Page 61 of Ruining a Highland Healer
“We really dinnae,” said Daisy, already pulling Valora along towards the cottage. “We can help. We wish tae help.”
“Are ye sure?” Ina asked. “I have many from the village, sick men an’ women?—”
“The more hands ye have, the easier it’ll be,” Valora insisted.
Ina, finally convinced, quickly ushered them inside. “Come, then. Come, there is much tae be done.”
Inside, the cottage was warm and dim, with the soft sunlight streaming in through the windows and illuminating the cluttered workbench. The large table was littered with tincture bottles, stacks of papers and books, and mortar bowls, andbundles of dried plants hung from the rafters along the ceiling. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of herbs clinging to every surface.
An elderly man with a cough sat slumped near the hearth, and a young woman cradled a toddler with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. Valora’s face softened instantly and she crossed to the child without hesitation, eager to help.
“What’s his name?” she asked gently.
“Ewan,” the mother replied, looking up with a pair of tired, red-rimmed eyes, as though she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night.
Valora knelt, brushing the boy’s damp hair from his brow. “Such a sweet laddie. Let us help him feel better, aye?”
As she picked up Ewan from his mother’s arms, she turned to see Ina standing nearby, watching her with a small smile on her lips. “Ye have the heart fer healin’,” she said. “Nae many dae.”
Valora felt her cheeks heating at Ina’s kind words. “I’m sure anyone would dae the same,” she said.
“Nae anyone,” Ina insisted, as she made to tend to the old man.
Valora didn’t know how to respond to anything that wasn’t criticism. Years of living with her father had left her like that, unable to accept a single compliment, and now that she wasfaced with Ina’s, she found herself blushing once more, not knowing what to say. Instead, she called Daisy over and the two of them focused on the boy, Daisy laying a cold cloth on his forehead as Valora prepared a brew for him.
Outside, the day drifted quietly by. Servants dragged sacks of grain to the storages. The soldiers trained in the distance, their practice swords clanging in the crisp air. The stableboy, helped by his master, trained one of the new foals, its neighs echoing across the courtyard.
Not for the first time, Valora was struck by how alive the castle felt—how full of people it was. How joy was found in the small tasks, in the everyday life. She had never experienced such a thing before. Back home, the castle was only a black pit, the halls filled with silence. But not here; here there was life. Here, there was happiness.
In Torrin’s study, the atmosphere was far less homely.
Torrin stood behind his desk, bracing himself on the edge. He was flanked by a rich woven tapestry in the colors of the Gunn Clan on his right and an old, heirloom sword on his left—a blade used by one of his great-grandfathers to slay his foes and secure the Gunn lands. The fire near him burned low but steady. His hands were clasped behind his back, his jaw set. No matter what his council was about to throw at him, he was determined to fight for him and Valora.
Around him sat the council, the men who served him and some his father before him, and who were now tasked with the matter of his marriage. Some still considered Valora a threat; Torrin knew that well, as they had expressed their dissatisfaction with the fact that he had brought her there, to the castle, and had subsequently put them all in danger. But most were in agreement with him, even as they tried to rush him. His wedding to Valora had to take place, and it had to happen soon.
But today, there was no murmur of dissent.
“Are we all in agreement, then?” Torrin asked the men. Among them stood Noah, just behind the row of seated men, watching them all carefully. “We shall arrange the weddin’ fer the end o’ the week an’ then we can rest assured there are nay more attempts by Laird Keith tae have her.”
A pause. Then, from the side of the room, Jamison gave a nod, his booming voice echoing in the room.
“Ye have me blessin’,” he said. It didn’t surprise Torrin to see that he was the one who spoke first, nor did it surprise him to hear his agreement, even though he had been the one to claim Valora was a liability first. Jamison was, above all, a rational man, whose main concern was the good of the clan.
Another voice rose—this one belonging to Ness. “The priest will wish tae ken when. Ye’ll need his blessin’.”
“I’ll speak with him today,” Torrin promised.
Jamison sat back in his chair. “Then let it be done.”
The silence that followed was not heavy, nor uncertain—it was full, like the silence between one crashing wave and the next. Torrin nodded once and left the study with his decision settled behind him like a shadow finally tamed.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The hearth crackled gently in the dimly lit chamber, casting long shadows across the thick stone walls. The scent of wood smoke mingled with lavender oil that lingered faintly in the air—a delicate trace of Valora’s presence in Torrin’s chambers, something that surprised her every time she entered the room. Now more than ever, it seemed to her that the chambers belonged to them both, a testament to how close they had become in the short time they were together.
Torrin stood near the fire, staring into the orange flames that danced in the hearth. He only turned around when Valora closed the door behind her, greeting her with a small smile.
He took a slow step forward and Valora paused there, near the door. “I spoke with Faither Lyell this afternoon,” he said, voice low and deliberate.
