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She and Donald shifted to the side of the doorway as a horse was led through by the burly man who’d escorted her from her chamber.
    ‘This is Keith,’ Donald said. ‘An ugly brute, but he has his uses.’
    Keith grunted and Lynelle bobbed her head in greeting.
    Attached to the horse was a flat contraption made from two long, slender tree trunks and stretched animal hides. The top end of both tree limbs were strapped to the saddle, leaving the bottom ends dragging in the dirt. The hides spanned the distance between the poles, forming a movable pallet. It would be comfortable, Lynelle decided, spying the numerous furs strewn atop the hides.
    ‘A litter,’ Donald informed her. ‘Young Edan’s means of travel.’
    Lynelle tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. Holy Mother of God. Were the boy’s wounds so bad he couldn’t walk or sit a horse? What had she done? She may have gained Thomas’ freedom, but at what price? Her small lie could have grave consequences. She’d vowed never again to be the cause of another’s death.
    ‘I’ve saddled the other mounts,’ Keith said, and he disappeared inside the stable.
    Panic surged. Her heart raced. She couldn’t do this. She needed to tell the truth before it was too late. Tiny black dots invaded her vision. Blinking furiously, she tried to dispel them.
    ‘Ah, just in time, Keith,’ Donald said, as the other man appeared once more, towing four horses in his wake. ‘Here comes Will with Edan.’
    Lynelle turned quickly and fought to gain her balance. Her vision cleared and she focused on the entrance to the keep. William Kirkpatrick descended the stairs, carrying Edan. His long, graceful strides closed the distance and before she could gather her wits, he lowered his brother onto the litter.
    A groan sounded and was cut short as the injured boy’s weight settled onto the bedding. Lynelle battled to keep her mouth from falling open, as Will, the hard-eyed, scowling man knelt in the dirt at his brother’s feet and adjusted the furs.
    An invisible hand wrapped fingers of envy about her heart and squeezed. She missed her next two breaths, as William’s sun-browned hands carefully bunched the coverings under the boy’s head.
    The brothers exchanged a few quiet words and then the elder brushed a lock of dark hair from his brother’s brow and stood, wiping the dirt from his knees. Lynelle stared at him, confused by the harsh, frowning laird she’d dealt with and the concerned older sibling she’d just witnessed coddling his brother.
    He looked up from the boy and his intense gaze met hers.
    ‘Come.’
    Lured by the gentle command, Lynelle walked forward on unsteady legs.
    ‘This is my brother, Edan,’ he said, pride and worry evident in his tone. ‘Edan, this is the healer who promised to restore your health.’
    He didn’t use her name. A cold clamminess washed through her. She peered down at the young man, for now she could see him she realised he was past the age of being labelled a boy.
    A fat bandage circled his upper left thigh and his left forearm lay in a splint, across his stomach. Though he was comfortably positioned, his body curled in on itself a fraction, as if he were protecting further hidden injuries. A small gash marked his right cheek and she almost stumbled back as clear, grey eyes, so like his brother’s, looked up into hers.
    Relief swept through her. His injuries weren’t as dire as she’d imagined. Perhaps she could do this. Perhaps she could finally make use of Ada’s teachings on someone other than herself.
    ‘Do your wounds cause you much grief?’ she asked softly.
    ‘You’re English,’ he said, wide-eyed.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘The pain is not so bad,’ Edan said, though she noted his gaze darted to her right and back again.
    The man beside her made a scoffing sound before saying, ‘Iona has tended his meagre wounds already this morn. Your services are not needed, yet.’
    Relief fluttered in her belly at her reprieve. She’d