to punish me.’ She was tight-lipped.
‘Broichan?’ Gemma stared at her, shocked.
Brid looked up, her face hard. ‘Broichan. Enough. I will make Gartnait better. He is hurting.’ She glanced up at Adam. ‘I will make my brother sleep while we clean the wound.’
He did not stop to ask her how. ‘Shall I fetch some water?’
She nodded. ‘Good. And moss. From the wood box under the lamp.’
‘Moss?’ He hesitated at the word but she was already cutting away her brother’s shirt with the small knife she carried in her girdle.
Adam filled a leather bucket with cold water from the burn and found the moss as she had predicted in a small chest in the hut below a bronze candlestick. Also in the box were some small pots of ointment. He sniffed them cautiously and decided to take them all.
Brid nodded approval when he put his finds beside her. Gartnait was lying before her quietly, his face relaxed, his eyes closed. Adam watched as with neat deft fingers Brid swabbed the deep bruised cut she had exposed over Gartnait’s collar bone and applied one of the ointments he had produced. Satisfied that it was properly cleansed and sealed she packed the wound with moss and while Adam held it in place deftly bandaged it with her own girdle.
She glanced up at Adam and gave a quick, worried smile of approval. ‘You make good healer.’
He smiled. ‘I want to be a doctor when I grow up.’
‘Doctor?’
‘Healer.’
She nodded. ‘Good. Now, Gartnait must come back.’ She put her palm flat over the unconscious young man’s forehead and sat quietly, her eyes closed.
Adam watched, intrigued. ‘What are you doing?’ he whispered at last.
She glanced up, surprised. ‘I put him to sleep so he could go away from the pain. He waited while we make it better. Now I go and tell him he can come back. The pain is not so bad, and it is better he come to home and we make him medicine to stop the hot time coming.’
‘The fever, we call it,’ Adam corrected her. He was impressed. He could see the young man’s eyelids fluttering beneath Brid’s commanding hand. It seemed to Adam only a matter of seconds before Gartnait was sitting up, staring round him groggily, and not long after that that they were making their way back towards the hut, Brid and Adam supporting him, one bent beneath each shoulder, Gemma hurrying ahead to stir up the fire and set a pot of water over the flames to heat.
Brid had, it seemed, a store of medicaments ready for just such an occasion. Adam watched as she brought a woven bag out of the hut and produced an array of small packages. Inside were numerous substances, most of which he guessed had dried herbs of various kinds.
A handful of this and a pinch of that were thrown into the steaming water. A bitter, strong smell began to flavour the air. Gartnait caught Adam’s eye and smiled wryly. ‘Will not taste like chocolate cake.’
Adam laughed. If the young man’s sense of humour had returned he was starting to mend, in spite of the startling pallor of his face and the purple bruise which was beginning to spread down his cheekbone.
To Adam’s relief the venison stew was placed back on the fire beside Brid’s medicine and, thanks to Gartnait’s sudden healthy hunger, it was not long before they were all eating bowls of it, sopped up with chunks of coarse bread torn from the loaf.
‘Brid?’ Only once her son was settled, his arm in a rough linen sling across his chest, did Gemma at last turn to her daughter. ‘What has Broichan to do with this business?’ Her eyes were sharp on her daughter’s face.
Brid scowled. ‘He threatened to hurt Gartnait.’
‘Why?’
‘He does not trust me. My power is too strong.’
Gemma stared at her for a moment, then she shook her head. ‘That is no answer, daughter.’
‘No.’ Brid stuck out her chin. ‘I have the power from you and from my father –’
‘Your father is dead!’ Gemma’s voice was hard. ‘His power was not strong enough, Brid. He was killed by the enemies of our people when he thought he was invincible. Nothing magic. A simple sword thrust in the dark from a raider, that was all it took to kill him.’ She could not hide her scorn as she leaned forward and put her hand on Gartnait’s forehead. ‘You will endanger us all by mocking Broichan. My brother is the most powerful Druid in the land and you would do well not to forget it. You are being conceited and foolish in challenging him. And you are selfish. You put this boy’s life at risk when you bring him here to our forbidden places.’
Adam had been following the conversation with great difficulty but as they all suddenly stared at him he looked away, embarrassed and frightened.
‘A-dam has power of his own!’ Brid retorted firmly. ‘He is a traveller between the worlds and he is a healer –’
‘He is not of our world, Brid.’ Gemma’s voice was very firm. ‘We will give him food, then he must go. Before Broichan returns. And you must appease your uncle. You have seen the strength of his magic –’
‘Mine is as strong –’
‘Not strong enough!’
Adam had never seen Gemma angry before. Sitting, hugging his knees by the fire, he watched uncertainly as the two women confronted each other, their antagonism mounting. The moment of silence was intense.
And in the silence no one saw the dark shadow of Broichan materialise out of the night. Their visitor arrived so silently and so swiftly there was no possibility of escape. He was standing over them before any of them realised it and Adam could only look up and meet the furious, pale-blue eyes of Brid’s uncle a few feet from him. His stomach knotted into a cold lump, and he felt the total paralysis of terror settle over him.
No one said anything for several seconds, then at last Gartnait put down his mug of ale and hauled himself painfully to his feet.
‘Greetings to you, my uncle,’ he said respectfully. Adam understood that much. What followed was wholly incomprehensible but Adam could follow the meaning of the gestures as clearly as though he understood every word. They did not bode well for him or for Brid.
Brid and Gemma were both very pale. They sat with downcast eyes and for all her earlier defiance, Adam could see that Brid’s hands, still clutched around her beautifully decorated goblet, were shaking visibly. The man’s voice grew louder. He appeared to be working himself into a furious rage.
Gartnait raised his chin. The young man’s meekness vanished in a torrent of angry words. His eyes, dark and flashing, met those of his uncle and he was gesturing first at Brid and then at Adam.
The shouting match ended with such suddenness that the silence that succeeded it was shocking in its intensity. Terrified, Adam glanced from one to the other. Brid and her mother were white-faced. Gartnait beneath his defiance also looked afraid. Adam’s blood seemed to have turned to ice. For a moment they all remained motionless, then Broichan stepped forward. For a long moment he stood over Adam, his eyes seeming to probe deep inside the boy’s head. Adam shrank back. He could feel the strength
