Devil of Kilmartin Read Online Free Page A

deny him anything, yet she had denied him relief from his affliction, even when he had defended her.
    And what was the source of her effect? Rumor held that the Lamont healer used aught but her touch to heal even the mightiest of wounds. Could this bedraggled lass be that healer? Nay. Since before he was born stories had filtered through the glen of the wondrous skills of the Lamont healer. And while he couldn’t discern her true age, she was not as old as his score and five he was sure.
    She could be daughter to the healer, or apprentice. But it made no sense that her clan would hunt her like a criminal if she possessed this skill.
    He almost woke her, demanding she prove her abilities and work whatever magic she possessed to halt the next round of debilitating madness. But she had only eased the effects before, and then only briefly, while they touched. Could she do aught against the full force of his madness?
    He took a deep breath, calming his seething emotions, trying to think through the possibilities the lass presented. If his suspicion was true, she owed him the use of her skills. He had saved her from her hunter; it was only right she would repay him in the way that would serve him best.
    Of course, once before a healer had tried to help him, but she had quickly declared him beyond hope and hied off with a passing tinker. If this woman was the Lamont healer, would she do the same? Would she put an end to any hope for reprieve? Nay, if she did prove to be the fabled healer, she would heal him. He would make sure of it.
    Symon rode on, lost in his thoughts, the lass sleepingagainst his back. The full moon was sinking quickly behind the bens. The pale light would be gone soon, and they would have to stop until daylight.
    All at once his companion jerked awake, nearly tumbling from the horse’s back. Symon whipped his arm behind him, steadying her with his hand on her back, pressing her to him.
    Symon stiffened, prepared for abuse from her lips at the forced contact. Instead she gripped him tightly about the waist and buried her face against his back, bringing the full force of peace and clarity with her.
    “I will not. I cannot,” she pleaded. “I cannot.”
    Awkwardly Symon took his hand from her back and rested it on her arm that was firmly clasped about him. His large, rough hand covered her smooth one. Quietly he reveled in the effect she had on him. “Shh, lass. ’Tis only a dream.”
    “A dream?” She snuggled against his back, sharing her warmth with him as if he were her lover there to comfort her. A tendril of her hair lifted on the breeze and tickled his cheek. Her scent, a curious spicy fragrance like rare cinnamon mixed with smoke, filled his senses. He felt comforted himself.
    He waited for her withdrawal, but it did not come. He stroked her long fingers with his own, allowing himself a boon he had not known for too long—the simple comfort of another human’s touch.
    He did not want to stop the incredible flow of balm coming from her, but he also knew they must find a place to stop soon, before the moon set and they were left in complete darkness. They rode over a knoll, Elena still snuggled against his back. Symon knew a silly, satisfiedsmile adorned his face, but he didn’t care. The lass had given him in sleep what she refused when awake. As they rounded a bend in the path they followed, the trees opened up onto a clearing.
    Symon stopped the horse and swore.
    He recognized the small thatched cottage that sat in the middle of the clearing just as the moon disappeared behind the bens.
     
    E lena woke slowly, pleasantly aware of the firm back she rested against and the heat radiating from it. She burrowed closer, holding tight where her arms wrapped about his waist, enjoying the quiet sounds of the horse moving through the forest. She was just drifting back into a peaceful sleep when the horse abruptly stopped. She blinked, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes, but the moon was nearly gone,