The Brightest Star in the Highlands: Jennie and Aedan (Clan Grant Series Book 7) (3 page)

“Or mayhap they don’t realize the abbey is here on our lands.”

“Why, everyone knows that, Aedan. Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because I don’t think there is anything common about this band of marauders. They are intent on destruction, though why here, why now? Either way, I must protect you and the clan. Ruari and I will return by dark. Pray for a quick battle in our favor.”

He kissed his mother’s cheek and left, making his way to the stable and mounting his horse. The sun was high when they headed out, and the Cameron war whoop echoed all around them as they approached their attackers.

Aedan swung his sword over and over, wanting to protect his brother who fought behind him. Many were felled by their swords. As the curtain of night began to fall, the Camerons celebrated. Most of the enemy had retreated. Only a few still remained.

But one swing of a mighty blade was all it took to slice Aedan’s side just above his hip, opening his side and shooting blood everywhere. He toppled off his horse and met with darkness.

***

Jennie bolted awake, her eyes wide.

The door to her chamber was open and Alex stood in front of her, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Jennie?”

She was unable to catch her breath, but there was nothing amiss in her room, nothing to have caused her present state. Then she remembered. Her head fell into her hands as pain radiated through her. In the dream, she’d cowered in a chamber as hands reached for her from all sides, but that was not the part that had caused her such fear. It was the wailing, the moaning, the screaming all around her. She’d cried for them to stop, but no one had heeded her plea. So she’d sat in her prison—a prison of wood—begging, pleading,
screaming
for someone to help her.

Alex intruded in her memory. “Jennie? What is it?” He moved over and sat on her bed. “Another bad dream?”

She nodded, unable to speak yet, but she grasped her brother’s upper arms, clinging to them for comfort. Alex had always represented safety and security to her. Leaning forward, she rested her head on his shoulder, her gaze staring at the wall.

“The same? The wailing?” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Aye.”

She closed her eyes, hoping to put an end to the unbearable memories.

“Jennie, I cannot tolerate seeing you in this pain any longer. This is the third night in a row. What can I do?”

“Take me to the abbey. Please, Alex? The skirmishes have let up, and you have killed enough marauders for them to never return again. Please? I cannot get away from the wailing here.”

When would this ever end?

Chapter Three

Jennie found her way to the library, her favorite place in the abbey. Alex himself had escorted her with twenty-five Grant guards to Lochluin Abbey on Cameron land. She had heard Alex tell Robbie that at least they would be sure she was safe, but that hadn’t stopped Robbie and Brodie from begging him to change his mind. Robbie was especially nervous because his wife had helped Jennie as a healer. Though Caralyn had already done much to help, she was afraid to be left alone in case the invaders returned. Maddie’s maid, Alice, could help as well, Jennie assured herself.

Alex had given her a fierce hug when he left. “This will get better, Jennie. I promise you that, and I believe this will help you heal.”

Robbie and Brodie had not sent her off with such good tidings, but she knew they did not understand. They had not been with her in the middle of the night. Only Alex knew how the dreams haunted her. If only she could make them understand. They couldn’t comprehend how every cry from a wounded warrior ripped into her soul, how every wail tore at her very being. She had wished to follow in her sister’s and mother’s footsteps and become a healer, but now she regretted it. The wailing haunted her at night, and it had even begun to haunt her during the day.

The only conclusion she could draw was that she was not meant to heal people. Her vocation had been wrong. So what was she to do? What was her purpose in life? She no longer knew.

Running away was not the most mature decision she had ever made, but she had come to Lochluin Abbey with the hope of banishing the wailing of souls of her nightmares. Alex had also convinced her that the worst of the skirmishes were over on their neighboring lands.

Lochluin Abbey was one of the last double abbeys, home to both monks and nuns, though in separate buildings. The guest house sat between the two. To her surprise, she had been given almost free reign—a testament to the weight of Alexander Grant’s words. Her brother was highly respected by the Scots, so much so that few would refuse his requests. Part of her felt guilty for using his reputation to her advantage, but there was no alternative. The abbess seemed to accept that Jennie would help the abbey as a healer so long as the injuries she was asked to tend did not upset her tender sensibilities. The tears that had flooded her cheeks as her brother took his leave were proof enough of that sensitivity. Embarrassed by her show of emotions, Jennie had covered her face until her brother had left the property.

Now that she was here, she would make the best of it. Besides the library, she loved the scriptorium where the scribes did their work. Entranced by the process, she had spent a few mornings watching them in awe, wishing the monks would discuss the process with her. Of course, they were much too busy for that—Jennie knew they were completing their life’s work and weren’t to be interrupted. They worked tediously at their slanted desks, a quill pen in one hand with a pen knife in the other, often sharpening as they continued. The odor from the inks was strong, so she didn’t tarry.

Whenever she stepped into the library, the first thing she did was close her eyes and absorb the beauty of the books around her, the treasures that could transport a person into a fantasy world. Moving to one of the many shelves, she searched for a particular book. Her fingers ran along the leather bindings of the gathered volumes until she found the one she wanted. She lifted the old tome from the shelf and set it reverently on the table. With as much care as she could, she opened the book and straightened the pages with the palm of her hand.

She took a deep breath, enjoying the aroma of the walls of parchment encased in leather covers, all meant to enlighten and teach and inspire. Reading was such bliss. She came to the library at every opportunity, allowing the smells and sights to wash over her like the cool water of a mountain stream, giving her pleasure beyond belief. No one else understood this need, so she kept it to herself. She was so grateful her mother had taught them all to read.

As soon as she began to read the first page, the door opened and a servant appeared in the aperture. “Begging your pardon, Lady Jennie. There is someone here to see you in the guest house. Lady Morag Cameron is there, and she looks quite ill.”

“I’ll be right along. Thank you.” Jennie closed the book with a heavy sigh, stroking the letters on the front cover before picking up her skirts to follow the servant out the door and through the passageway. The library was in the male section of the abbey, and Jennie’s guest quarters were on the opposite side.

The abbey sat on Cameron land, so ignoring the lady of the land would be considered beyond rude. As a visitor, she knew what was expected of her. Jennie pulled her plaid over her shoulders and padded down the drafty hallway and into the night, wondering what could bring the lady of the land to the abbey this late.

She opened the door to the guest house, only to find a tall handsome woman waiting for her just inside. On first glance, she appeared calm and serene, but Jennie had long ago learned how to look beyond appearances. She noticed the woman’s rapid, shallow breaths, the almost invisible sweat on her brow, and the fear in her eyes. Something was wrong, very wrong.

“Jennie Grant? Are you the renowned healer from the Clan Grant?” Her words were abrupt, but her expression tugged at Jennie’s heart.

“Aye, ‘tis true. Lady Cameron, I presume?”

“Aye, forgive me. I am Lady Morag Cameron, and my son needs you desperately. Please help him. My son is dying. He was injured a few days ago in battle from the blow of a sword. Now he is close to death, I fear. He does not awaken, he sweats profusely and his breathing slows.”

Without hesitation, Jennie hurried to her room to gather her mantle and everything she would need. While she hadn’t wanted to bring her bag of instruments and potions, her brother had made it a condition of his agreement to escort her to the abbey, and Alex had been right to do so. She could not refuse to help, and the proper tools might make the difference between life and death.

Once she returned to the lady, Jennie nodded to her and said, “Lead on.” Four guards waited outside with a horse for each of them. In her hurry to return to the guest house, she had barely noticed them. She mounted with their help and headed toward the castle on the horizon, traveling in silence.

The wind whipped her hair about her face, and she stared at the half-moon, the clouds passing in front of it. Rain misted in the air and the hoot of an owl sent chills up her spine as they made their way through the portcullis and toward the Cameron keep. Lady Cameron moved at a break neck pace and Jennie was forced to hurry in order to keep up with her. Finally they stopped and someone helped her down from her horse, but still no one spoke. A pall cast over the keep, giving Jennie a foreboding of what was to come.

They trudged up the stairs and toward a chamber at the end of a dark passageway, torches lighting their way. Just outside the door, Lady Cameron came to a screeching halt, grasping Jennie’s hands in hers. “Please save my Aedan. I just lost my husband. I could not bear to lose my son.” With that, she shoved the door open and ushered Jennie inside to see to the Chieftain of the Camerons. “Please advise me of your needs,” she said, staying outside.

One tallow cast a faint shadow across the man in the bed. She lit two others so she could better assess his condition. He lay on his side, his long brown hair covering his face. His breathing was shallow and uneven, and blood soaked sheets were draped over and about him. The smell Jennie hated most reached her nostrils—the putrid aroma of poison in the blood. She closed her eyes in response, knowing what she would find without even looking, something that had taken many, many lives.

The touch of her fingers on the skin of his shoulder told her of the battle being waged inside him, the same battle that had recently plagued Nicol. What was it about wounds that caused such festering and burning of the insides? What made the thick fluid that filled them white, yellow, or green? What caused the body to retreat to such a frightening place where it could not heal itself?

After removing the blood soaked sheets, she stuck her head through the opening in the door to speak to Lady Cameron. “Please have your servants bring clean linens and fresh basins of water.” Morag nodded and hurried off, and Jennie closed the door to return to her task. Brenna had taught her their mother’s golden rule. Dirty linens and clothing did more harm than good. They were rare in this belief. Most healers would do the same as this caregiver had done—leave the injured in a pool of dirt and old blood.

If only for the sake of her nose, she insisted on removing the filth. It suited her to have the bed clean, the clothing clean, and for the linen strips on the wound to be changed daily. She and Brenna were both steadfast in this practice. As she removed the man’s blood-drenched plaid and his dirty linen, she thought of all who had scoffed at the Grant practice of cleanliness.

Everyone but Maddie, Alex’s wife. Maddie liked to bathe at least every other day, something unheard of in the Highlands. Jennie attributed Maddie’s need to be clean to a desire to scrub herself of all she had been through before joining the Grant clan. As a newlywed, she had been teased a bit until Alex overheard the scoffing. He had built a new chamber dedicated to Madeline’s shy needs, complete with a contraption he’d created to carry the pails of water up the side of the keep for her. In no time at all, everyone else wished to use Maddie’s new bathing chamber.

Jennie would miss Maddie verra much. She loved all her other brothers’ wives, of course, but Maddie was just special. She was, well…she was Maddie. She was the backbone of the Grant clan, the one all the bairns ran to and hugged, the mother figure for all of them.

Jennie rolled the Cameron a touch so she could slide the dirty plaid out from under him and put it in the basket to be cleaned. As soon as she cut and removed his tunic, the frothy wound bared itself, and Jennie had to turn her head for a moment. An angry slash sliced from the lower part of his ribs on his abdomen, across his hip, and to the top of his buttocks. As her gaze roamed for other wounds, she stopped to run a finger across a puckering on his buttock, wanting to be certain it wasn’t related to a fresh wound.

She decided it was a scar from an old wound, possibly from an arrow. A sudden memory popped into her head. The arrow. She reached up and brushed the hair off his face, moving the tallow closer.

Recognition dawned, and she gasped.
It was him.
The man lying near death in front of her was the very same man she had hit with an arrow a few years ago in Lothian. Her hand fell away from his backside just as the door opened and a servant brought in clean linens.

The maid set the linens atop a nearby chest. “Help me move him so we can change the linens please.” The servant nodded and followed Jennie’s crisp instructions.

Jennie’s mind jumped in so many directions, she had difficulty focusing on her tasks. First she needed to drain the wound of as much poison as she could. This took a considerable amount of time, but her patient never moved. She applied a poultice to the open wound and covered it with clean linen strips. Once she and the servant girl had washed him and changed all the linens, Jennie thanked her and sent her out with the instructions to burn anything putrid.

Now that her task was completed, she ran fresh water over her face and hands. Lady Cameron came inside and stood at the end of the bed, a shocked expression on her face.

“Oh my. I had not thought…the other healer…”

“What you did was common. Do not feel as if you erred in any way. ‘Tis my family’s belief about illness. We prefer to work with everything clean.”

“Why?” She glanced at Jennie in awe—a look she had grown used to receiving.

“My mother believed in washing: hands, linens, clothing. I believe it helps. We have yet to reason why. Though in my mind, I think a person feels better if not lying in filth. Do you not agree? I would prefer it. The smell alone would be enough to help me improve. If nothing else, it cannot hurt.”

The lady of the castle gazed at her son with tired but hopeful eyes. “He still lives. What do you think, my dear? Will he die soon?”

Jennie liked that part of healing most of all, giving people hope. “I cannot answer yet. The body fights hard after a wound. Some are strong enough, others are not. I’ll know in another day. I need to see which direction the wound takes, watch for creeping lines of poison on the body. He has none yet, which is a good sign. I applied a poultice to his wound to draw it out of his body.”

Lady Cameron hugged Jennie. “Many thanks to you. I’ll have my guards escort you back to your room. Will you return on the morrow, please?”

“Nay, I’ll stay here for a couple of days.”

“I would be truly thankful if you did. I’ll prepare a chamber for you.”

Jennie nodded and Morag Cameron left the room. A large, high-backed chair sat in front of the hearth. After blowing out most of the tallows, she dragged it closer to the bed and curled up on it with a plaid, facing Aedan. The soft rise and fall of his chest was the only movement in the chamber.

His brown hair was long and curled a touch at the ends, now that it was clean. He had high strong cheekbones, but the flesh was gaunt and pale at the moment. She tried to reconcile the image of this weak man in front of her with the strong lad she’d sparred with years ago. How incredibly handsome he was. She found herself wondering how it would feel to have his hands and his lips roam her body.