“Now,” began Malcolm, “tell me how ye, of all people, find yourself married to a lass who looks as if she has been horsewhipped.”
“Malcom, ye know the MacIans have never been wealthy. I knew my father worried incessantly about money over the last year or so, but I didn’t know how little we had until after he died in the spring. We literally had nothing left. Even less than nothing. Eithne managed to rack up a huge debt while living at court.”
“Yes, your stepmother enjoys her comfort.”
“Her comfort? God’s teeth, Malcolm, her extravagance knows no bounds. She accrued more than half of the total debt in the last year alone. She owed something to practically everyone in Edinburgh. I had no way to cover the debt. To make matters worse, Matheson raided our western border several times just before Da died. I couldn’t afford to lose a chicken, much less cattle and sheep.”
“I am sorry to hear about your financial problems, Niall, but what has the lass got to do with them?”
“I went to Edinburgh to try to negotiate with my father’s creditors and to put a halt to Eithne’s spending, but nothing could be done. I finally appealed to King David for help.”
“He has financial woes of his own.”
“So I learned. He suggested I marry an heiress. I thought he jested, but he had one in mind. He needed to find someone who would be willing to forfeit her title and lands in exchange for a larger dowry, so he could give everything but her wealth to her uncle.”
“There must be plenty of men who would do that.”
“One would think, but the rumors about her discouraged most men.”
“What rumors?”
“They are lies not worth repeating. I suspect Ruthven started them himself.”
“Ruthven? Ambrose Ruthven?” asked Malcolm.
“Aye, Ambrose Ruthven,” spat Niall.
“That lass is Katherine Ruthven?” Duncan asked.
“That lass is Katherine MacIan now,” said Niall.
Malcolm looked shocked, “Her hand was sought by quite a few men who desired her wealth, but the rumors—”
“All lies,” Niall said irritably. “He clearly intended to avoid a betrothal, hoping to gain everything for himself. He is the bastard who beat her.”
“Perhaps she is willful,” suggested Malcolm.
“She did nothing to earn a beating but protect a lad who was equally innocent,” Niall snapped. “Ye haven’t lived at court for years, how is it ye know the rumors about her?”
Malcolm chuckled. “I haven’t lived there, but I still visit occasionally. There are many would-be matchmakers who would like to see me chained to a bride, but even they discouraged me from pursuing the Lady Ruthven. Ah, what folly it is to listen to rumors.”
“Ye are old enough to be her father,” Niall admonished. The thought of Katherine married to anyone else, much less a man as old as Malcolm, turned his mood even darker.
“Don’t get your hackles up, lad, I certainly wasn’t the oldest man considering her hand, nor would I be the first old man to take a young, wealthy bride.” Malcolm’s response didn’t sooth Niall’s temper.
Duncan asked, “The lad Fingal toted upstairs, is he the one she was protecting?” Glad that he changed the subject, Niall nodded, taking another long pull of ale from his tankard.
“Who is he to her?” Malcolm asked.
“The orphan of one of her clansmen,” Niall said simply. “Katherine is fond of him. She treats him like a little brother. He seems to have attached himself to Fingal.”
~ * ~
When the lairds finally exited the chamber, the old healer turned back to her charge. She knew she had to draw the poison out of the wounds on the lass’s back. She added some salt, a large handful of shredded wych elm root, and several other herbs to a kettle of water before putting it on the fire to bring it to boiling. She washed Katherine’s back with a solution of soapwort while the herbs stewed. Then she poured the boiling liquid into a bowl to cool briefly. Tearing strips of linen, she dipped them into the solution. When she could handle them without burning her hands, she wrung most of the liquid out and placed the linen strips on the purulent wounds crisscrossing the lass’s back.
Agnes had hoped the lass would remain unconscious while she worked, but Katherine awakened at the first touch of the hot cloth. The healer knew the solution stung, but it had to be done. Agitated and writhing, the lass cried out, but soon oblivion reclaimed her, releasing her from the agony. Once she had slipped back into her fevered sleep, Agnes could finish cleansing her wounds. She worked as quickly as she could, replacing cool strips with hot ones until the cool strips she pulled away had no more yellow drainage on them and the wounds looked clean. She allowed Katherine’s back to dry and cool before applying a soothing balm, which she covered with clean linen.