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Giric still lived. “I am finished here and could fetch the healer for you.”
    He grimaced as he mulled the idea. “ ’Tis my responsibility.”
    â€œIndeed, but I have seen you about the castle. You are kept busy.”
    â€œAye,” he said as if pondering the validity of having another do the task. “The cook is always wanting something, and I still have to chop wild onions and mushrooms for the stew and haul wood for the cook’s fire.”
    She smiled. “Let me do this for you.”
    Malcolm hesitated, then nodded. “ ’Twill give me a few extra minutes to gather some meat from the larder. It would nae be like I was shirking my duties.”
    â€œI did ask,” she assured him, finding herself won over by his indecision, remembering herself at his tender age.
    He eyed her a moment. “I doubt Ihon would ever know.”
    â€œNae from my lips.”
    A smile touched his mouth, and his blush deepened. “My thanks.”
    Elizabet nodded. “You are welcome.”
    After giving her instructions on how to reach to the healer’s hut, Malcolm turned as if to leave, then hesitated.
    â€œWas there something else?” she asked.
    He shuffled his feet then drew in a deep breath. “After you learn how to fight . . . I mean, one day when you are a knight . . . Could you . . .”
    She smiled. “When Sir Nicholas teaches me to handle a sword and once I am proficient, I will train you.”
    His eyes widened. The respect in his gaze grew. “Th—Thank you. You will nae regret your offer.” A smile pasted on his face, he darted toward the keep.
    With a sigh she watched him go. Perhaps she could train him with a sword, but nae here. Neither could she let on that she already knew how to wield a blade.
    Setting aside her brush, Elizabet picked up a bucket and walked to the well. Before the round crafted rock, she looked down. A bottomless vat of inky blackness swam before her. Her fear of the dark, of confined spaces, swept over her. Shaken, she shoved aside the horrific event of her past, filled the bucket, and hauled it to the horse.
    She glanced toward the still-darkened corner where mayhap a fairy indeed had listened to her plea. She smiled. ’Twould seem an opportunity to gain entrance into the dungeons had been delivered after all.

CHAPTER 6
    T he pungent aroma of sage stood out among the numerous scents as Elizabet stepped inside the healer’s hut. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling on forged hooks like a ragged, storm-fed sky. The musty green leaves of sage billowed amidst the faded white flowers of catmint, then entwined with the spiraled tendrils of mandrake and sheaths of horsetail to blend in with a rich myriad of many other herbs.
    On an old, roughly crafted table, a ceramic bowl sat on its side, yellowed from use over time. Alongside lay a pestle chiseled from stone. Small ceramic pots, some open and several sealed with wax, sat nearby. In the corner by the hearth, a thick wool spread, void of design, draped over the small, narrow bed of straw shoved against the wall.
    â€œHello?” Elizabet called.
    â€œI will be right there,” an old woman replied from the back.
    Elizabet peered toward the sound. In the far corner, kneeling between dense bundles of herbs, an elderly woman was bent over a basket. Curious, she crossed the room then watched as the healer plucked dried peppermint leaves at a brisk rate.
    â€œI told you I would be right there,” the woman said without turning, irritation sliding through her voice.
    â€œI am sorry.”
    The old woman glanced back. Shrewd brown eyes canopied by flesh and time studied her without apology. With a humph, she returned to her task. She pulled several more leaves from the stem. “I have never seen the likes of you before.”
    â€œ ’Tis my second day at Ravenmoor Castle.”
    The healer tossed the stripped branch of peppermint into a growing