Chapter 1

"Tell me about my patient," Mary Gilly said.

"When we were boys, I called him Hammer," Brendan said, glancing over at her and then away as if afraid to witness her response to his words.

"Hammer?" Mary asked. "A rather fearsome name."

Brendan smiled, an appealing expression she'd thought when she'd first viewed it. Now, however, she was well aware that the man was actively attempting to charm her.

"As a boy he had a head as hard as iron. He used to butt me in the stomach whenever he didn't like what I had to say, which was most of the time. I started calling him Hammer then."

"I'm more interested in him as a man," she said.

"I no longer call him Hammer, of course. It would be foolish to call a man over thirty by his boyhood name. Yet I've been known to do something daft now and then." He glanced at her again, and Mary couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking that bringing her here was one of those foolish acts.

She was having the same doubts.

He was the brother of Alisdair MacRae of Gilmuir, a long-time customer of her husband's. Had it not been for the fact that she'd known Alisdair and his wife, Iseabal, a number of years, she wouldn't have considered leaving Inverness with Brendan. Now, however, she doubted the wisdom of that decision.

Mary stared straight ahead, deliberately concentrating on the mane between her horse's ears. She and her long-suffering mare were both feeling the effects of this journey. They'd been pelted by rains all day. At first, the roads were not only passable, but very good. In the afternoon, however, they'd turned off the main thoroughfare and were now following a meandering course beside the loch. This path was rutted and muddy, their pace slow to allow the full wagon behind them to catch up from time to time.

"Don't be surprised by his appearance, Angel."

She glanced at him, irritated. "Please, do not call me by that name."

"It's what everyone in Inverness calls you." There was that charming smile again.

"Not everyone," she countered.

"Enough."

"Just because people repeat something doesn't mean it's right or proper." She looked at him, willing him to understand. "I do not want you to think that I'm capable of miracles. I can't guarantee to help your brother," she said, compelled to offer him the truth. "His injuries may be too far advanced for my limited skills."

"He may be too far for anyone's," Brendan said glumly.

"It's been nearly a month since you've last seen him?" Another question trembled on her lips. Finally, she forced herself to speak it. "Are you certain he's still alive?"

"Of course he is." But his lips thinned, and his expression made her wonder if he were as optimistic as he sounded.

The farther west they traveled, the more barren and desolate the landscape became. To their left was the loch and beyond, the sea. On the right were stark mountains even now dusted with snow. The lowering skies tinted everything somber and gray, the color of sadness.

She smoothed her hand over the medicine case on the saddle in front of her. The case was a talisman of sorts, and her stroking a habit. The leather was worn smooth where her fingers had caressed it beneath the handle so many times before when she was nervous or simply waiting.

Patience was a requirement in healing, she'd discovered. She must wait for a patient to improve, for a medicine to work, for a fever to break. Sometimes, the outlook was good. At other times, it was not, and Death swooped in, black garbed and cackling, to steal the ill from her grasp.

Copyright © 2003 by Karen Ranney.