would do that.”
“One would think, but the rumors about her discouraged most men.”
“What rumors?”
“They are lies not worth repeating. I suspect Ruthven started them himself.”
“Ruthven? Ambrose Ruthven?” asked Malcolm.
“Aye, Ambrose Ruthven,” spat Niall.
“That lass is Katherine Ruthven?” Duncan asked.
“That lass is Katherine MacIan now,” said Niall.
Malcolm looked shocked, “Her hand was sought by quite a few men who desired her wealth, but the rumors—”
“All lies,” Niall said irritably. “He clearly intended to avoid a betrothal, hoping to gain everything for himself. He is the bastard who beat her.”
“Perhaps she is willful,” suggested Malcolm.
“She did nothing to earn a beating but protect a lad who was equally innocent,” Niall snapped. “Ye haven’t lived at court for years. How is it ye know the rumors about her?”
Malcolm chuckled. “I haven’t lived there, but I still visit occasionally. There are many would-be matchmakers who would like to see me chained to a bride, but even they discouraged me from pursuing the Lady Ruthven. Ah, what folly it is to listen to rumors.”
“Ye are old enough to be her father,” Niall admonished him. The thought of Katherine married to anyone else, much less a man as old as Malcolm, turned his mood even darker.
“Don’t get your hackles up, lad, I certainly wasn’t the oldest man considering her hand, nor would I be the first old man to take a young, wealthy bride.”
His response didn’t soothe Niall’s temper.
“The lad Fingal toted upstairs,” Duncan asked, “is he the one she was protecting?”
Glad that he was changing the subject, Niall nodded, taking another long pull of ale from his tankard.
“Who is he to her?” Malcolm asked.
“The orphan of one of her clansmen,” Niall said simply. “Katherine is fond of him. She treats him like a little brother. He seems to have attached himself to Fingal.”
~ * ~
When the lairds finally left the chamber where Katherine lay, the old healer turned back to her charge. She knew she had to draw the poison out of the wounds on the lass’s back. She added some salt, a large handful of shredded wych elm root, and several other herbs to a kettle of water before putting it on the fire to bring it to boil. She washed Katherine’s back with a solution of soapwort while the herbs stewed. Then she poured the boiling liquid into a bowl to cool briefly. Tearing strips of linen, she dipped them into the solution. When she could handle them without burning her hands, she wrung most of the liquid out and placed the linen strips on the purulent wounds crisscrossing the lass’s back.
Agnes had hoped the lady would remain unconscious while she worked, but Katherine awakened at the first touch of the hot cloth. The healer knew the solution stung, but it had to be done. Agitated and writhing, the lass cried out, but soon oblivion reclaimed her, releasing her from the agony. Once she had slipped back into her fevered sleep, Agnes concentrated on finishing cleansing her wounds. She worked as quickly as she could, replacing cool strips with hot ones until the cool strips she pulled away had no more yellow drainage on them and the wounds looked clean. She allowed Katherine’s back to dry and cool before applying a soothing balm, which she covered with clean linen.
~ * ~
When Malcolm and Niall stopped at the room on the second floor, where they laid Katherine on the bed and met with the healer, Fingal passed them. He continued up the stairs to a chamber on the third floor. Initially thrilled to see Fingal, the maid who had readied his room pouted when she saw Tomas.
Fingal chuckled, the reason for her chagrin obvious to him. “Another time, lass.” He stayed with Tomas until the lad had eaten and fallen asleep on a pallet. Knowing the exhausted boy wouldn’t awaken until morning, Fingal left the chamber and descended the stairs. As he passed Lady Katherine’s room, he
“One would think, but the rumors about her discouraged most men.”
“What rumors?”
“They are lies not worth repeating. I suspect Ruthven started them himself.”
“Ruthven? Ambrose Ruthven?” asked Malcolm.
“Aye, Ambrose Ruthven,” spat Niall.
“That lass is Katherine Ruthven?” Duncan asked.
“That lass is Katherine MacIan now,” said Niall.
Malcolm looked shocked, “Her hand was sought by quite a few men who desired her wealth, but the rumors—”
“All lies,” Niall said irritably. “He clearly intended to avoid a betrothal, hoping to gain everything for himself. He is the bastard who beat her.”
“Perhaps she is willful,” suggested Malcolm.
“She did nothing to earn a beating but protect a lad who was equally innocent,” Niall snapped. “Ye haven’t lived at court for years. How is it ye know the rumors about her?”
Malcolm chuckled. “I haven’t lived there, but I still visit occasionally. There are many would-be matchmakers who would like to see me chained to a bride, but even they discouraged me from pursuing the Lady Ruthven. Ah, what folly it is to listen to rumors.”
“Ye are old enough to be her father,” Niall admonished him. The thought of Katherine married to anyone else, much less a man as old as Malcolm, turned his mood even darker.
“Don’t get your hackles up, lad, I certainly wasn’t the oldest man considering her hand, nor would I be the first old man to take a young, wealthy bride.”
His response didn’t soothe Niall’s temper.
“The lad Fingal toted upstairs,” Duncan asked, “is he the one she was protecting?”
Glad that he was changing the subject, Niall nodded, taking another long pull of ale from his tankard.
“Who is he to her?” Malcolm asked.
“The orphan of one of her clansmen,” Niall said simply. “Katherine is fond of him. She treats him like a little brother. He seems to have attached himself to Fingal.”
~ * ~
When the lairds finally left the chamber where Katherine lay, the old healer turned back to her charge. She knew she had to draw the poison out of the wounds on the lass’s back. She added some salt, a large handful of shredded wych elm root, and several other herbs to a kettle of water before putting it on the fire to bring it to boil. She washed Katherine’s back with a solution of soapwort while the herbs stewed. Then she poured the boiling liquid into a bowl to cool briefly. Tearing strips of linen, she dipped them into the solution. When she could handle them without burning her hands, she wrung most of the liquid out and placed the linen strips on the purulent wounds crisscrossing the lass’s back.
Agnes had hoped the lady would remain unconscious while she worked, but Katherine awakened at the first touch of the hot cloth. The healer knew the solution stung, but it had to be done. Agitated and writhing, the lass cried out, but soon oblivion reclaimed her, releasing her from the agony. Once she had slipped back into her fevered sleep, Agnes concentrated on finishing cleansing her wounds. She worked as quickly as she could, replacing cool strips with hot ones until the cool strips she pulled away had no more yellow drainage on them and the wounds looked clean. She allowed Katherine’s back to dry and cool before applying a soothing balm, which she covered with clean linen.
~ * ~
When Malcolm and Niall stopped at the room on the second floor, where they laid Katherine on the bed and met with the healer, Fingal passed them. He continued up the stairs to a chamber on the third floor. Initially thrilled to see Fingal, the maid who had readied his room pouted when she saw Tomas.
Fingal chuckled, the reason for her chagrin obvious to him. “Another time, lass.” He stayed with Tomas until the lad had eaten and fallen asleep on a pallet. Knowing the exhausted boy wouldn’t awaken until morning, Fingal left the chamber and descended the stairs. As he passed Lady Katherine’s room, he
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