Espy had just stepped out of the healing cottage the next morning, basket in hand, planning on collecting some of the fresh nettle growing on the outskirts of the woods when she spotted a young lad running straight toward her. It was Sayer, the young lad who worked in the kitchen and a friend of Leith’s, and he was crying.

“Please, my Seanmhair needs you,” Sayer begged, his breathing haggard.

Espy dropped the basket and rushed off with Sayer. She had been expecting this summons having visited Verna yesterday and seeing that death was not far off.

Sayer ran to his mum and cuddled against her as soon as they entered the cottage, tears continuing to run down his flushed cheeks. His mum’s arm curled around him, offering comfort as she sniffed back her own tears.

Espy sat on the chair beside the bed and took the old woman’s frail and nearly lifeless hand in hers. Her breathing was so shallow that it barely could be detected and it would not be long before it ceased altogether.

She turned to Sayer’s mum. “Your mum does not suffer, Cleva. She will be at peace soon.”

Cleva fought back her tears, but a few broke loose and she wiped at them with the back of her hand. “She was the best mum and Seanmhair. We will miss her.”

The door burst open and Celva’s husband, Hamill, a man of good height and width, hurried in and he went to his wife and son and wrapped them in his thick arms as tears filled his eyes.

Espy kept a gentle hold on Verna’s hand as she waited for her to take her last breath.

* * *

Craven was lost in thought as he walked through the village. For some reason, his wife’s words of the other day had come back to haunt him.

Be careful, my dear husband, for there is a beast in all of us.

He could not imagine that a beast could reside in Espy. She thought of others before she thought of herself and she was always there to help the ill and the needy… yet? Her words had a ring of truth to them. He had seen quiet men turn into beasts when going into battle. He had seen women rage like beasts when defending loved ones. So had a beast within Espy helped her work with Arran to save the innocent?

The thought, and his curiosity, had him going to find her, not to mention that he was missing her, his arms feeling empty. Dust kicked up around his boots, the thought having stopped him so abruptly. He shook his head at the crazy thought as he continued walking again. How could he miss her when he had only seen her earlier this morning? He had woken before her to find her naked body sprawled half across him and naturally he could not keep his hands off her. His intimate touches and strokes had woken her and they had made love.

Love.

Craven stopped abruptly once more, drawing attention, not that anyone would acknowledge his strange behavior, though this time his clansmen did not stare at him in fright, but with smiles and gentle nods as if they understood his plight.

He glared from one person to another and none turned away, they simply kept smiling and nodding. They thought him besotted… in love.

He could not be in love. It was impossible. Any love he had to give had died with Aubrey.

You have a huge heart, share it.

Aubrey had said that often to him, especially when he got upset or angry over something. She always reminded him that it was his heart he needed to listen to and not the beast who rumbled and blustered.

He took off walking again and was about to turn toward the healing cottage when he saw his wife, her head down and her gait rushed as she hurried in the same direction.

His gut clenched, and sensing something was wrong, he called out to her. “Espy.” She stopped and looked his way and when he saw tears in her eyes every muscle in his body grew as tight as a bow string. Before he could take a step toward her, she flew at him with rapid steps and he spread his arms out and caught her in them, locking them around her.

Her head dropped to his shoulder and she let her tears fall. He walked her, though more carried her, his arm coiled around her waist, to the healing cottage, and was grateful no one was there or he would have chased them away.

Once inside, the door shut, the two of them alone, he kept silent and held her. He let her cry, soft tears, until she finally raised her head and looked at him. Tears dampened her flushed cheeks and her tear-drenched eyes glistened.

“I hate when death is victorious,” she said, anger sparking her words.

“Someone died?” he asked concerned not only for those in his clan, but for his wife.

“Verna. Sayer’s grandmother.”

“Verna is the oldest member of our clan,” Craven said, recalling the old woman’s many wrinkles and her slow gait that had everyone stepping around her or assisting her when she seemed unable to take another step. “Verna has outwitted death on many an occasion. It was finally her time.”

Espy wiped at her wet cheeks while remaining snug in her husband’s arms. “That may be so, but it still does not make it easy for me. I always feel I should have done more to battle death.”

“From what you have told me about working with Arran to free the innocent, you have defeated death more often than not.”

“Not often enough,” she said with a hint of regret.

“Whatever possessed you to join forces with Arran and put yourself in such danger?” Espy eased out of his embrace and he reluctantly let her go, eager to learn more about her.

“I had nightmares after saving Arran, faceless people reaching out to me for help and some begging for death to end their suffering. Though, I was not naïve to the suffering of others, it was nothing compared to the cruelty and heartlessness of torture.” Espy shook her head slowly. “I was not foolish enough to think I could save everyone, but if I could at least save a few—”

“Do you know what would have happened if you had gotten caught?” Craven asked, fear prickling his skin, something he had not felt since Aubrey’s death.

She nodded knowingly. “I would have suffered the same fate of those I was trying to help.”

“How many did you save?”

“Many, yet not enough. I never counted. The number never mattered to me, only the person. Arran mentioned something once about thirty, though there were many more after that.” Espy turned away. “And even more I failed to help.”

That she was disappointed in those she failed to help rather than take pride in the many she had helped spoke of her selflessness. It also worried him since she would not think twice of helping someone even if it meant possible harm to her. “You cannot save everyone and everyone is not worth saving,” he warned.

Espy turned to face him. “That is not for me to judge. My da and mum taught me that a healer was there to heal, to help, to comfort. What is done to people in those torture chambers is beyond cruel. It is complete madness, as was the reason for most being there.”

Craven rubbed at the back of his neck, a nagging pain stabbing at him at the thought of what she could have suffered. “How was it that you were not caught before the debacle with Warrick?”

“Luck? Good planning? Fate?” She shrugged. “I do not know. I saved those I could and held the hand of those I failed while they took their last breath, then I moved on.”

He tipped his head slightly to the side and his brow wrinkled in question. “Was this comfort you offered the dying before or after you helped others escape?”

“Both.”

“You put yourself in danger and remained at these places when there was nothing you could have done for the dying?” he asked, trying to comprehend not only her foolishness but the courage it took to do that.

“Yes there was. I could hold their hand so they were not alone when death came for them,” she said, making it sound like the most reasonable thing for her to do. “No one wants to die alone.”

Craven did not know where the question came from, it simply slipped from his lips. “Did Aubrey fear that moment when death came for her? That moment she knew she would die.” He swallowed hard, the next question difficult for him to ask, but impossible for him not to. “Did Aubrey cry out for me?”

His question did not surprise her. It was inevitable that one day he would ask it. She had wondered why he had not asked it of her sooner, but sometimes people do not ask for fear of the answer. She would tell him. She only hoped he would believe her.

The door flew open preventing her from responding and she could not deny she was grateful for the interruption.

Dylan stood in the open doorway. “Some of Warrick’s men have taken up camp just on the outskirts of MacCara land.”

“I expected no less,” Craven said. “They wait for word from Warrick.”

“Also, a traveler has arrived and he claims to know Espy. He says he is a physician,” Dylan said, looking to Espy. “His name is Innis Lockerbie.”

A sudden smile consumed Espy’s entire face and she rushed around the table and out of the cottage before Craven could stop her, though he was quick to follow.

“It seems that she is pleased that Innis Lockerbie is here,” Dylan said as he kept even strides with Craven. “Though I cannot say the same for you.”

Craven grumbled and scowled, and Dylan laughed. His scowl deepened when he saw his wife rush into Innis Lockerbie’s arms and they hugged each other tight.

It was with a stern tongue he shouted out his wife’s name. “Espy!”

Her smile never faltered when she turned and waved with enthusiasm at her husband. “Come and meet my best friend from when I was young.”

“A wee lass,” Innis confirmed, “and a stubborn and inquisitive one at that.”

That Innis knew more of Espy than Craven did annoyed him to the point he felt the beast grumble deep inside him. But it did help that Innis was not a young man, though he did have fine features and appeared trim and solid for a man who had to be at least fifty years. He was taller than most men, though not as tall as Craven. His reddish brown hair was shoulder length and sprinkled with gray. He wore a plaid of dark green and brown colors and an equally dark green shirt.

“That has not changed,” Craven said, coming to stop by the pair. “And she is no longer a wee lass… Espy is my wife.”

“You are wed? How wonderful for you!” Innis hugged her again, then stretched his hand out to Craven. “Congratulation, Lord Craven.”

Craven shook the man’s hand and was impressed by his strength and his obvious joy for Espy.

“Espy would tell me how the man she would someday wed would be special and she would love him with all her heart. I am glad she found her special man.”

The beast grumbled inside him. He was not that special man or was he? Espy made it clear to him that she loved him. He did not understand how she could love him, perhaps she did not understand herself. Perhaps she simply accepted and embraced it. Perhaps it was all fate’s doing.

“What brings you here, Innis?” Craven asked and glanced at his wife who remained tucked in the crook of the man’s arm and looked much too comfortable there.

“I came in search of Espy,” Innis said, his smile widening when he glanced down at her for a moment. “I was always intrigued by her father and mother’s stories of the Highlands and especially of Cyra, Espy’s grandmother. I recall William telling me how knowledgeable the old woman was about plants. I decided that I wanted to learn about them for myself, having seen the success William had had with his plant concoctions, and since I am not getting any younger, I decided to make the journey.” He looked to Craven. “I was hoping I could offer my services to you, Lord Craven, in exchange for a place to reside while here.” He turned a smile on Espy. “But you have no need of me, having Espy here.”

“Nonsense,” Espy was quick to say. “An extra hand is always welcome.”

“That is kind of you, Espy, but the decision rests with Lord Craven,” Innis said with a respectful nod toward him.

Espy went to her husband’s side and coiled her arm around his, hugging it tight. “My husband is a wise man, and he would not turn such a generous offer away.”

“Espy, go see that food and drink is made ready for Innis while I have a word with him,” Craven ordered.

Espy’s eyes narrowed. “You are not going to frighten him off, are you?”

Craven turned a warning scowl on her, but she ignored it and went right on talking.

“I have not seen him in years, not since—” Her eyes suddenly popped wide and she squeezed her husband’s arm. “MacBarnes. Innis was at MacBarnes’ funeral.”

Innis nodded. “I was and it was the last time I saw you, MacBarnes’ having finally succumbed to his lingering illness. Many of his colleagues had not expected MacBarnes to last as long as he did and that was thanks to your father’s treatment, not that anyone would admit it.”

“You can confirm that Samuel MacBarnes is dead?” Craven asked, glad that there was someone and that he would not have to rely on a missive alone to confirm that his wife had told the truth.

“Aye, I remember that day well.” Innis bowed his head a moment and when he raised his eyes to Espy they were pooled with tears. “Your parents succumbed a year later and within four months of each other. I am so sorry I was not there for you. I did not receive the news in time to return home from France and when I finally did arrive home, I learned you had gone home yourself.”

“Cyra was all I had left,” Espy said.

“No longer,” Craven said firmly. “You have me now and the whole MacCara clan.”

“I am happy for you, Espy,” Innis said, “but, if I may ask, why do you need confirmation of MacBarnes’ death?”

“The physician Edward MacPeters claimed that MacBarnes blended herbs for him and that was impossible with MacBarnes having been dead at the time,” Espy explained.

“Edward MacPeters?” Innis asked, his brow scrunching.

“You know MacPeters?” Craven asked, hoping perhaps that Innis could shed more light on the man.

“I know he is dead over a year now.”