Page 3 of Wedded to the Twisted Highlander
“Ye seem to be just as irked by the news as I am. Speak, if ye have a different opinion,” the Laird snapped.
“Ye need to steep willow bark in water with a pinch of lavender root and…” Astrid paused and looked around.
All eyes were back on her. She pursed her lips and glanced down at the stone floor.
“And what?” the Laird asked as he moved closer to her.
She stood her ground, not cowering despite his sudden approach. His eyes were wild with worry.
“And add a pinch of garlic or onion,” she finished. “It’s a brew that will help ease the spasms.”
“What do ye ken of such things? Are ye a healer? Who are ye again?”
“Astrid. Astrid Fulton,” she answered.
His expression unnerved her. His attention was both exhilarating and nerve-racking. Astrid found herself caught between admiration and fear as she studied his face.
“Are ye speakin’ from experience?” he asked, his voice dropping.
“Aye,” she replied, her heart racing in her chest. “I learned from the healer in me village. I’ve seen the tremors come on.”
The Laird arched an eyebrow and tilted his head. She could tell he was sizing her up, uncertain whether to trust her or not. She rolled back her shoulders and stood straighter with the confidence one gets from experience.
“Follow me,” the Laird commanded, much to the dismay of her captor. As well as the clansfolk, as it was clear they had been looking forward to a spectacle.
“Me Laird, ye cannae be serious. She’s a thief. She deserves to be punished. Ye cannae let her enchant ye. She is a minx.”
The Laird merely raised his hand, silencing the room. Astrid watched his expression shift from one of apathy and concern to absolute authority.
“Ewan, escort Collin out of the castle and ensure that he is compensated for his losses,” he ordered with such conviction that even Astrid wanted to jump up and obey him.
Collin’s protests were drowned out as the guards jumped to execute the Laird’s order.
Astrid stepped aside as the guards dragged her captor out of the Great Hall. She watched with a mix of relief and uncertainty. She had not expected the turn of events, yet she couldn’t deny the fact that she was very grateful for them.
But what of her fate? That, at least, remained uncertain. All she knew was that sooner rather than later, she would have to find a way out of the castle and back to the village.
“Come,” the Laird called over his shoulder and started toward the door without giving her a chance to protest.
There was no way Astrid could deny him. Her heart raced as she followed him and stepped into the dimly lit corridor.
As they moved through the castle, her fear began to dissipate. She glanced around as her footsteps echoed off the cold stone walls. Perhaps she could redeem herself, at least in part due to her healing skills. Maybe she would even be able to barter her way out.
Her mind raced, scrambling for a plan to escape the castle. She couldn’t decide if she liked or hated being here. After all, the castle was warm and well protected, but if she was an enemy of the Laird, there was no way she would ever find peace here.
They reached a large door that looked as if it’d been scorched. The Laird pushed it open and stepped into the muggy room. The smell of rosemary and spearmint hit Astrid at once. Her heart stuttered as she noticed the man convulsing on the bed.
“Please tell me ye’re nae usin’ spearmint?” she gasped as she rushed over to the bed to check the balm on the side table.
“Who is this? What does she ken of healin’? It’s nae spearmint,” the man with long robes mumbled from the corner of the room.
“Have ye lost yer sense of smell? This is clearly spearmint,” Astrid argued as she plucked a sprig and held it up for the Laird to see.
“Dreyfus, have ye lost yer eyesight as well?” the Laird growled.
“Quickly,” Astrid pointed to the bowl of water and started scrubbing the balm off the Laird’s father. But the damage had already been done.
She leaned back as the Laird cornered the healer. “What have ye done? Spearmint?”
