“I can feel yer joint is unstable,” she said. “’Tis a sprain, stranger, but ‘tisna serious. Ye shouldna walk on it for a day or two. I can give ye willow bark for yer pain. And I’ll put splints and bandage them. After two days, ye can start walking on it, but carefully. Mostly, what ye need is rest. Aye?”
The pain wasn’t unbearable. He’d had worse.
“Okay, a sprain. Don’t worry then. Just give me a crutch or something and send me on my way.”
She shrugged. “I wouldna advise ye to try to leave, lad. Rest is what ye need.”
“I’ll rest in a hotel or something.”
“It wilna take long. Marjorie, will ye give me that large bowl with water?”
Marjorie brought it over to the bed.
“Can ye wash his wound while I prepare the splint?”
“Aye,” Marjorie said and sat on the bed.
She glanced at him, and there was curiosity and anger in her eyes, but also compassion. Isbeil walked to the chest, placed some jars and pouches with powder on the lid and started mixing things. Marjorie wet a clean linen cloth and looked him in the eye. Their gazes locked, and instantly, his mouth went dry.
Christ, she’s pretty.
“This will hurt, Konnor,” she said softly.
“It’s fine. I’m not a stranger to pain.”
Her eyes widened, and long, dark eyelashes trembled. He’d been wounded twice before while in service, but he’d been beaten countless times by his stepfather while he was a child. Pain was not foreign to him.
“Neither am I,” she said as she put the cloth against the cut.
He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, and ask what had happened to her, but she put the cloth against his wound and pressed out the water, letting it wash dirt out. There was something soothing about her touch, and despite the pain, he lay back on the pillows and watched her face as she worked.
“‘Tis clean, Isbeil,” she said way too early and stood with the bowl in her hands. Isbeil came to inspect the wound and gave a satisfied grunt. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him.
“I’m going to put a healing poultice on it and dress it. Then I’ll put on the splint.”
Konnor gave a curt nod. “I appreciate ye treating me.”
She didn’t respond and spread the aromatic mixture on his cut and then bandaged it. Surprisingly, the mixture was cool and soothing, and his leg felt better. Then she took out two small planks from the basket and a linen bandage that looked clean. While Isbeil was setting the splints, Konnor looked at Marjorie’s pretty face. Their eyes were locked across the room, and he didn’t want to look away.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Isbeil said she was done.
He nodded and shifted to get up from the bed. “Thanks. Now I’m out of here.”
As he looked at Marjorie, he wished he had swallowed his words. Her hands were propped on her sides, and she glared at him.
“Ye’re out of here?” she asked, “Why are ye in such a hurry? Who are ye, Konnor? Is that even yer real name? Are ye a MacDougall?”
Her slanted cat eyes flashed, and there was a pink tinge to her cheeks. Her hair was in slight disarray. She was beautiful. Konnor was torn between smiling and being concerned for his safety. She wouldn’t order Malcolm to behead him like an angry queen, would she?
“I’m not a MacDougall. And my name is Konnor. Konnor Mitchell.”
“How can I believe ye? What if ye’re a MacDougall spy?”
A MacDougall spy? This medieval game was going a little too far.
“I don’t freaking know how you can believe me, okay? My passport is in the backpack that’s back where the damn fallen tower is. I’m sorry I didn’t say I wasn’t who you thought I was. I thought you wouldn’t help me if I told you the truth. And I was right.”
Marjorie pursed her lips and didn’t say anything for a moment, confirming that his assumption had been correct. Isbeil arched one eyebrow and started putting her sacks, jars, and boxes back into the basket.
“Look,” Konnor said. “Like I told you, I don’t want to inconvenience you, and I’m thankful for your help, but you can stop playing your fantasy games and just send me on my way. I’ll be fine.”
“He wilna be fine,” Isbeil said. “He needs to rest, or his ankle will get worse.”
Marjorie shrugged one shoulder. “’Tisna my concern. He’s a liar. Who kens what else he’s lying about?”
Isbeil put the last sack into the basket and looked at Marjorie. “I dinna think this one is a threat, dearie.”
“Explain yourself, Konnor,” Marjorie said. “The truth. Who ye are, and how did ye end up in that ravine?”
“I’m American. Please don’t tell me you don’t know what that means.”
Marjorie shook her head and shrugged.
A low growl escaped Konnor’s throat. “Come on, Marjorie, I think you’re smart enough to accept the reality beyond these walls.”
“I dinna ken what ye’re talking about.”
Her stubbornness was impressive. He wished she’d just drop the pretense.
“You know very well what I’m talking about, even if you don’t want to admit it. I own a security firm in Los Angeles. I’m a Marine who served in Iraq. I’ve been hiking through the Highlands with my buddies. A woman asked me for help. She’d fallen down a ravine and seemed to be hurt. I went down to help her and fell. Next thing I knew, she disappeared. Then I saw Marjorie. That’s the God’s truth of what happened.”
Konnor locked his gaze with Marjorie’s and forgot anyone else was in the room. She shot daggers at him, and heat rushed through his blood.
Come on, Marjorie, believe me. Be the reasonable woman I know you are and give me a sign you’re on my side.
She looked away and shook her head like she was disappointed.
“Was this all by the old Pictish stronghold?” Isbeil said.
“Aye,” Marjorie said.
“There are legends and rumors about that place,” Isbeil said. “I’ve heard strange things happen around it.”
“Like what?” Marjorie said.
“Like ancient Pictish magic that can open a tunnel through the river of time.”
Konnor frowned. That sounded exactly like what Sìneag had told him.
“‘Tis an old story,” Isbeil continued. “I heard it from my grandmother when I was a wee lass. She was a wise woman, mayhap even a witch. She was afraid the Holy Church would burn her for witchcraft, so she didna tell the story much,. She said some faeries bring good health, some bring good luck. Others play with people’s destinies and send them through the tunnel. Some say they do it so that people can find the one person they’re really destined for.”
Faeries? Come on. Although if he believed in fairies, Sìneag could probably pass for one. But he wasn’t a little boy, and he didn’t believe in magic.
Marjorie walked towards the window. “Out of all yer Highland tales, Isbeil, ’tis the strangest one.”
Konnor wasn’t sure he agreed. The story may be weird, but it was this place that was really strange.
“So ye believe him, Isbeil?” Marjorie said.
The old woman nodded.