“Aye, ye may. Many a Hay woman has. Ye have drawn these troublesome spirits so swiftly and so strongly it would seem likely. Now, child, my mother’s mother did brew a potion that will help ye stay calm—”
“I dinnae want to take a potion.”
“I didnae say ye had to. I but mention that there is one. Ye may weel find yourself so weary of these spirits ye crave a moment’s peace. The potion will give ye one. I just wished ye to ken that ’tis there.” She stood up, kissed Euphemia on the cheek, and then smoothed down her skirts. “Now I must go and see how our prisoner Sir Ruari is.”
“Sorcha, will ye tell the mon how sorry I am I acted so foolishly when I went to his room?”
“Aye, I will, but I shouldnae worry much on how he thinks of you. I am certain the mon believes it was just some odd whim of a woman-child and has ceased to consider it.” She winked at Euphemia and was pleased to see the girl smile briefly.
As Sorcha climbed the stairs to Ruari’s chamber, she felt her steps grow weighted with her nervous reluctance to see him. Not seeing him solved nothing, however. She continued to think about him. She blushed to think of the times she had caught herself staring at nothing as she recalled the kisses they had shared. No amount of work banished those heated memories. Neil was right. Hiding from the man served no purpose at all. Sorcha opened the door to his room and heartily wished she could find the solution to her inner turmoil before she did something she would regret.
Ruari sat up the moment Sorcha entered the room and smiled at her. He had begun to think he had scared her away. It did not please him to discover that he missed her, but he reluctantly accepted the truth of it. She was too thin, knew far too much about a man’s ways and had some very strange ideas, but he could not conquer a growing fascination with her.
“Have ye decided to grace me with your company for a few moments?” he asked.
“Aye, if ye behave yourself.” She collected a bowl of water, a washing cloth, and clean bandages.
“Do ye truly think this is necessary?” he muttered as she prepared to tend his wounds.
“We shall see.” She removed his bandages and studied his wounds, astonished by their condition. The man was healing with an almost miraculous swiftness. “I believe ye dinnae need the bandages any longer. Your injuries will fare better if allowed to breathe. Ye are a wondrous healer,” she murmured as she gently bathed his wounds and dabbed them dry. “I dinnae believe I have e’er seen wounds heal so swiftly.”
“I was always quick to heal.”
“I wouldnae be surprised to discover that these sword cuts began to heal ere your enemy finished inflicting them. Ye tell me that my talk of spirits could cause me trouble. Weel, I suspect this rapid healing has roused a question or two.”
Ruari scowled, not pleased to be reminded of how odd his ability to heal quickly was. It had caused him a few uneasy moments. He attributed it to his own strength, but others often wondered if it was a gift from God or the devil. When so many suffered poisoning in their wounds, death, or a crippling fever, his continued good health, no matter how severe his injuries, was not often seen as the blessing from God he considered it to be.
“It has been a week since I was cut down. I didnae grow feverish nor did my wounds fester, so ’tis no great miracle that I continue to regain my strength.”
“A weel-practiced answer, I think,” she drawled as she put away her nursing tools.
“’Tis but the simple truth.” Ruari frowned when he realized she was not listening to him.
Sorcha cursed as she caught sight of a familiar shadow in the corner of the room. It was an inconvenient time for one of her spiritual companions to seek her out. As the shape grew clearer, she cursed again. It was Crayton, the spirit who visited regularly, and could be somewhat of a nuisance. The fact that his image was so distinct, only slightly faded below the knees, told her he was not feeling playful. The scowl on his young, handsome face made her uneasy. Crayton was in a sour mood.
“Ye dinnae need to coddle the oaf as much as ye do,” said Crayton.
A quick glance at Ruari assured Sorcha that he heard and saw nothing. She was never quite sure if Crayton spoke aloud as mortals did or if she heard him only in her head. At times she was certain of the latter, but the former was never as easy to discern. The one thing she was sure of at the moment was that she wanted Crayton to leave. She tensed as he moved to the bed and glared down at Ruari.
“Go away,” she whispered and grimaced when Ruari eyed her warily.
“I should like to leave, mistress, but I was made to believe I was a prisoner,” Ruari said.
“I wasnae speaking to you.” With a distinct flounce of irritation Sorcha sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at Crayton. “I ken that ye dinnae believe a word I say about spirits and ghosts, but I fear one has come to annoy me.”
Ruari frowned and looked around then wondered why he bothered. Did he really think he would see proof that she was not a victim of strange delusions? He realized that her claims of being able to talk to ghosts were not as unsettling as her actually doing so.
“I cannae see anyone,” he said, watching her warily as he wondered if her madness was truly the harmless kind.
“Of course ye cannae. If ye could see him, ye wouldnae be eyeing me as if ye fear I will suddenly begin to drool, babble, and tear at my hair. Believe me if ye will or think me a sad, addled lass, I really dinnae care at the moment. All I can say is that I speak the truth when I tell you there is a ghost in this room. Nay,” she cried when, cursing softly, Ruari got to his feet.
Sorcha could not move quickly enough to stop Ruari from walking through Crayton. All she could do was catch Ruari as he swayed and began to fall. The grin on Crayton’s face annoyed her. She waved him out of the way as she helped Ruari back to his bed.
“I must have gotten to my feet too swiftly,” Ruari muttered as he laid down.
“Weel, that may be some of your trouble,” agreed Sorcha as she helped him get comfortable. “Howbeit, what ye were just afflicted with happens when ye walk through a ghostie.”
“I walked through him, did I? He wasnae gentlemon enough to step out of my way?”
“Nay, he wasnae, and ye need not speak so bitingly.” She poured him a drink of cider and handed him the tankard. “Dinnae ye believe in ghosts at all?”
“Nay, I dinnae believe in anything I cannae see and hear.”
“Ah, then ye have spoken with and seen God, have ye?”
“Dinnae be impertinent. That is quite different. And, since ye mention God, why would He allow spirits to wander the land when He has so many places for the souls of the dead to go?”
“I wouldnae be so blasphemous as to try to explain God’s ways.”
“Verra clever,” he snapped. “Have ye any explanation for why spirits would wander the earth, if they do, and why they should choose to speak to a wee lass?”
“Does the fool think ye are some bottomless font of wisdom?” asked Crayton dryly.
“Hush, Crayton. Why dinnae ye go and visit with my Aunt Neil?” suggested Sorcha.
“She cannae hear me. She just kens that I am near and talks to me.”
“Then wait for me in my bedchamber. Ye should have more concern for this mon. He was wounded fighting the English.”
“Do ye think he saw the mon I search for?” Crayton asked, drawing near to the bed again.
“Nay, of course he didnae. Ye were murdered