Page 10 of Fletcher

Fletcher recalled Gilroy as a proud and vindictive plowman whose wife long ago had left him for another man. He’d jealously kept his daughter locked up in their cottage until the lass fled to work at a farm on the other side of the island. “What may be done?”

“He’s bringing up blood, and from his color I reckon his liver’s failing. Soon the delirium shall set in.” The healer rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I can keep him dosed through the worst of the pain, but he’ll no’ last another threeday.”

“Send for the daughter,” Fletcher told him. “Gilroy maynae wish see her, but she’ll want bid her sire a proper farewell.”

“I’ll ask her at the farm,” Duncan said, nodding. “I’ll summon Meg so she may sit with Gilroy while I look in on Mistress Ambrose after the evening meal.”

“No.” That came out more forcefully than he intended. “Apologies. The lass, she’s fair timid, and yet out of sorts. If you desire check her wound, then I shall accompany you.”

“I dinnae require your leave nor your attendance so I may do my work,” the healer said, sounding amused now. “Or don you Gilroy’s boots now?”

He had always been a little jealous of Duncan, whose gentle voice and skilled hands ever made him seem rough and clumsy by comparison. “I mean only keep her at ease. She trusts me.”

“Aye, you saved her from drowning, so ’tis natural,” the healer said, and chuckled. “Well I recall you swearing off entanglement with females. ’Tis strange, seeing you so taken with the lady.”

Fletcher had never been able to see the faces of those around him, so to him an ancient looked the same as a bairn. Yet while his mortal weakness had proven an inconvenience, the true reason he avoided females had to do more with an even greater affliction.

“Summon me before you go attend her,” Fletcher said before he continued down the passage to the stairs leading to the great hall.

Connal sat with Shaw and his other senior chieftains at the dais table, where he had a map of the island spread. As Fletcher drew closer he saw the parchment showed all the crofts, farms and villages on Caladh, and had been marked with the number of vassals occupying each place. The laird now pointed to a valley where a great many orcharders tended vast stands of fruit and nut trees.

“The Mackays, they’ve some young sons yet unmarried,” Connal told Shaw. “Their women seem content, and the work, ’twouldnae prove difficult for the lass.”

Fletcher went directly to stand at the laird’s side. “You reckon to send away Lark the very day she came?”

“I dinnae speak of Mistress Ambrose,” Connal said, his brows raising. “Meg’s asked if she may leave Dun Ard and work elsewhere.”

“Why? She’s the hardest worker in the stronghold.” He glared at Shaw. “’Tis your doing, then?”

The chieftain held up his hands as if surrendering. “I dinnae trifle with maidens. Aye, and I’ve hardly seen the lass of late.”

“’Tis my work, managing the household vassals, my lord,” Fletcher told the laird. “If Meg wishes go, I shall find a suitable place for her.”

“Truth.” Connal rolled up the map, and nodded to the rest of the men, who stood and bowed before they left.

Shaw eyed him with an odd grin on his face. “So, ’twould seem Mistress Lark came for your heart, Brother.” He glanced at the laird. “I hadnae reckoned our seneschal so taken with the wee thing. Do you reckon ’twas love at first sight?”

How like his brother to needle a wound that had never quite closed.

“I saw your face today,” Fletcher told him taking pleasure in seeing him gape. “And yours, my lord, as well as your lady’s. When the lass holds my hand, my mortal weakness vanishes.”

Connal frowned. “You’re jesting now, Brother, surely.”

“Shaw has eyes the color of storm clouds, and a crescent scar here.” He pointed to his left temple. “Silver streaks Duncan’s hair, though I cannae fathom why, for the rest of him remains young. You share the same square jawline as our sire’s. As for Nyall, I finally ken why the vassals scatter whenever they see him. He glowers as if he wishes throttle all who cross his path.”

The chieftain whistled. “’Tis just as Lady Valerie’s touch dispels the laird’s unsteadiness in high places. Mayhap Mistress Ambrose did come as a boon for you.”

“She’s no’ a boon, you eejit.” The words came out resentful, so Fletcher managed a smile. “What I mean, ’twasnae for me she came. Lady Joana’s ring bestowed the boon, so ’twas likely in service of the laird.”

Shaw made a scathing sound. “He cannae wed two females.”

“Holding Valerie’s hand yet vanquishes my mortal weakness, and now Mistress Ambrose defeats yours, Fletch,” the laird countered, looking thoughtful now. “If Mistress Ambrose shall keep her boon, ’twill prove more yours.”

“Should she choose remain on Caladh.” Shaw regarded him with narrowed eyes. “If you’d tempt her properly, mayhap she should.”

“We shall return her home,” Fletcher told him, and then stalked out.

Chapter Four