Free Highland Healer by Willa Blair Page B

met with his approval.
    “Not so well,” Toran continued, “for a moment later, the battle o’ertook me. I fought off the two who threatened the bairn.” Toran paused, trying to clear his foggy memory. “I took a blow from behind before I kenned it.” Toran fingered the torc at his throat. “I suspect the sight of this saved me. Likely whoever took me down mistook me for one of the MacAnalen lairds.”
    “Ye always did have the luck,” another voice chimed in.
    Toran glanced around to see who was listening to his well-deserved comeuppance. Ah, Parlan, the blacksmith, and several others, their attention rapt on the byplay between their laird and Donal. So, let them learn from his mistake. He certainly had. And the MacAnalens had suffered for it. Had he thought to send one of his men when he saw their peril…but no. He shook his head. It would not have helped. The Aerie lay too far away to get there and back with reinforcements before night fell or the fight ended. They’d done as well as anyone could, bringing Donal and the others to free him and the MacAnalens.
    The best he could do for Angus now was being done. His scouts headed out to the hills around the invader camp. They carried weapons and supplies to help Angus protect his people until the invaders were gone, or until Toran could bring them safely into the Aerie.
    “Mayhap they were surprised and engaged too quickly,” Kyle ventured. “Or their ghillies were slain before they could reach us. ’Tis good that our men made it back to raise the alarm, though seeing Banner riderless gave us a bad moment.”
    Toran shrugged. “Whatever the reason, the battle went against them. And I spent the night enjoying the hospitality of the Healer’s tent.”
    “The lass ye carried home?” Kyle asked, with mead-soaked admiration. “She’s a rare beauty, and one I wouldn’t mind trying.”
    A sharp spasm of jealousy pierced Toran, but he hid his frown behind a quick swallow from his tankard.
    “Aye, she’s a gifted healer, though I had little beside wounded pride and a pounding head to attend to.” Toran fixed Kyle and the others with a stern glare before he continued. “She’s a guest here, and not for the likes o’ ye,” he growled. “Nor me, either,” he muttered under his breath as he raised his tankard to his mouth, remembering how she’d fought him. But then, she’d responded to his kindness by healing the punctures in his arm. What did it mean?
    Donal’s smirk told Toran that he’d overheard, but Kyle looked suitably chastened, so Toran went on with his tale and related what he’d learned from the MacAnalen captives before Donal and his men showed up to rescue their laird.
    “The rest ye ken, except for the fact that the army’s leader took a bad cut to the shoulder and back this morning and rested in the Healer’s tent when ye arrived.”
    Donal frowned. “Aye, that must ha’ been the scouting party we fought on the way to ye.” He slammed his tankard down and rose to his feet, hands planted on the tabletop. “Damn it, we had the bastard and let him live twice, is that what ye’re telling me? Once when we wounded him and again when we left him alive in the camp?”
    “Ye didna ken who he was,” Toran said, excusing Donal, waving him back to his seat. “And I thought it more prudent to leave while we could than to risk recapture while trying to get to him in the camp.”
    But Donal would have none of that, not Toran’s excuses, nor his own. He was the same way on the training field. Toran expected no less from him.
    “Nay, it can’t be. I’m certain I delivered a killing blow,” he said, his face stony, his voice subdued, as he sat, Then he straightened, his eyes gleaming with purpose. “Laird, I’ll go back in the mornin’ and finish him off.”
    “Nay,” Toran replied, quickly, knowing Donal when he got his mind made up. Colbridge had been near to death, at least until the Healer got involved. “He’ll be too well