Page 39 of Highland Renegade
Emily looked around. “All the squares of ground laid out with different plants make a very decorative effect.”
“I doubt a single plant is for decoration. These are all part of her herbal garden.”
She gave him a quizzical glance. “Most of the crofters we visited had their gardens in the back.”
Ian smiled. “Gwendolyn does, too, but what she grows back there are the plants that need soggy ground as she is nae far from the peat bog.”
“Ah, yes! The bog. I want to…”
Just then the front door to the cottage opened and a huge wolfhound that looked almost identical to the two at the castle bounded out.
“I see Cedric is home.” Ian pointed to the dog. “That means Gwendolyn is, too. The animal accompanies her everywhere.”
Before she could reply, the healer appeared in the doorway. Dressed in her usual plain homespun gown of dark wool, she hobbled forward. Ian watched Emily covertly to gauge her reaction, but she simply smiled at the woman with what appeared to be genuine friendliness.
Ian made the introductions, careful to say only that the dowager countess would be spending some time with them, but Gwendolyn gave him a sharp look.
“Do ye think I doona ken who this woman is?”
He blinked. “Well, I—”
“Ye may be the laird, but doona think an old woman like me doesna hear what is being said.”
“Said? Has someone visited ye lately then?” he asked.
Old Gwendolyn smiled, revealing a full set of white teeth. “I have all sorts of visitors, but ye probably wouldna recognize them.”
Fae? Ian hid a smile. The healer—however old she actually was—did like to embellish a good tale. Perhaps she was trying to impress Emily. A certain amount of mystique was sometimes necessary for a healer to be accepted. He glanced at Emily again, but her pleasant expression had not changed.
But he’d almost forgotten the history of this location. There was a menhir behind her cottage with Pictish engravings. Such stones were not that unusual, although most were found much farther north and on the Isles. Gwendolyn had planted a circle of primroses around it, probably to enhance the myth that faeries used it as a portal to the otherworld. Oddly, the flowers seemed to thrive like heather. For a brief moment he wondered if perhaps shedidpossess some otherworldly qualities. Then he gave himself an inward shake.
“I doubt the creatures of the forest or the bog would have told ye,” he said with a smile.
Her eyes suddenly burned like hot coals. “Ye would do well to avoid the bog.”
“Why?” Emily asked, curiosity plain on her face.
Gwendolyn turned to her. “Danger lies there, lass. Mark my words.”
…
Those words still lingered in Emily’s mind as they rode away from the healer’s cottage an hour later. “Old” Gwendolyn had not at all been what she expected. True, when she’d first walked out of her cottage she had looked old, but after conversing with her over delicious sweet cakes and an aromatic tea—that she had to get the recipe for—the healer had seemed younger, somehow. Her face was not as lined and she hadn’t hobbled when she’d walked them to the door. She had also been remarkably up-to-date on Emily’s arrival.
She said as much to Ian. “For someone living alone, your healer seems to know what is going on.”
“Well, it is nae because she has ‘creatures’ talking to her, as she might like ye to believe. Old Gwendolyn travels about the countryside…” He pointed to a mountain in the distance. “Even to Ben Cruachan where she picks the mountain laurel berries.”
Emily widened her eyes. “She walks that far, by herself?”
“She has a nag that she rides, and Cedric is always with her,” Ian answered. “Besides, ’tis nae that far, only two miles or so. Shorter if ye cut through the bog.”
“But didn’t she say it was dangerous?”
“Aye, if ye doona have a care where ye walk.”
“I am not sure I understand.”
“I will show ye. The bog is on our way back to the castle.”
