The Witch of Black Isle by Keira Montclair

Chapter Five

Late the following afternoon, they arrived on Ramsay land. Torrian and Kyle greeted them. Torrian headed straight to Jennet, moving his horse next to her mare.

Ethan intercepted him. “Your name? Lady Jennet, is he familiar to you?”

“Aye, Ethan. This is our chieftain and my half-brother, Torrian.” She and Torrian were born of the same father. As was her half-sister Lily, whom she adored. Kyle, Lily’s husband, was Torrian’s second-in-command.

Torrian looked at Ethan quizzically, then spoke to Jennet in a low tone. “You’ve met someone?”

“Nay,” she sighed. “Or aye. ’Tis complicated. Tell me about Da.”

“Da is waiting for your arrival. He continues to weaken, but he’s a fighter. He refuses to give up. He has difficulty moving around.”

“But he’s still alert? He converses with you?” If she thought she’d never have the chance to speak with her sire again, she’d be devastated.

“Aye. Your mother has been with him all along. Aunt Jennie was here for a bit too, but she’s returned home. They don’t know exactly what the ailment is. We’re all hoping you can think of something they have not.”

How she prayed she could, too. “Bring me to him. I don’t wish to delay.” They arrived at the gates of Ramsay Castle, the loch visible in the distance. Without a glance back at anyone, she followed Torrian into the keep. She crossed the great hall and gave her mother a big hug, then said, “Please, Mama. I must see him now.”

All was quiet in the hall as if everyone were holding their breath. Quade’s illness held everyone around him in a state of tension, and now that Jennet had arrived, they dared a bit of hope. Even Lily just gave her a small smile, squeezing her shoulder as she passed, and whispered, “You’ll help Papa, I know it.”

His chamber at the end of the hall was large enough for more than one bed because it had originally been her mother’s healing chamber, where injured warriors would come after battle. Since her sire began struggling with his bad hip, they’d turned it into their bed chamber so he could avoid the staircase.

Reaching for the door handle, she paused and looked over her shoulder at her mother. A part of her was afraid to go in. “Go ahead,” her mother said. “He’s waiting for you.”

Jennet took a breath and opened the door. She stuck her head in, allowing the light to brighten up the chamber. Her father lay on his side on the bed motionless, a light snore greeting her.

Her mother gave Jennet a small shove, pushing her into the chamber. “He’s missed you, Jennet.”

When she was younger, Jennet had felt smarter and more talented than anyone because she had solved a few cases her mother couldn’t. She’d also outsmarted her share of villains. But it had been a long time since she had made any new cures.

She felt the weight of her family’s hopes and was beginning to question her abilities as a healer. Brigid had solved the question of the curse of Black Isle, though Jennet and Tara had been part of the investigation. But it seemed everyone around her had moved on with their lives—marrying, having bairns, moving to other clans.

Jennet hadn’t progressed at all. In a lot of ways, she was still that wee lass capable of outsmarting the most devious minds. Able to think quickly, that skill had benefited her many times over, but it hadn’t given her any skills on how to deal with people in a courting situation.

Of that, she had no experience at all. Brigid had flirted, Sorcha had danced the night away, while Jennet spent her time reading books. Hopefully, all that time studying would help her heal her dear sire.

She sat down on the stool next to the bed and assessed her sire closely. Her mother had taught her that the best skill a healer had was observing the sick and considering their symptoms.

Her good training nearly failed her, bringing a misting to her eyes she rarely felt. She swiped at her lids so she could see her father more clearly. He lay facing her, his tall, lanky body filling the bed. His long brown hair had many gray strands in it, but it was still mostly a beautiful chestnut shade, the same as her own without the golden hues. His eyes were closed, and she wished they were open so she could see the forest green of his irises. Such a beautiful color, her mother often said it was Quade’s eyes that captured her first.

He was thin, pale, but appeared to be resting well.

“Mama, tell me what you think has caused this. You must have some ideas.”

“He took a wound on his leg from a fall when he dismounted his horse in the middle of the forest. His hip gave out and he fell to the ground, landing in a pile of rocks that left bruises for quite some time. I washed it well, covered it with the poultice, gave him the potion, changed the bandage regularly. All the things we normally do. I cannot determine what could have gone wrong or how I may have erred.”

Jennet turned her head to look at her mother, whose face betrayed the toll her father’s illness had taken on her. Her skin, also pale, had lost its glow, and she appeared thinner, too. “Mama, have you been eating?”

“Aye, you know I would, but I am worried.”

Jennet sat back on the stool and looked at her mother. “We can resolve this puzzle together.”

Her mother reached over and cupped her cheek. “I was so hoping you could think of something that I could not. I’m going to awaken him.” She got up from her chair and moved over to the window, then pulled the fur back to let light into the chamber.

Jennet would have wagered the light and temperature would wake him right away, but he didn’t stir.

“Wake him up,” her mother said to her as she bustled around the chamber organizing and straightening up from the previous day. “I’ll go get fresh water and some porridge. See if I can get him to eat.” Her mother took her leave, closing the door behind her.

“Papa?” Jennet watched for any movement from his long eyelashes, but he didn’t even flinch. “Papa?” she repeated, placing her hand on his shoulder before giving him a small shake.

His eyelids fluttered open, searching the chamber for something until they finally fell on her. The smile that crossed her dear father’s face was worth the entire trip home.

“Jennet. I’m so…glad you’re…here, lassie.” He finished his sentence, then launched into a fit of coughing.

“Here, Papa. Drink this. Wet your throat.” She offered the goblet of water she’d found on the chest next to his bed.

“Papa, I wish I could help you. Can you sit up and chat with me?” Ever hopeful, she wasn’t sure if he could. This man whom she’d looked up to all her life had been reduced to someone she barely recognized.

“I’ll try, just for you, but I’ll need your help.”

She stood and put her arm underneath his back. She used her strength to help him sit up, then he leaned his back against the headboard of the large bed. “I made it,” he said, smiling at her, his gaze going from her toes to her face. “I’m so glad you’re here. Your mother needs you.”

“We need to get you better.”

“You need to get your mother to eat and to rest. She’s not doing it enough. I hope that she will now”—he stopped to cough—“that you’re here.”

“Are you in pain anywhere at all? Did you hurt yourself that badly from the fall?”

“Aye,” he said, lifting the covers to show off his knee and the wound beneath it. It was still slightly discolored, after all this time.

He covered his midsection for her, and she was glad of it. As a healer, she saw everything. But this was different because it was her father. “Does it still hurt?”

“Aye,” he said, poking around the injury. “It does, but it improves.”

She saw a raw area and pushed on it. She startled at how he yelped at her.

“Don’t touch that!” He quickly covered the area again and pushed her hand away.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like it.” He gave her a serious look, narrowing his gaze at her to see if she would challenge him. “Leave me be. I fear ’tis my time, and you must accept it. I’m glad you’re here to help your mother with everything.”

Then he fell back on the bed, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

The door opened and her mother came in, Bethia following directly behind her. “Jennet, I’m so glad you’re here.” Bethia gave her a swift hug, then found a seat while her mother left again.

Her father had had Torrian and Lily by his first wife before he met their mother, Brenna Ramsay. Uncle Logan had stolen her away from Grant land because he was in need of a healer to fix Quade’s injury. He’d been gored by the tusk of a boar, and it opened up his belly enough to where he would have died far away from home if not for Brenna Grant. But, like her cousin Brigid who fell for her captor, Brenna had developed a soft spot for Quade and willingly followed them back to Ramsay land. She also cured Torrian and Lily of a debilitating illness that had kept them both bedridden since they were a year old.

Not exactly cured it, but she discovered that the odd root of their illness was wheat.

Brenna married Quade Ramsay and became the mistress to the chieftain. They soon brought Bethia, Gregor, and Jennet into the world. They’d also adopted two little girls, Geva and Emma, who’d lost their parents. Geva was now five and ten summers, while Emma was a year younger. Their family was full, especially with Torrian, Lily, and Bethia’s bairns to keep them all busy. Gregor’s wife was due with their first bairn in a few months.

Bethia leaned toward her and whispered, “Did he not awaken to see you?”

Jennet nodded, looking at her dear sister. “He did, but only for a few moments, and then he fell fast asleep.”

The door opened and her mother stepped in with a bowl of porridge and steaming broth, Lily behind her with another goblet and bowl. “One for you, one for Da,” Lily said with a giggle. “Oh, Papa. You’ve fallen asleep again. He waited and waited for you and now you’re here and he still sleeps.” Her eyes misted when she set the food down, then she spun on her heel and left.

Bethia called out after her. “Lily, ’tis only because he’s no longer worried about her. ’Tis why he sleeps so soundly, too.”

Lily stepped back in and said, “I so hope you are right, Bethia. I’m closing the door so you three can discuss his illness and fix him. I’ll not allow anyone to come inside, either.”

Lily left, closing the door behind her as she’d promised.

Jennet glanced from one worn face to the other. “You two don’t look like you have much hope. Papa thinks he’s dying. Is he, Mama?”

Her mother sat down on the edge of the bed, tears spilling down her cheeks. Bethia said, “I don’t know. Every day I go over my notebook, Mama’s notebook, think of every illness I’ve ever seen, but I cannot come up with one that I think ’tis right. Naught fits.”

“Surely there must be some similarities to some sicknesses. Please, both of you tell me all that you’ve seen. All the changes in him since this happened.”

It seemed her mother was stirred to action by this assignment. She sat up tall, brushed the tears from her face, and smiled. “Aye, great idea, Jennet. The first thing that happened after he fell from his horse, besides the pain from the fall, was a fever. Even though I’d given him the poultice and different potions, he still came down with a high fever.”

“Aye, Mama,” Bethia said. “He was burning up with the first one. It seemed to last for mayhap two days, then he improved. I was worried he’d never get out of bed after the first round, but he did.”

“Aye, and he came out into the great hall, he ate, chatted with people, but then he got sick again. How many days later, Bethia?”

“I think three. He was up and then he was down again. And this time it was worse. He didn’t wish to wake up.”

“And how was his wound then?”

Her mother sighed, her hands kneading constantly. “It was full of green liquid, so I scrubbed it all out and covered it with poultice again. He yelled at me, but we got it done. That was about the time I sent Uncle Logan after you. I didn’t know what else to do, but he kept asking for you.

“And after Uncle Logan left, he improved again. Then he got sick for a day, then got better again. Up and down he goes, Jennet.”

“Aunt Jennie came for a day, but she had to return. I thought she might see something that I missed, but she agreed with me. She didn’t know what else we could do, so she gave me a new salve to try. It hasn’t seemed to work.”

The door flew open and hit the wall with a bang.

“Jennet, you need to come out into the great hall.” Uncle Logan’s form filled the doorway, his hands fisted at his side.

“Logan, we’re discussing Quade’s illness,” her mother said, waving him back out.

“You can talk sickness later. Come out here or I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

Bethia stared at Jennet wide-eyed. “Him? Who is this person? Why have you not said anything?”

Jennet looked meekly at her mother, wondering how exactly to explain his presence. Bethia waggled her brow at her with a smile.

“Who is it, Logan?” her mother asked.

Jennet knew the answer.

“Ethan.”