To Love A Highlander by Donna Fletcher

Author:Donna Fletcher
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2017-07-17T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Edward MacPeters downed his wine with trembling hands as he sat fidgeting nervously on the edge of the chair in Craven’s solar. “I do not know how I can help you, Lord Craven. I did all I could at the time. It is that barbaric healer who is responsible and should be punished.”

Seeing the frail looking man now, Craven wondered how he had ever had such confidence in him. His beady eyes and sharp-hooked nose reminded him more of a bird of prey rather than a man who was supposed to heal.

“She is the reason your wife and bairn died,” MacPeters added with a firm nod as if his remark confirmed it as truth.

Craven nodded at the empty chair beside MacPeters. “The healer will be joining us shortly.”

Edward turned and cast an anxious eye at the closed door. “She is here? That is good. She deserves to be punished harshly for what she did to your poor wife.”

The door opened then and Espy entered, Dylan following her into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Craven saw that her cheeks were still tinged with color from her spirited ride, though she had taken the time to re-braid her hair that the wind at torn at. He almost smiled seeing the dark strands that stubbornly refused to stay tucked away, much like Espy herself.

“Lord Craven,” she said and gave a respectful nod.

“Sit, Espy,” he said, pointing to the chair beside MacPeters.

Espy walked over to the empty chair, MacPeters tilting to the side as if he feared being too close to her, though it could have been her scar, either way she paid his reaction no mind.

Craven signaled Dylan and he walked over to him and handed him the pouch of herbs.

Craven waved the pouch at the physician. “Where did you get this?”

MacPeters squinted his eyes as if having trouble seeing it. “I have no idea what that is.”

“It is the pouch of herbs you gave my wife and insisted be made into a brew for her to take daily,” Craven reminded with a hardened tone that had MacPeters twitching nervously in his chair.

“I did give her a pouch of herbs,” he said with a nod, then quickly shook his head. “But I have no idea if that is the pouch.”

“You are a skillful physician,” Espy said. “You should recognize if the mixture of herbs is yours.”

“Of course I can,” MacPeters snapped, “and I do not need a daughter of an irrational physician, who thinks she knows better than learned men who treat people wisely, advising me.” He stuck his hand out to Craven.

“You knew my father?” Espy asked curious.

“Every physician knew of your father whether they had ever met him or not, and they not only laughed at his ridiculous ideas, but warned of them as well. But then what could one expect when he wed a woman who claimed herself a healer and who was from the godforsaken Highlands.”

Before Craven could chide the man for disparaging his home, Espy spoke up.

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