her head toward Isla and held still for Isla to unwind the bandage and air out her wound. “Hmm, it doesnae look too bad to me. One more poultice to the broken skin and a dram of mandragora and I ken ye will be all right.”

“Do what you think is best,” Mary replied while plucking at the sheets near her. “Isla…what do you make of Mister Balloch?”

She looked up to see the medicine woman drop some herbs into a mortar and place a small pestle into it. As Isla began to ground the herbs, she hummed under her breath. “He’s the son of the Laird of Lenichton, me lady, way up in the Highlands. As far as I ken, he isnae married or spoken for and served a life as a soldier before this. He and Laird Robasdan were comrades and still are to this day, Miss, but he hasnae been here for over a year.”

“Are they good friends?”

“Nae the best, but we are steadfast,” Leith’s melodic voice came from the doorway of the infirmary.

Mary felt her chest tighten a little before she was able to speak. Sitting up, she smiled, “Good morning, Mister Balloch…or should I say, Laird?”

He shook his head and his brown locks shifted around his head, “I’m nae the Laird yet. I’ll be happy to tell ye all ye want to ken, but let Isla do her work first.”

Feeling his eyes on her skin and his gaze a little unnerving, Mary held still as Isla placed the poultice on her temple and wrapped her head up. “We will have ye eat something before we can give ye the mandragora. Tea and bread, soup or porridge. Which would ye prefer?”

“Tea, please, and bread with butter if you have it,” Mary said timidly only to have Isla’s lips twitch and hear the man’s laugh.

“Lass, they have butter, jams, cheeses, meats and fish of all kinds, and even sweetbreads galore,” Leith said teasingly. “There is nothin’ the Robasdan Clan lacks.”

“Is this where I am?” Mary asked hesitatingly, “The Robasdan Clan?”

“Aye,” he watched Isla leave the room then sat in her seat. “Clan Robasdan is a clan in the borderlands. They keep to themselves mostly but all the families and the bloody reivers around here ken to nae mess with them.”

“Reivers?”

“Thieves, lass, thieves of cattle and goats and crops,” the man clarified. “Yesterday, ye kept apologizin’ to me for somethin’. What is it? What were ye running from?”

She began to withdraw from him, scared that he would condemn her for the truth if she spoke it, but he offered his hand. Her eyes dipped to see it. His right hand looked rough, and scarred but were held out in peace. These were the hands that had recused her.

“Trust me, lass,” he said. “I willnae hurt ye.”

She hesitated at first then finally rested her hand in his and feeling his callused palm close around hers, Mary told him all. “My name is Mary Thompson and I come from a very religious family. Mister Balloch, we have wealth, but we are still very religious, to the point where I know nothing but prayer and solitude. They kept me in our home for most of my life and never let me meet others like any woman my age would do.”

Her eyes were fixed on the man’s fingers wrapped around her hand; they were so warm and solid. Bravely, she lifted her head to meet his and found only soft patience in his gaze. “My parents wanted me to marry an old, rich and stodgy lord, but he is so odious and repulsive that I was forced to run away.” Her eyes began to bead with frustrated tears. “I tried, I truly tried to tell them that I’d die under his hand, but they did not listen. I ran to save my life. I had just come to Scotland when a storm came in. My horse was scared, he ran, and that’s how I fell.”

Mr. Balloch’s thumb began to rub over the back of her hand while she spoke and Mary found it very soothing. “How old are ye, lass?”

“Three-and-twenty,” she said quietly, “and you?”

His eyes were warm, “Seven-and-twenty. Where were ye heading to, lass? I understand that ye had no choice but why Scotland? Ye couldnae come here with nay plan.”

“I have one,” she said. “My maid Tina told me about her aunt Linda who lives here and I was heading to her when I got injured. She took a deep breath and spoke on the exhale, “I fear I have lost my map and other belongings.”

“Were they in a burlap sack?” Mr. Balloch asked.

Her heart leaped, “You’ve seen it?”

“Better yet, I have it,” he replied with a smile.

“Thank God!” Mary flung her arms around him in relief and hugged him tightly then suddenly jerked away, with her face flaming. “I’m sorry, that was not right of me.”

“It doesnae matter to me,” Mr. Balloch’s grin was a bit devilish.

She plucked her dress, “I do know that I am grateful for saving me. My head is much better now, thanks to you. If it is possible, may I say my thanks to the Laird of Robasdan also?”

“I ken he already kens,” he replied.

Mary took her hand away and folded them on her lap, “On that map in a tiny mark, where my maid told me her aunt lives. I would like to get there and…would you be able to take me?”

“Aye, let's see the map and find where this place is,” Mr. Balloch said. “Isla will come with yer meal soon. Eat it while I go get that bag.”

Mary nodded as hope bloomed in her chest. Could she expect him to take her to Tina’s aunt then? Perhaps. What she did not expect was him leaning down and kissing her forehead. “Take it easy, lass.”

Looking up, Mary felt the ache in her soul begin to soothe while the funny feeling in her stomach, a tingling warmth, began to grow. She looked up

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