birth to me. ’Tis why I am so adamant to help the clanswomen with their births, despite what Father Odhran says. My father and grandmother raised me, and they loved me well, but I felt the loss of my mother even though I ne’er knew her.”

“I ne’er felt the loss of mine, but I suppose I wondered from time to time what it would be like to have a real mother. Mostly when I saw my friends with theirs.” He picked up the valerian root and pulled a small pot toward him.

“Doona put in more than a pinch,” she said, watching with interest as he mixed up the tea, adding rosehip and chamomile as well. She liked seeing him in her kitchen and marveled at the supple strength of his hands. He had held her so firmly when he’d kissed her, but also stroked so softly over her breasts. She lowered her lashes and let her gaze wander up the corded muscles in his forearms and over the bulge of his upper arms and shoulders. The massiveness of his chest enthralled her, and she placed a hand on her cheek, remembering how she’d rested it there just minutes ago.

Her heart rate increased all over again, and she turned to look at the fire.

“You just have to ask, Amber,” he said, his voice gruff.

She knew exactly what he meant—ask for his touch, his lips on her body. Her fingers itched to squeeze her suddenly aching breasts, to relieve the growing pressure between her thighs, but she clenched them together and ignored her urges. And why not? She’d had plenty of practice at ignoring them this past week.

He brought the tray over with three cups and poured the herbs in the kettle before sitting in the chair beside hers. He must expect Callum to join them.

“Why are you here, Lachlan? Did you know Father Odhran was here? That he’d destroyed my garden?”

“Nay, not until we arrived. What did he say to you, Amber?”

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to foul the air again with such disgusting lies.

He leaned closer, his gaze firm upon her. “I’m laird of this clan. He has desecrated your property, threatened your person, and meddled in your livelihood. You willna starve; we will provide for you if you have need, but he has done you serious harm. I need to respond to this. He canna be allowed to harass any member of my clan. Matters with the church can sometimes be tricky, but I have the backing of several important lairds, including Gregor MacLeod, who has a love of healers.” He leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “Amber, I will protect you. We can petition the Church to have him replaced.”

She squeezed his hand back. “What if the Church decides I am a witch too, and comes to investigate? My grandmother played a dangerous game in order to protect me and the clan from Laird Murray. When she died, I continued it. Witchcraft was the only thing he feared.”

“Does the clan believe you’re a witch?”

“I doona think so, but if they’re questioned, they’ll have to say what they’ve heard. I’ve thrown many garbled words and threats at Murray, pretending they were hexes. I’ve threatened to shrink his manhood to the size of a rat’s, plague it with boils, make all of his teeth fall out, and tie his bowels in a knot. I was most creative. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, so life and death, ’twould have been amusing.”

“’Tis ne’er amusing to have to lie to survive. What did the priest say to you today? Did you see him in the garden?”

“Nay, he fell out of a tree near where he’d trapped Beele. He must have climbed up when he heard me coming. The plants had been recently torn up, and he had the juice and pulp from the fruits and vegetables on his robe and the dirt under his nails.”

“And when you spoke to him?”

She sighed, knowing he would press until she told him what he’d said. “He called me a witch.”

“And?”

“He said I perverted God’s will when I helped the women ease the pain of childbirth. But I doona always give them herbs! And sometimes when I do, there’s naught in the tea but what we’re having now. Just enough to calm them a wee bit, or make them think they’ve been dosed. Often, all they need is for me to rub their backs or help them into a better position for pushing. And if the bairn is turned the wrong way, I can push on the stomach from the outside to prod it into position. But the priest should like that because it can be painful for the mother.”

When she finished, he continued to stare at her, finally raising one brow. “Amber, what else did he say to you? I know you’re holding back.”

She made a scoffing sound she’d learned as a wee lass at her father’s knee. “How on earth can you know that?”

“Because I see it in your eyes. Tell me…please.”

She dropped her gaze, even though she had naught to feel ashamed about. ’Twas the bloody priest who should be ashamed, not her. She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “He said the goats were demons and that…and that I fornicated with the male goat, Beele.”

She watched, fascinated, as a thundercloud grew in Lachlan’s eyes. His face tightened all over, and a muscle ticked wildly in his clenched jaw.

“He said what?!” he bellowed.

“Calm down, Lachlan.” The words came from over Amber’s shoulder, and she turned to see Callum standing in the doorway. “I know he’s a disgusting, dangerous toad, but we need him to get to Machar Murray.”