Mistress Stirling was bent over a wee lass who was screaming to bring down the roof. “What’s the matter with the lass?” Evan shouted over the noise. God’s toes, the bairn had strong lungs.
Mistress Stirling shook her head, her hands frantically removing the young lass’s dress. “I dinnae ken. She has no fever.” She looked up at the man wringing his hat in his hands. “When did she start fussing, Finlay?”
Fussing? The lass could shatter the walls with her wails. Feeling a bit rattled at the noise, Evan regarded Mistress Stirling. “Mayhaps we should summon a healer. I am sure either Mrs. Brody or Mrs. MacDuff would ken who to send for.”
Mistress Stirling, her maid—who had joined them—and the Finlay lad all turned to stare at him.
What had he said?
“My laird, Mistress Stirling is a healer,” Meggie explained in a hushed breath, almost as if she admitted the lass was a saint.
“Aye. That’s good, then.” He probably should have continued on his way, but since the interviews had been cut short, he was left with time on his hands, so he decided to watch Mistress Stirling work.
“Agnes, dear, can ye tell me where it hurts the most?”
The bairn touched her tummy, the screams stopping for a minute. Mistress Stirling used the tips of her fingers to touch the wee lass in different places. Since the bairn continued to wail, ’twas hard for him to ken where it hurt the lass the most. But apparently, Mistress Stirling’s experience was great indeed, because she kept nodding and uttering soothing words as her fingers played over the lass’s stomach.
Then she looked up at Finlay. “What did ye eat for yer last meal?”
At least that’s what he thought she said. She could have said was the heat for real. He couldn’t hear anything except the wee one’s wails.
The brother bent close to Mistress Stirling’s ear and said something that caused her to raise her brows. “Meggie, fetch me my herb bag.”
The maid rushed off, and Mistress Stirling stood, glancing at the lass’s brother. “Carry Agnes upstairs. I will need to purge her stomach.”
Since that didn’t sound like something Evan would be interested in witnessing, he returned to the library, where Alasdair joined him.
“Whatever is the racket going on?”
“One of Mistress Stirling’s clansmen arrived with his wee sister, who seems to be in pain.” He poured coffee from the pot that sat on his desk. He had already informed the cook that he was to have hot coffee available all morning.
He looked expect
antly at his brother, who shook his head. “I dinnae ken how ye can drink so much of the stuff. One cup at breakfast is all I can handle.”
After taking a sip, Evan said, “It seems our unexpected guest is a healer.”
“Ye dinnae say? Makes me wonder what other secrets the lass is hiding.” Alasdair sat back in his chair, grinning at Evan’s revelation. “Mistress Stirling is certainly interesting. Different from any other lass I’ve met. Spirited…brave…”
Evan was stunned and equally annoyed to feel what could only be described as jealousy at his brother’s words. “Aye, but I’m not sure all of her secrets are as helpful as this one.”
“What do ye mean?”
“I dinnae ken. I just have this feeling that there was more of a reason for her to leave her home and travel to Fife. I questioned her on it just a short while ago. She stuck to her story of claiming the property was hers, but when I pushed her, I still got the feeling she was hiding something. The lass refused to look me in the eye.” Evan cocked one ear in the direction of the ceiling. Silence. The wee lass had stopped screaming.
“It sounds as though our healer has done her job. She’s quite intriguing.” Alasdair grinned again, making Evan want to smash it off his face. He did not want him admiring Mistress Stirling. Only because—he told himself—it would complicate things. How, he wasn’t entirely sure, but reasons would occur to him shortly.
“Stop grinning like a loon, brother. The lass is still a stranger to us, and we need to watch ourselves around her.”
“What?” Alasdair had the nerve to laugh. “If ever there was an uncomplicated lass, it’s that one.” He motioned with his thumb toward the ceiling.
“And what do ye ken of complicated lasses? Most of yer bed partners have no more brains than that goat.” He waved his cup in the direction of the animal standing in the library doorway. He dropped his coffee cup and jumped up. “What the hell is that?”
Alasdair turned in his chair. “I think ye already said it. Appears to be a goat.”
The animal stared at him, then ambled into the room. “What the blasted hell is a goat doing in the house?”
“Oh, so sorry, my laird.” Meggie rushed in after the animal. “I’ll take him outside.”