Page 39 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
“Ye ken, I had a good feelin’ ye were a fellow green thumb,” Kyla said with a warm smile. Standing here in the Healing Gardens, she seemed much more at home than in the castle, and she gestured with her head. “Come along, Me Lady.”
“Is that the hospital?” Emma asked as they headed for the door.
“Och, that building? Nay, that’s where folks convalesce. Or, in the case of some of the elders with no place to go, where they may reside in peace.” Kyla closed the door behind them. “The hospital is on the other side of that building, with another garden between.”
“So much of this seems to be set aside for the healers,” Emma noted carefully as they walked further down the path. “Was that the Laird’s decision?”
“Aye, and his maither,” Kyla replied. “When he became Laird, he set about changing all of this. It had been left to rot—nothing but stone alleys and heaps of trash.”
“This?” Emma asked, gazing around at the stone walls and greenery. They passed a gap in the wall, with iron rods crisscrossing it, and she found herself looking down into a garden more overgrown and lonelier than anything she’d seen before. “Wait, what is this?”
“A memorial,” Kyla explained. “To a long-lost healer.” When Emma looked at her, she reached out and pressed a hand to the wall. “Me older half-braither, Mac. The healer of the previous Laird.” She paused. “He was a good man, a bit jollier than most healers, and nae concerned with propriety. He taught me so much. Looked after me when I was young, like a faither. Our faither had died nae long after I was born.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Emma said softly.
“Ach, as was I. He was an old man, a good healer, but he shouldnae have been sent to such a wretched battle. Nor pushed into swordplay as an old man.”
Silence fell between them, before Emma blurted out, “What happened to him?”
Kyla’s chest rose and fell, and she looked away. “The former Laird had him killed for treating village folk without permission. For ‘stealing’ supplies.” She blew out a long breath. “After that, me maither smuggled me north to live in Briorn for some time,as an apprentice to Lady Ronalda, who is a wise healer.” She lifted a hand to her cheek. “But the Laird found out and tried to get me maither to give me up. When she refused, he killed her too.”
Emma’s eyes went wide, and she pressed a hand to the stone wall next to them. “Is this memorial for her too?”
“Aye, for Mac and me maither, and all the good folk who died in the Wednesday Uprising and the years after.” Kyla shook herself and gave Emma a bemused smile. “Ye have a way about ye, Lady Emma. I must mind me tongue better.”
Emma nodded, even though she was brimming with more questions. Her thoughts drifted to Laird Ronson. Was his voice hoarse because of his father? Was he so brutal and worried about his English bride because of the bloody legacy he’d inherited?
Unbidden, Emma recalled what her father had said the night she’d learned of the Queen’s Edict.
“I’ve never witnessed a man so cruel. Perhaps it was the devil.”
Her breathing quickened as she cast her mind back further. What else had her father said?
“I came upon an entire village emptied of its folk. Forced to attend the hanging of their Laird’s son. For feeding and caring for veterans, the old and ill.”
But Kyla had said her half-brother had been put to death for treating the village folk, not feeding them. And he was not a laird’s son.
“Me Lady?”
Emma snapped back into the present, realizing she’d walked further ahead and left Kyla behind. Hurrying back, she stepped into a cozy, walled garden overflowing with herbs.
“We call this Mac’s Garden. These are some of the more experimental herbs. Our regular stores are closer to the sickrooms.” Kyla gestured toward a stone shed. “There is a basket in there, and shears. Take the basket and gather the buds, but leave the stems. Let me ken when ye’ve finished.”
Emma hurried to do as she was bidden, and they both got swept up into work. Then, Kyla began to explain to her what they were growing there and why, and why she was only collecting the buds.
“Before they bloom, they produce a virgin nectar that is good for aches and skin ailments. But as ye can see, ‘tis hard to gather much of it.”
Focused on her work, Emma nodded. The blooms were tiny, barely bigger than a fingernail.
“I am also growing a plant that I received a clipping of from some sailors,” Kyla added and gestured to a plot of dirt by thewall. “So far, I’ve had little luck, but they told me that it does wonders for scarrin’, inside and out.”
“Inside…” Emma paused, looking up. “Is that what ails the Laird? A scarred throat?”
A slight shake of the head was all she got, but then Kyla said, “Me Lady, I am sure ye have questions—many do. ‘Tis nae me story to tell.”
Abashed, Emma nodded, but then she couldn’t help but blurt out, “Has he had that injury for a long time?”
Kyla glanced up at her, her lips pursed, and gave a single nod. Then, she went back to work with an air ofand that is all I will say about it.
