Page 9 of A Temptress in Tartan

“Clearly something is wrong, Mistress. What would you have me do?”

Something flickered in her eyes. “Ale. If you would be so kind.” Her fingers were white where they grasped the corner of the table as she tried to remain upright.

Instantly, Lachlan regretted his outburst as he stood and turned to grab a pitcher of ale and a mug from the table behind them. He poured a mugful and offered it to the woman.

She drained the mug, then collapsed against the table, sending the pewter vessel to the floor with a clang. At the noise, a young maid hastened into the chamber.

“Mistress?” the blonde-haired girl stopped short at the sight of Lachlan. She was no more than thirteen or possibly fourteen years of age. “Beg pardon, m’laird.” She turned around and made to leave again.

“Nay. Do not go, please. I need your help.”

The girl came forward again. The fear vanished from her expression as she offered him a hesitant smile.

“How long has Mistress Broun been like this?” Lachlan asked.

“I dinna ken. I’ve just now arrived. I heard a noise and came runnin’.”

“Can you tell me where she sleeps?”

The maid nodded. “There’s a bed in the back where she and the master sleep.”

Lachlan lifted the feverish woman into his arms. “Show me.”

The maid led him to the back of the inn where a curtain hung, separating the bedchamber from the common room. Lachlan pushed the fabric aside and entered the darkened space. He set the innkeeper’s wife on the bed, propping her head up with pillows, then turned to the girl. “Can you take me to your kitchen?”

Her face was shadowed but he could see the slightest bob of her head. He followed her down a hallway until they came to a doorway on the right. She stopped outside. “My sister, Meg, helps the mistress cook.”

Lachlan entered the room to find a slightly taller blonde-haired girl who was only a few years older than her sister. She stirred a pot of porridge, and tended a pan of blood sausage on a grate over the flames. The beginnings of the morning fare for the inn, no doubt. “Good morrow,” Lachlan greeted when the girl looked from him to her sister and back again.

Her eyes went wide. “Jane, ye know the mistress hates it when ye bring visitors into her kitchen.”

“Do not blame your sister,” Lachlan said, coming forward. “I asked her to bring me here. Your mistress is in the grip of a fever. I came to see if you might have some dried elderflowers and peppermint that I can make into a tisane.”

The girl’s features became troubled—from his request or the news that her mistress was ill, he was not certain. “Ye ken about herbs?”

“Not myself, nay, but my cousin-in-law is quite knowledgeable and I have watched her use that combination many times to ease a fever.”

“What if mistress dies from the brew?” Meg asked hesitantly.

“The herbs are harmless enough. I assure you she will not die if you help me quickly. Where are those herbs?”

She must have sensed his growing frustration because she moved quickly to a shelf on the opposite side of the room and took down two clay jars, which she handed to him. “These are what you need.”

To the younger woman who still hovered near the door he said, “Will you help me get some boiling water so your sister can return to her duties for the inn?”

With a look of relief, Meg returned to her cooking and Jane hastened to the hearth. After wrapping the handle in a cloth, she retrieved the kettle hanging on a hook above the flames. She brought the boiling water to him along with a bowl. “Will ye teach me how tae brew the herbs?”

“Are you interested in healing?” Lachlan asked as he measured out equal parts of both the elderflower and peppermint, adding them to the bowl.

Jane nodded. “It has always been of interest tae me.”

Lachlan showed her how Vivian had taught him to steep the herbs and strain them. They poured some of the golden liquid into a mug for Mistress Broun. “If you are truly interested in studying the art of healing, I can write to my cousin when I am home and ask her if she would consider taking you on as an apprentice.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Ye would do that fer me?”

“If that is what you wish, then, aye.”

“I wish it with all my heart.” The girl was all smiles as they left the kitchen and returned to the ailing woman’s bedside. Lachlan set the candlestick he carried next to the bedside, casting her face in mottled shades of gray. Mistress Broun’s eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. “Where is her husband?”