Though it was nearly midnight, the healer arrived in short order. Robert led her to the rose bedchamber and knocked on the door. “May we enter?”
Voices from behind the timbers grew quiet. “Aye,” said Emma gleefully.
Amused and a bit relieved that his sister had taken to Janet so quickly, Robert ushered the elderly woman inside. “This is Mary Catherine, the best healer in Ross-shire.”
Emma patted Janet’s shoulder as if the pair had been friends for ages. “She’s the only healer allowed under this roof.”
“That’s on account of I do not approve of bloodletting.” Mary Catherine’s serene and careworn face had a way of putting people at ease as well. She set her basket on the bed and bent over Janet’s arm, carefully pulling back the sleeve, then opening a gap in the makeshift bandages for a closer examination. “By the looks of this, the break is not new.”
“We were trapped in the snowstorm,” Robert explained. He tugged his sister to her feet. “Emma, would you please go ask Cook to send up a tray? Neither Miss Janet nor I has eaten a substantial meal in days.”
“But—”
He walked her through the door. “Thank you, dearest.” No matter how much he loved his sister, the bedchamber was crowded enough, and giving Emma a task would keep her occupied and out of mischief.
“Let me see you move your fingers,” said Mary Catherine.
Janet winced, but all five fingers twitched.
“’Tis a good sign, but we’ll need to apply a proper splint. This one looks as if it has been through the wars.”
“Proper?” Janet’s voice shot up. “I think it would be awfully painful to change the dressing at this point.”
The healer calmly patted the lass’s hand. “It shouldn’t cause too much pain as long as we keep your arm steady. Now lie flat, if you please.”
The lass cradled her arm against her midriff and pursed her lips, casting a dubious glance at Robert.
But Mary Catherine had too many years of experience to let reluctance dissuade her. “Come, lass, the break will heal better, and your arm will be more comfortable with slats from a linden tree. I have them sanded smooth by the carpenter in Inverness.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Robert stepped nearer. “I think you’ll feel much improved once the healer has set you to rights. I ken I will.”
“Och, if you must.” Janet grimaced as she swung her feet onto the bed. “But if you dare make me endure anything remotely like the pain of setting the bone, I shall never forgive you, Mr. Grant. I shall tell my father to—”
“Understood.” He turned to the healer. “Would it be best if I left you alone?”
“Nay.” Mary Catherine pulled two fresh slats out of her basket along with a roll of bandages. “I’ll need your hands to ensure we do not jostle the arm any more than necessary.”
“Do you have a stick for me to bite down upon?” asked Janet, perspiration already beading her forehead as she continued to cradle her arm against her body.
Mary Catherine returned the question with a serene smile, one that would absolve the sins of every tinker for a hundred miles. “That shouldn’t be necessary. Now stretch your arm out flat.”
Janet did as asked. After putting a small pillow under her palm, Mary Catherine cut the dirty bandages while Robert held a slat beneath the injured arm. Within two ticks of the mantel clock, the healer removed the old splints while he supported Janet’s arm with the new slat. Aside from a few gasps, the brave lass remained calm.
But the healer didn’t rewrap Janet’s arm right away. Mary Catherine took a salve, doused a cloth, then lightly cleansed the injury. “You’re healing well. Though you’ll need to keep splinted for two more months.”
“Two months?” Janet cried. “Why so long?”
“If you want full use of that arm and fingers, you’ll do as I say. Earlier, you moved your fingers with a fair bit of pain, did you not?”
“Aye.”
“Then ’tis settled.”
While Mary Catherine applied the top splint and started wrapping a fresh bandage around the arm, Janet shifted her gaze to Robert. “The healer is as stubborn as you are.”
“Me? I am not stubborn.”
“Och,” said Mary Catherine, tying off the bandage. “I believe that’s the first tall tale I’ve ever heard you utter, Your Lairdship.”
Janet grinned—at least she wasn’t crying or howling from pain.
“Now, how does that feel?” asked the healer.
Janet raised her arm and slowly lowered it to the bed. “Like I have two boards bound to my arm.”
“You’ll grow accustomed to it. In the meantime I’ll give you a tincture of mallow, valerian, and willow bark. It will help reduce the swelling as well as take the edge off the pain.”
“Is it laced with whisky?” asked Janet, waggling her eyebrows—the wee vixen.
A stunned expression crossed the healer’s face. “I beg your pardon?”
“Hmm.” The Cameron lass smiled, feigning a picture of innocence. “It seems Mr. Grant swears by his whisky.”
Mary Catherine turned to Robert, shifting a fist to her hip. “You mean to say you gave this poor lady whisky?”
He gave an exaggerated shrug. “Merely a tot or two, and ’twas the only thing available at the time.”
Janet sniggered, clapping a hand over her mouth. “I’m not saying another word.”
“Come here, young man, and sit in the chair. ’Tis your turn.” Aye, the cut on his face was the first thing the healer noticed when she’d arrived.
“I’d be obliged if you would remove these stitches.” He plopped onto the seat.
“Do they itch?” asked Mary Catherine.
“Aye.”
“That is a good sign.” She hovered over him with a bottle of salve and a piece of cloth. “But the skin hasn’t quite healed enough to remove them yet. Tell me, what happened?”
Robert hissed with the sting from the ointment. “Miss Janet’s brother sliced open my face with a dagger.”
“Is he still alive?” Stilling her hand, the woman glanced back to the bed.
“When last I saw him,” he growled.
“A Cameron attacked you with a blade and has lived to tell about it? Heavens, I never thought I’d live to see the day.” She swiped a bit more salve over the wound, and none too gently. “Unless…”
“What?” asked Janet.
Mary Catherine replaced the stopper on the bottle. “Unless a bonny lass altered his priorities.” Smug satisfaction curled up the corners of her lips. “Och, are ye smitten, Your Lairdship?”
Groaning, Robert stood and chose to change the subject. “Did you say you had a tincture for Miss Janet?”
“I did. And those stitches can come out in another four or five days.” She retrieved a vial from her basket and set it on the bedside table.
“Is there anything else you need, Miss Janet?” Robert asked.
“Nay, aside from a sturdy horse to take me home.”
“It would be best if you remained at Glenmoriston. The roads are too hazardous for a coach this time of year, and you risk another fall if you ride horseback. In fact, Robert, you must send a missive to her kin telling them she mustn’t ride a horse until the arm is completely healed.”
Janet bolted upright, swinging her legs off the bed. “You cannot be serious. I rode down from the slopes of Ben Nevis this very day and you expect me to remain here for two months?”
“Come, lass. Now that you’re safely at Moriston Hall, there’s no use tempting fate. What is two months when compared to a lifetime?”
“But my mare needs proper care. I cannot sit idle while she suffers the onset of winter.”
“I’ll see to it my stable master treats her like a royal filly. I do not want you to worry yourself. She’s a strong-willed horse, that one. If anyone can set her to rights, it is my man.”
“Excellent.” Mary Catherine picked up her basket and swept out the door.
Robert followed, taking the woman by the elbow and hastening her below stairs before she blurted another word in front of Miss Janet. He still couldn’t believe the woman’s audacity—even if she had been the midwife at his own birth.
Smitten? I have never in my life been smitten.
“Would you like me to return in a few days to remove your stitches?”
He glowered. “I reckon I can do it myself. I’ll send for you if need be.”
“Very well. And I meant what I said. I’ve lived a great many years and have seen many things. I was your father’s healer most of his life. So you must heed what I say: everyone in these parts kens Sir Ewen Cameron is ruthless. Dispatch a missive straightaway and tell him everything that happened—and make it sound grave—life and death for his daughter. Tell him you are solely responsible for keeping her alive.”
“Och, mind yourself. I have matters in hand.” Robert didn’t care much to be lectured by a mere healer. “Truth be told, I was in the midst of setting quill to parchment before your arrival.”
Lewis and Jimmy were waiting in the entry. “Jimmy,” said Robert. “Please see Mary Catherine home.”
He bowed, paid, and thanked her. Once she was on her way, he took Lewis by the shoulder. “As ye ken, the Camerons insist they have not stolen our cattle.”
“And you bloody believe them?”
“Not certain, but I believe their claim that they’ve endured losses as well. Take what men you need and scour every alehouse between here and Achnacarry. Do not wear anything that ties you to Clan Grant. Say you’re in the market for prime beef at a bargain. See what your inquiries turn up.”
“All right, but the thieves aren’t poaching a few head. I reckon they’re organized.”
“Aye. That’s another reason we blamed the Camerons, is it not?” Robert clapped his henchman on the back. “I want proof one way or another. Someone in Scotland kens what happened to our yearlings. Hell, if you must ride all the way to Crieff, then do so.”
“Very well. We’ll leave at dawn.” Lewis started for the door but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Ah…what do you plan to do with Miss Cameron?”
“I’ll dispatch a missive to her father come morn.” Robert’s jaw twitched—he’d already started the letter, making it clear his sister was dutifully overseeing Janet’s convalescence. Thank the stars he had a sister, or else things would be even more difficult to explain.
“God’s bones, Lochiel is likely to declare war.”
“Perhaps. But he kens if he rides on Moriston Hall with the bloody Cameron army, I’ll repay his actions tenfold.” All this talk about his archrivals was making him tense. Robert rubbed the back of his neck. “Mary Catherine says ’tis too perilous to move the lass. Said to wait two months.”
“Two bloody months? That’s past Hogmanay. And she’ll be here over Christmas.”
“Christ.” With a groan he hit his head with the heel of his hand. “I hadn’t thought about the holidays.”
Lewis gestured south with his palm. “You rode here from Rannoch Moor, did you not?”
“I did.”
“I reckon you should bundle her up and—”
“Haud yer wheesht.” Robert sliced his hand through the air and cut him off. “I will decide when ’tis time to take the lass home. You have a task at hand and you’d best set your mind to it.”