Matter of time, p.14
Matter of Time, page 14
Caitlin had explained that once or twice a year, Moira and Pol traveled to a monastery on the coast to trade for those herbs her mother couldn't or didn't grow herself. Since the abbot and monks were hesitant to deal with a woman, Pol traded his skills as a blacksmith for what they needed. Robert's written greeting and generous donation to the monastery always smoothed the way. Herbs, tree and plant cuttings for cultivation, and new recipes were Moira's goals during the trip. From what Caitlin had said, she never came home empty-handed.
"He will sleep for a while more," he answered, and then smoothed the boy's hair back from his face.
"Here, Douglas, help me with the bandage."
Together they coated the boy's arm with the comfrey paste and then wrapped it tightly with long strips of linen. A few minutes and they were done. Caitlin gathered the used cloths and lifted the bowl of bloodied water and carried them away from the boy. After emptying the used water out the window, she rinsed the cloths and washed her hands.
"I will sit with him, Douglas. He willna awaken for a bit."
"Are you sure, Caitlin? I could carry him back to his mother?"
"Come now, ye ken he shouldna be moved right now. Do ye begrudge me a few moments of leisure now and again?" She laughed and patted his arm. That undercurrent that came with her touch was there again... always.
"If you don't mind waiting here, I'll run some errands and be back in a little while."
"I will wait here for his father to come for him."
Douglas covered the bowl and put it on the shelf. He stoppered some flasks and cleaned up their—her—worktable and walked to the door. Caitlin knelt next to the sleeping boy, straightening the plaid over his still form. Douglas took his cloak and threw it over his shoulders, preparing to meet the now-cold November winds.
Pulling the door tightly against its frame, he started down the path to the smithy. He had to get Pol to take a look at the blade on one of the new scalpels and the grasping edge of the new forceps. He gazed down at his empty hands and realized that he'd left the cottage without them. Wait until Caitlin heard this—she'd laugh at his forgetfulness. A few more paces back the way he'd come and he was at the door he'd just closed.
Easing it open quietly not to disturb the boy's rest, Douglas stepped inside and stopped. Caitlin knelt now on the boy's right side and faced the door, but she stared across the room at Douglas now with unseeing eyes.
What was this? Douglas wondered. She never reacted at all to his entrance into the room and as he walked closer, she didn't even appear to be breathing. Her hands lay on Gavin's injured arm. First she was completely still and then she slid her hands over his arm. He spoke her name quietly, then louder, gaining no response either time.
Douglas approached the two of them and crouched down at her side. Reaching out to her hands, he was shocked at the heat in them. He let his hand hover near hers to test it again. Hot, very hot, and yet Gavin never whimpered at all at her touch even though he had several times during the dressing of his wound.
He waved his hand in front of her face and watched her eyes for a reaction. Nothing. She never even blinked! He moved across from her and continued watching for a few more minutes. Finally she started to stir and he heard some mumbled words.
"'Twill be just fine now, Gavin. All is well."
Her breathing became more noticeable and less even and her eyes began to blink. As he watched, she began to sway ever so slightly. He quickly moved back to her side and supported her.
"Douglas, what are ye doing here?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I came back for things I'd forgotten and found you over the boy. Are you sick?" He touched her forehead and found her to be a bit clammy. "Here," he said holding her by the arm, "sit back and try to relax now. And tell me what happened."
"Caitlin." Moira's voice filled the room, startling him. He never heard the door open either, he was so intent on Caitlin and whatever was wrong with her.
"Aye, Mam," Caitlin answered, meeting her mother's gaze.
"Douglas, if ye would help the lass to her feet?" Moira moved in the other direction—to the worktable and the cupboard of stored herbs and concoctions.
Her weight was almost nothing to him and he lifted her from the kneeling position by Gavin and helped her to a nearby chair. Her face was now pale and her eyes were glassy. This all looked familiar but he couldn't place where he'd seen this before. He pushed the hair back from her face and tried to get her attention. She clasped her right arm tightly to her chest and rocked to and fro as he watched, completely mystified by what he'd seen.
"Can ye walk, lass?" Moira handed a mug to Caitlin and she drank down the contents without ever asking what it was. It was apparent that this was a common occurrence to them. He was the only one in the dark about it.
"Aye, Mam, wi' some help."
"Douglas, if ye will support her from that side, we can help her into her pallet."
He did so, but released his hold when she moaned in pain. "Dinna touch her arm, Douglas, hold her under it." He slid his hand down to her waist and guided her toward the small bed in the alcove where she slept. Then, watching more like a helpless man than an experienced caregiver, he watched as Moira settled her daughter down to sleep.
He was following Moira back to the main area of the cottage when Caitlin's whisper reached him.
"I didna think ye would be back so soon, Douglas. I thought I haid more time...."
"For what, Caitlin?" he asked, running his hands through his hair. Puzzled at why she would want him gone, he repeated his question again. "Had more time for what?"
"The healing." But it was Moira who'd answered his question from across the room.
"But we were done our work on his arm...." Then it hit him.
The healing.
Chapter 20
His own hands shook as he unwound the recently placed bandage from the boy's arm. Not quite sure what he'd find, he held his breath. He didn't believe that Caitlin could heal with her touch but he also couldn't begin to explain what he'd witnessed a few minutes before. How could he shatter her belief in herself? What could he say?
Moira watched from across the room with those eyes that saw everything and knew even more. She believed in her daughter's abilities to heal. What would she say when this sham was exposed?
The last layer of linen came loose from the still-moist ointment and Gavin's arm lay before him.
Unmarked.
No swelling.
No sign of the surgery that he and Caitlin had performed.
Not willing to accept what his eyes saw, he lifted the boy's arm and turned it, examining it closely. Douglas searched for the marks of the scalpel and needle, for the tear in the skin over six inches long from the rock.
Nothing. The skin was as flawless as the day the child was born, soft and unscarred.
And he knew he must be losing his mind. He'd accepted many things, very strange things, in the last month but this stretched him more taunt than he could stand.
Douglas squeezed the area where the break had been, applying a moderate amount of pressure and waiting for the boy to rouse due to the pain. His breathing hitched once or twice but he never stirred. How could this be? How?
"'Tis her gift, Douglas, as I tried to tell ye afore."
Damn her! Moira read the question in his mind again. Well, he must have been here too long for he was actually beginning to accept all manner of paranormal experiences. Or this was a bad dream and he would awaken from it soon, feeling tired but none the worse for wear.
He closed his eyes and shook his head, not quite sure if he wanted it all to disappear or not. The cottage was the same when he opened them again—the boy lay sleeping in front of him and Moira stood across from him. Caitlin was still on her pallet recovering from whatever she'd done.
"You told me she was a healer."
"And, because ye were unwilling to accept my words on their face, ye took a different meaning from mine." Gesturing toward the worktable, Moira continued, "Ye thought I was talking about her gift as an herbalist. Ye hiv refused to see the rest of it."
"But, it doesn't work that way. Healing with the touch of a hand is impossible." His organized, thoroughly modern mind rebelled at the thought of something more than medicines and treatments.
"Impossible as traveling through time, Douglas?"
He was completely overwhelmed. Of course it was. Impossible. Shaking his head, he dragged his hands through his hair and held his head. What could he do? How could he survive in this bizarre place with its strange powers and gifts? How could he fit in at all?
"Yes. I mean no. Oh, I don't know what I mean!" Douglas moved away from the boy and strode to the door. He needed some fresh air, the room suddenly felt too close for him. Grabbing his cloak, he pulled open the door and escaped. And it did feel like an escape.
The wind whipped his cloak around him and slapped his now-long hair against his face. He walked unseeing down one path and then another. Not knowing, not caring where he headed, Douglas soon found himself in that place where he'd stopped the first day he was here. On the edge of a fairy-tale village, he stood in awe once more as the reality of the people and the place hit him.
Dear God!
He really was here and that young woman in the cottage back there healed people with her touch!
And all of his work over the last weeks had been worthless. Caitlin wasted his time and hers trying to show him how to get back to being a healer, someone who treated a patient and not a disease. He'd started caring again, about what he did, how he did it and those on the receiving end of his work. Caitlin, who had given him back his soul, had now taken it from him. Why bother learning about which herbs to use when she could place her hand on an injury and make it go away?
Wait a minute. Faced with the incredible ability to heal someone without medical intervention, he was feeling sorry for himself? He'd never felt so stupid and selfish in his life as he did at this moment. A young woman who defied all his knowledge and used her gift for others and he was worried about his wasted time?
If Mairi could see him now, she would tear him up one side and down the other. He'd really lost his soul in these last few years. In order to protect himself from the death and disease he treated, Douglas had built a wall around himself, around his soul. And he'd lost track of the reason he'd become a physician in the first place. He'd lived for the money and the respect and the good life medicine provided for him.
How could he face Caitlin? She lay suffering herself now from the effects of sharing the healing energy with anyone who needed it. Her only goal was to help others. And wasn't that why he'd entered medicine?
As he stood on the edge of that village, realizing his insignificance in this time, he shook from head to toe. And it was not the cold causing the ripples that went through him. It was fear. He feared not knowing his own place in this world... or in his own.
* * * *
"You frightened me."
She'd just opened her eyes when he sat down next to her on the low pallet. Trying to sit up and failing, she stayed where she was. Carefully, she tested her arm to see if the pain had passed yet. Feeling nothing but a bit of stiffness probably from holding it so tightly against her, she stretched it out above her. Douglas's grasp startled her.
He took her hand in his and waited for the same thing she did. When the pulsing began, he rubbed up and down on her arm, massaging it, loosening up the muscles. After a few minutes, her arm felt so warm and comfortable that she hesitated to reclaim it. She dared to look at him as he worked. She'd seen his face for a moment when she came to after healing Gavin and wasn't sure she wanted to face him. Or his disbelief... or his questions.
"How did I frighten ye, Douglas?" He pulled on the hand he still held and helped her to her feet. She wobbled a bit in those first few moments but then felt much steadier on her feet. She let him guide her to the bench next to the table.
"I thought you were having some type of seizure when I came back in. Your eyes were empty and staring but you didn't see me."
"I thought ye would be gone for some time."
"So, you were trying to deceive me?" He crossed his arms and stood before her. His face was grim and she could see him clenching his jaws even from her seat.
"Nay, Douglas, no' trying to deceive ye but to avoid—"
"Avoid telling me the truth about you?"
"A truth ye werena willing to accept about me." She heard his scoffing words before and her heart hurt with each one he uttered.
"You're right, of course. I couldn't accept your truth. It defies everything I know and believe. Or should I say don't believe?" Douglas reached to the table and slid a mug over to her. "Your mother will have my head if you don't drink this before trying to go anywhere."
Taking refuge in the silent act of drinking the mixture that her mother had left for her, Caitlin dared a peek at his face. He didn't look angry; stunned was a better description of his expression. Poor man. After everything else he was again faced with something out of his realm of knowledge and experience. He had no faith in himself so he had no faith in anything else.
Now, after trying to help him find his faith in himself by finding the healer hiding deep within, she'd failed. He thought that belief in her gift wiped out anything he could accomplish through the use of his own healing skills. He was wrong, of course, but how could she tell him... show him?
"Douglas, I hiv always held back using my gift unless the time was right. Mam said it should be used only when our herbs and other healing ways didna work or when the person's life was in danger."
"Gavin was in no danger. He would be in pain but his life was not threatened." His jaw was clenching again. This was not going well.
"Ye hiv the right of it, Douglas. Gavin would suffer from some pain and a bit of bruised pride, but no lasting damage." She paused and patted the bench next to her for him to sit. It was difficult to explain this with his standing over her like a guard. He looked at her and hesitated. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and sat down. "I waited too long with Mildread. Her bleeding seemed gone so I didna use my gift on her. By the time I reached her that day, I was too late to do anything."
Her throat tightened and tears threatened. "I decided to not wait anymore, to try to use the gift anytime someone was in need, no matter..." She hesitated.
"No matter what?" he asked.
"No matter the cost to me. Saving someone else is worth the pain and exhaustion it causes me."
"Does this pain and exhaustion come every time you use your gift?"
"Aye, but it varies as to the task involved. A more serious ailment or injury takes more of my strength and more time to recover." She could feel her mother's brew taking effect—her head felt much clearer and her arm pained her no longer.
"So, when you did this to me..." His face paled as he realized that she had touched him in this way and suffered for it. "I'm not sure what to say to you? Thank you doesn't seem enough."
"Ye dinna hiv to thank me, Douglas. The gift is to be used. That's why I hiv it."
He stood and walked toward the hearth. Pacing back and forth a few times, he kept glancing at her and then away. Again and again, words seemed on the tip of his tongue but wouldn't come.
"What do ye wish to ask me?" The clan was used to her using the healing touch but it must be a great shock to someone who just a bit ago would never have admitted to the existence of such a gift.
"So, you choose whom you heal?" His eyes were the color of midnight now, so dark and intense as he tried to understand the way of it.
"Aye and nay. Like my maither and her gift of sight, I feel a call when 'tis time."
"A call? Did you have this when you healed me?" He was still trying to be open to this, she could feel his struggle.
"Aye. Ye were doing just fine with the herbs. Yer fever was lessening and Mam had repaired the gash on yer head." He nodded at her words. "Then ye began to fail. Ye fell deeper and deeper into that unhealthy sleep and I kenned that I must do something right then to call ye back."
"I heard you!" She'd thought he'd lost all his color before but now he was truly ghostly. "Through the flames. In the dream, I heard your voice calling my name. How?"
"I amna certain how it works, only that I clear my mind and think about the healing. I place my hands on the injury if there is one and speak to the person." Some of this was not clear even to her; when she began the healing, she lost all touch with the world. She saw and heard only the person she laid hands on.
"You didn't speak when you healed Gavin," he pointed out to her. His eyes showed his confusion. He stayed on the other side of the room as though not sure of her.
"I called to him." He shook his head in disagreement.
"Aye, lass, but ye speak only in yer thoughts and no' with yer voice."
"Mam." Caitlin stood to face her mother. "I'm trying to explain to Douglas about the healing."
"I ken, daughter, but is he ready to hear ye?"
"Ready as some and no' as ready as others, Mam," she answered as both she and her mother looked at him.
"Did you feel the call to heal Mildread?" he asked, his question bringing back memories of her friend's death.
"Nay, I didna feel it, Douglas, and so I hesitated too long."
"That's why you said her death was your fault?" He didn't wait for her answer, they both knew it was the reason. "But, can your gift work if you don't get that feeling, that pull?"
"I didna ken, the call has always been there when I've healed in the past." But she had not felt it for Mildread. Or Gavin. That's why she'd tried today with the boy. She hadn't used the gift since she healed Douglas and a part of her feared that it was gone. Caitlin had believed they were destined to be together and that her healing of him was the final step in that drawing together.
