A Healer for the Savage Scot - Bonus Prologue

A Healer for the Savage Scot – Bonus Prologue

Two weeks earlier

Snow fell across the stone courtyard of Clan MacTavish’ castle, soft but unrelenting. Adelaide stood at the edge of the great hall’s archway, half-shadowed, her cloak damp from the wind. Inside, voices rose low and grim, threaded with something heavier than the early winter chill.

She knew that tone. It was the sound of burden shared between men who bore more weight than they cared to speak aloud.

“… an’ now the healer is dead,” Nathair said, voice tight with frustration as he stood beside Hawk near the hearth. The letter from Castle Sinclair Girnigoe was open on the oak table before them, the Sinclair crest broken and curling. “An apprentice is all they’ve left. The lass isnae ready, apparently.”

“An’ they’re askin’ fer aid?” Hawk’s brows drew together, thick arms crossed as he leaned forward. “That’s nay small thing. Malcolm Sinclair isnae the sort tae show his belly.”

Adelaide’s chest tightened. She had heard of Malcolm Sinclair, though she had never met the man. All she knew was that she’d heard him described as cold, sharp as a blade, and twice as likely to wound. But even as those words came back to her, accounts of those who had met him, she saw an opportunity.

It didn’t matter if he was less than sociable or kind. It didn’t matter if what they said about him was true. All that mattered was that she now had a chance to be away from the reality of her everyday life—the constant pressure to marry, the continuous talks of her siblings finding her a husband.

She wasn’t ready for it, not yet. She wasn’t ready to give up her lifelong training, her purpose, just to marry a man and give him an heir. Adelaide was destined for more than that, she knew. She could make a difference, if only she found the right place to do it.

And now, Castle Girnigoe sounded like just the place she needed.

“He’s askin’ fer a healer,” Nathair said, fingers drumming against the table. “Someone tae serve a clan an’ train a… a bairn. That will be a lot o’ work an’ we cannae afford tae send our own healer there. What if something’ happens? There will be injuries, fevers, sick bairns. We cannae spare ours.”

“But we cannae refuse tae help either,” Hawk pointed out. “Or rather, we shouldnae. Ye dae owe him yer life, Nathair. He helped ye and now he’s callin’ in the favor.”

“I ken that,” said Nathair with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I ken that an’ I wish there was somethin’ I could dae tae help. They’re good allies, Hawk, I ken that well, but… but our clan comes first.”

Adelaide found the opportunity to step forward then, the tap of her boots against stone enough to halt their thoughts.

“I’ll go.”

Both men turned. The flames of the hearth flickered behind them, outlining them in soft light, their gazes hard as they regarded her—both men surely thinking the same thing.

Nathair’s eyes narrowed. “Nay.”

“Ye havenae even heard what I have tae say,” Adelaide said with a frustrated huff, throwing her hands in the air. “This is hardly fair.”

“I dinnae need tae hear a thing,” said Nathair, and his tone was edged with steel. “Ye’re nae goin’.”

“I’m the best option ye have,” Adelaide pressed, stepping closer. “Ye both ken it.”

“Ye’re nae ready,” he snapped, louder now. “An’ I’m nae sendin’ ye tae another clan alone.”

Adelaide’s jaw tightened, her pulse a roaring wind in her ears. “Ye trained me fer years beside the old healer. I’ve led the infirmary fer the last two winters. I’ve treated fever, frostbite, pulled men back from the edge after battle. What else must I prove?”

She had done as much as she could to learn about the art of healing, and for Nathair to claim she wasn’t yet ready was, frankly, insulting. Adelaide felt that familiar ache behind her chest—the one that said she would never be good enough, no matter what she did. But she had worked hard for this; she had worked hard to prove that she was useful, and now it was her time to show it to everyone, not just to herself.

She could put her skills to good use. She could help another clan, and at the same time, she could benefit herself.

“Ye’ve never led an entire clan through a hard season,” Nathair argued. “Ye’ve never been the only line between a wounded man an’ his grave.”

Adelaide took another step forward, voice lowering. “Then let this be the first time.”

Hawk, silent until now, shifted slightly. His gaze didn’t leave hers. “Ye’ll be far from home, Addy. Surrounded by strangers. If they dinnae accept ye or if anythin’ happens tae ye—”

“They’ll accept me,” she interrupted. “Because they’ll have nae choice an’ because I’ll make sure they see the value o’ what I bring. An’ if anythin’ happens, well… I’m sure Laird Sinclair willnae be as cruel as tae allow me tae suffer. Besides, what could possibly happen tae me that would be so terrible? Castle Girnigoe is as safe as our home, dinnae ye think?”

Nathair shook his head, frustrated. “Addy—”

“I am nae a child, Nathair,” she said, and her voice cracked like a whip across the stone floor. “Stop treatin’ me like one. Ye wanted a healer trained by yer own hand? One who could lead, command, teach? Ye have her.”

Her brother stared at her. For a long, terrible moment, the weight of memory passed between them—of the little girl who once stood behind his legs, clinging to him like an anchor, too scared of everything and everyone else. Nathair had been a constant in her life ever since his mother—their mother—had brought Adelaide home from that lake, where the man she had once called her father had abandoned her to die.

“Malcolm Sinclair isnae an easy man,” Hawk said quietly.

“I dinnae need him tae be easy,” Adelaide said, her gaze snapping to Hawk. “I need him tae care enough tae want tae keep his clan alive. That is all. Daes he?”

“Och aye,” said Hawk. “That an’ more. He’s stern but he’s a good laird tae his people. Ye dinnae have tae fash about that.”

“Aye,” said Nathair sarcastically. “Ye only have tae fash about his moods.”

Next to him, Hawk snorted in amusement. “I dinnae think he’s that bad.”

“He’s that an’ worse,” said Nathair with a small shake of his head. “But he’s a good man. He’s just strange.”

“Strange,” Adelaide echoed, unimpressed boy the characterization. “The is what ye have tae say about him.”

Nathair shrugged a shoulder. “It isnae false.”

With a sigh, Adelaide asked, “Well? Will ye let me go tae this strange man an’ help him? Ye even said ye owe him a debt. Let me help ye repay it.”

Nathair glanced at Hawk, their gazes meeting. Something passed between them, a brotherly communication Adelaide could not understand, and then Hawk gave Nathair a slight nod, just once.

And finally—though reluctantly—Nathair exhaled, the fight leaving his shoulders.

“Ye’ll ride with an escort,” he said. “Ye’ll send word every week. An’ if anythin’ seems strange, if ye feel unsafe, ye come back.”

“Strange?” Adelaide teased. “Like the laird, ye mean?”

“Addy,” said Nathair, his tone now entirely serious. “I mean it. Promise me.”

Adelaide stepped forward and laid her hand on his arm. “I promise.”

And she meant it. She could understand his concern, his desire to keep her safe. She appreciated it, even, but she couldn’t help but think that her brothers were far too protective of her when they themselves rode to battle every other month or went on missions where no one could reach them for weeks.

She, too, was concerned, all the time. She, too, wanted them to promise her that they would come back at the first sign of danger, but it was not her place to do so. Men like them went to battle. They fought. Sometimes, they returned. That was the way of things.

But as Adelaide packed her satchel that night—carefully folding dried yarrow and lavender, binding tinctures, checking her salves and knives—she couldn’t help but feel the pull of something unspoken in her chest; a heaviness, a thread of fate winding tighter, dragging her toward something unknown.

It wasn’t fear, not exactly. Rather, it was a sense of expectation, as though something awaited her.

A storm seemed to be gathering over the Highlands, and at the center of it was none other than Malcolm Sinclair.