The sun was well up and still Craven waited along with James, who grew ever more fearful with the passing hours and his wife’s increasingly painful cries. It made Craven wonder if Aubrey had cried out in pain, though he would not have waited as James did now, casting worried eyes at the cottage. He would never have let Aubrey suffer alone. He would have remained by her side through the whole ordeal. If he had, she may not have died.

He cursed himself every day for going on that hunt. He had not wanted to go, but Aubrey had insisted that he needed to go and take the physician as well, who had seemed only too pleased to be invited along.

Craven looked away from the cottage to the flames in the fire pit and gave thought to that day. Aubrey had been adamant about him going on the hunt, so much so that he had teased her about her wanting him gone. Had she known she was in labor before he left? Had she wanted him gone? She had scolded him enough for worrying so much over her. Did she think to ease his concern by delivering their bairn before he returned home?

An agonizing cry broke through his musing. It was not like the other cries… it was one of sorrow.

James ran for the cottage and Craven followed close behind him.

James reached for the door latch and opened it to his wife’s mournful cries.

“No! No! Please not again.”

James looked to Espy holding the lifeless bairn in her hands. He paled and the stab to his heart was more painful than if a knife had pierced it. He went to his wife to comfort her as he had done when the other bairns had been born lifeless.

Craven closed the door behind him after he quietly entered the cottage. His heart hurt for the couple, though he was relieved that at least James had not lost both his wife and bairn. There was still someone there to love him.

He watched as Espy seemed to ignore all those in the room as she placed the child on a blanket on the table, one that probably was intended to swaddle the wailing newborn, but now would be a shroud for the lifeless bairn.

Craven was surprised when Espy turned the bairn over to rest in her one hand while her end finger seemed to probe the bairn’s mouth. It looked as if something spilled out and she turned the bairn over and began to gently rub the tiny chest.

When she leaned down, placing her mouth close to the tiny bairn’s lips, James pushed away from his wife to stop her, but it was Doria’s hand on his arm that stopped him as did the soft plea in her eyes to let Espy be. He sat back down beside her on the bed, resting his brow to hers.

James wanted to hope as much as his wife did that Espy could perform some miracle, but he knew better… another bairn was lost to them.

The loud wail had everyone turning to Espy with disbelief in their wide eyes. The continuous, loud wail brought smiles to everyone and tears of joy to Doria.

Espy wrapped the tiny bairn in a fresh cloth and carried the wailing bundle to his parents. “You have a fine son.” She handed the lad to his mum.

Doria took her son and cradled him against her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. She did not try to stop his crying. His strong cries were the loveliest melody she had ever heard. She looked at her husband. “He is handsome like you.”

James wiped at the tears in his eyes before they could fall. “Handsome I am not. His fine looks he gets from his beautiful mum.”

The little lad’s wailing stopped and feared gripped Doria as she saw that her son was choking.

Espy quickly took the wee bairn and held him up against her shoulder and gently caressed his back. After only a moment, he was wailing again and she handed him back to his mum. “That is all you need to do when that happens. Keep his head up more when you hold him and feed him, and that should help. He is still clearing out his breathing. It will pass.”

Doria nodded, though worry marred her face and she raised her son’s head to rest against her breast. He quieted, yawned and promptly fell asleep.

“He will do well, Doria, as will you as soon as I finish seeing to you,” Espy said. She looked to James. “Give us a few minutes and you can return to your wife and son.”

James nodded, kissed Doria’s cheek, and stood. He stopped beside Espy. “There are no words to express how grateful I am.”

Espy smiled. “Your son’s strong wail expressed it for you.”

James grinned and nodded. “Still, if there is ever anything I can do for you, please know I am at your service.”

Once outside, James turned to Craven. “If I speak out of term, my lord, please forgive me, but I must say that Espy has brought much healing to the clan and I do hope you will allow her to remain our healer.”

Tula shouting out the open door for James to fetch her a bucket of water, kept Craven from responding, not that he intended to respond. The clan had made it clear that they favored Espy and hoped she remained with them. He favored her himself and was one of the reasons he decided Espy would remain the Clan MacCara’s healer.

Espy stepped outside shortly after James was called into the cottage. She stretched her arms up and out to her sides and rolled her head. Craven watched her every move from beneath the oak tree he leaned against. Strands of her dark hair fell loose from her braid and her cheeks were flushed, making the scar on her cheek appear more prominent.

He had been amazed when the lifeless bairn had released a hardy wail. It was as if she had breathed life into the child. At that moment, he could not help but think of his own bairn and how Espy wanted to cut him out of Aubrey and he had stopped her. He had never even considered the possibility that perhaps she could have saved the child, but now he wondered. He had thought it a barbaric act as did the physician, but had Espy known something they had not?

He pushed away from the tree and walked over to her. Her face lit with a smile at his approach and it felt as if it devoured him and squeezed at his heart. A slight scowl surfaced at the unexpected reaction as he stopped in front of her. “Are you finished?”

Her smile did not waver and her tone was soft and pleasant. “It will not be long now, though there is no reason for you to remain here. I will go to the healing cottage when I am done.”

“You have had little sleep and no food since last night. You need both,” he reminded.

“As do you, so do not let me keep you,” she said and turned to enter the cottage.

His hand reached out and took hold of her wrist.

She turned and cast her eyes on his hand that held her before she raised them to look upon him. “You need not touch me to speak to me. I answer to my name.”

That she reprimanded him for his actions and also reminded him that he was not to touch her, fired his ire and as he released her, he ordered, “I will speak to you when you are done.”

Espy gave a respectful nod. “As you wish, my lord.”

It was not long before she emerged from the cottage again, her cloak draped over her shoulders. She spoke before he could. “I was hoping to see my grandmother soon.”

He shook his head.

“Please, I know she must be worried about me as I am about her.” Espy did not care that she begged. Her grandmother needed to know that she was well and she needed to know all was well with her grandmother.

“I do not deny you that. I forgot to tell you that I sent Dylan to speak with your grandmother and let her know that you were fine and would remain so for now. I also asked that she come visit you. She was relieved and extremely pleased to hear the news. She had to decline a visit at the moment and told Dylan you would understand. It seems that a young lass arrived at her doorstep needing help and until she has healed, your grandmother cannot leave her. She also told Dylan to tell you that your horse is doing fine.”

“I am grateful to you for that,” Espy said and followed alongside Craven as he began to walk. “Is Bonnie still with my grandmother?”

“No, as soon as she learned of Howe’s death, which did not upset her in the least, she returned home.”

They walked in silence for a few steps.

“What you did to save James and Doria’s son, did your father, the physician, teach you that?”

“No, I learned it from an old Highland healer who delivered bairns since she was ten and two years.” Espy smiled, recalling the old healer, much like her grandmother, who had shared her years of healing knowledge with her. She had learned so much from her. Her father would have been thrilled to meet her and learn her ways. He never judged healers he met. He would listen and learn and study different techniques endlessly before applying what he thought appropriate.

“Did this healer teach you to cut a woman’s belly open and take the bairn after a mum dies and before she has a chance to deliver it?”

Espy kept her words honest, though measured, not wanting to cause him anymore pain than he had already suffered, especially after learning he had lost other loved ones. “No, my father learned the procedure during his stay in a foreign country.”

“No doubt a barbaric one,” Craven said his accusation met with silence. “Did your father ever do such a hideous thing to a dead woman?”

“No, but he had seen it done twice.”

He remained silent, fearful of asking, yet wanting to know, though more needing to know if he had done the right thing by his bairn. He spoke before he could stop himself. “The bairns were dead, of course.”

Espy understood why he asked and her heart once again hurt for him, for her answer would no doubt bring him more pain. “No, both bairns lived.”

Craven fell silent, his thoughts in turmoil. He had not only failed to keep his wife safe, he had failed his unborn child. His head snapped to the side when he felt Espy’s hand rest on his arm.

“The circumstances were far different with those two bairns than with your child and the people who performed the procedure more knowledgeable.”

“Still, you wanted to take the chance and try to save my child’s life.”

“I hate losing to death so I sometimes take chances that are better left alone. I rushed in judgment, wanting to beat death when death had already laid claim.”

Craven stepped back, her hand falling off his arm. “I do not need you to take the blame for what I did wrong.”

“We will never know who was wrong in that circumstance. The only thing we can do is find out who caused it and see that the person is punished for his foul deed.” She tilted her head to the side to peer past his shoulder and without a word, she hurried around him.

Craven turned to see what caught her attention and he saw an old man, leaning heavily upon a staff, trying to make his way toward the healing cottage. He quickly caught up with Espy who already had her arm around the man, helping him.

The old man raised his stooped head to look up at Craven. “You are very large. You must be the beast I heard about.” He turned to Espy. “And you the healer I have come to see.”

Craven’s arm replaced Espy’s in supporting the old man as he took slow steps to the cottage.

“I am Ober and I have walked a distance to see you,” he said, looking to Espy.

“I am pleased to meet you, Ober. I am Espy and I will do my best to help you.”

Once Craven assisted Ober inside the cottage and saw him seated at the table, he left without a word to Espy. She wished the past did not hang over them so heavily and she wished she could ignore her feelings for him. But they simply would not go away. Actually, it seemed hers soared a little more each time she saw him and forget the tingles in her stomach that seemed continuous when he stood near her. She wished she could make sense of it, but that was not to be and either were her and Craven.

There was only one thing that could save her from this madness and that was her healing work. She turned to see that Ober was sitting with his eyes closed, his legs stretched out to the hearth and his hands folded over his mid-section. He seemed a frail man when she first glanced him in the distance, hunched over and leaning heavily on his staff. But looking over him now, his shoulders did not appear that stooped or his chest as sunken. His long hair was pure white and braided on either side, some strands having broken loose. His face was spattered with wrinkles and his skin touched by considerable time spent outdoors, though neither hindered his fine features. His fingers were long and lean, not a gnarl or twist to one of them.

She looked upon his face again and smiled when she saw that his eyes were open. They were plain brown in color like many eyes and yet she thought there was something familiar about them.

She wrinkled her brow and asked, “You seem familiar to me.”

“I cannot say the same of you,” he said and groaned as he drew his legs back away from the warmth of the hearth. “These old bones are letting me know that it is going to rain today.”

Espy rested her hand on his shoulder. “You will have shelter from it. Now tell me what ails you.”

Ober patted his stomach. “Too much pain. I fear death stalks me.”

“Do you mind if I press against your stomach?” she asked.

“It is what I am here for, to see if you can help me.” He rested his arms to his sides.

Espy hunched down beside his chair and gently probed his stomach and the areas around it. The aged man was more muscle than softness, to her surprise, and her curiosity about him grew. It continued to grow when he groaned every now and then, though not always in the same spot.

She stood when she was finished. “How long have you had the pains?”

“For some time now,” he said, bobbing his head.

“Does the pain come and go or is it a steady pain?”

“Comes and goes and then sometimes it lingers.”

“Have you had any trouble eating or keeping food inside you when you do eat?

His brow creased for a moment before he answered quickly, “A little of both.”

“Do you pish clear?”

His eyes popped wide at her query and he stumbled over his words before he finally said, “Not always.”

Espy nodded and purposely narrowed her brow as if troubled.

“Does death stalk me?” he asked anxiously.

“I cannot be sure,” she said, though she was sure about one thing. This man was not being truthful with her. He had not been able to give her a direct answer on anything she had asked him. A person who was truly ailing always gave direct answers, especially when it came to pain.

“Can you help me?”

“There is a brew we can try. It may help your pain and you should do nothing but rest at least until we see if the brew works.”

“Will Lord Craven allow me to stay here since I am unable to contribute in any way to the clan?”

“I will speak to him,” she said as she got busy preparing the brew. “I am sure he will allow it. Besides, when you get well, you can share in the chores. What is it you do, Ober?”

“I once was a fine smithy, but,” —he held up his hands— “I have lost my strength and can no longer ply my trade.”

Now she knew for sure he was lying to her. His hands bore no scars one usually got when doing the chore of a smithy. So who was he and what was his true reason for being here?