Page 67 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
A laugh escaped Abigail’s lips before she could stop it. The heaviness in her chest eased just a little. “Ye might be right.”
“Come then, roll up yer sleeves,” Helena instructed, already gathering bundles of dried herbs.
Abigail set the mortar down on the wooden table and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows. The scent of lavender and elderflower was strong in the warm room.
She stood beside Helena, ready for the distraction. “I’m happy to help.”
Helena handed her little pouches of herbs. “These are to be crushed together first. Lavender, valerian, and chamomile. Good for sleep and frayed nerves.”
“Sounds like somethin’ I could use meself,” Abigail muttered with a smile as she took the pestle and began grinding. “Lack of sleep leads to roamin’ the halls and… well, nothing.”
Helena raised an eyebrow. “I’ll boil some water for some tea. Sounds like ye need it.”
They worked quietly at first, the rhythmic scrape of stone on stone soothing Abigail’s frayed nerves. The simplicity of it helped. It felt good to use her hands for something steady. Somethingreal.
Helena showed her how to measure the dried roots and leaves, placing a mixture of chamomile, yarrow, and comfrey into the stone bowl.
“Ye want to grind in slow, circular motion. Just like that,” she said, watching Abigail’s movements with sharp eyes.
Abigail nodded, the rhythm of the task grounding her in a way that surprised her.
“I quite like this,” she admitted, pushing the pestle deeper, the crunch of the herbs oddly satisfying.
The sharp tang of dried mint invaded her nostrils, stirring her senses.
“Me sister is a healer, and I have been helping her since I was young,” she revealed.
“That’s good to ken. It helps to do somethin’ with yer hands,” Helena said, adjusting a bundle of herbs hanging from a rafter. “Gets yer thoughts movin’ in the right direction, instead of spiralin’.”
“What are those for?” Abigail asked, nodding toward a row of amber-colored bottles.
“That one’s for bruises and pain, that one is for stab wounds, that one’s for poison, and some are for broken bones,” Helena replied, placing a stopper in one. “Ye’d be surprised how much folks get hurt around here.”
Abigail chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. There was something about the healer—something soothing and kind.
“Ye always ken what to say,” she noted gently. “I dinnae think I’ve ever felt so… glad and at ease around someone that isnae me sisters.”
Helena looked touched, brushing a strand of hair from her brow. “Och, lass. That’s the kindest thing anyone has said to me all week. Maybe ever.”
“I like it here,” Abigail said after a moment. “This room feels… safe.”
Helena looked up, her hands busy cutting leaves into strips. “Aye. It’s meant to be.”
They went on like that for another hour, their hands busy with leaves and roots as conversation flowed between them.
“Did ye hear about the goose again?” Helena asked, dropping a handful of dried thyme into a bowl and stirring it with a small wooden spoon.
Abigail looked up with interest. “The one that escaped the pens three times last week?”
“Aye, that one. Bold as brass, it strutted into the Great Hall during supper yesterday. Right past me husband!”
Abigail laughed, the sound loud and carefree. “What did he do?”
“He looked it square in the eye,” Helena said, mimicking a stern face. “‘Are we feedin’ birds now, or has Cook taken to sendin’ his meat walkin’?’”
Abigail covered her mouth to stifle another laugh. “Surely someone caught it?”
“Aye, eventually. Took three of the lads and a broom to corner the beast. I swear it’s smarter than half the men on this side of the castle.”
