“Aye. Each clan maintains a fund to pay for healers and banfasas, bards, soulweavers, blademages—all those—and for things like communal houses, Gathering supplies. Whatever is needed for the well-being of the Daonain in the territory.” He grinned. “Calum is considering subsidizing a hacker and document forger.”
“I should have gotten real money,” she repeated, refusing to be sidetracked.
“Aye, banfasa, you should have.” Donal shook his head. “At one time, Pete wasn’t a bad Cosantir, but he’s grown short-sighted and penurious. I don’t think he spends money on himself—just piles it into the bank.”
“Older folk do that sometimes when they start losing control of their lives and fear for the future.” Margery eyed the tidy, well-maintained houses on the block. Like a house, a clan required constant upkeep. Fixing things. Investing in preventative care. “Pete’s territory isn’t doing well. Can’t Calum do something about that?”
“No. Cosantirs are limited to their own territory. If the Rainier clan wants change—or for the God to call a different Cosantir—they’ll have to bestir themselves. The shifters in that territory could fix things if they got their paws moving.”
They weren’t moving. They just did what Pete wanted. She looked down at her hands. “They made me feel like I wasn’t worth paying. But it was a trick. I heard Roger and his beta say the lack of money would keep me from leaving.”
“That’s a vile thing to do to anyone, especially someone putting her life back together after being a captive.”
His anger at how she’d been treated was…heartening. Wonderful. She found a smile. “Thanks to Heather, I did manage to leave.”
“She’s a feisty wolf.” Donal took Margery’s hand.
Touching. He was touching her. His fingers were lean, the warmth seeping into her skin, making her aware of the rest of his body, of—
She shook her head. Focus, female.
“Speaking of your leaving Rainier Territory…” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but if ’twere me, I’d want to know.”
This what? The way his mouth turned down in a sour grimace was a warning, and she braced herself. “You’d better tell me, then.”
“At the Gathering last moon, I talked with two shifters from Ailill Ridge and was told you were…” He paused, considered, then said simply, “Basically that you weren’t a good banfasa.”
“What?” Although Pete and others had whined that she wasn’t a healer, only a banfasa, they’d never complained about her skill.
Anger roused like a wakening bear, and her words came out clipped. “I worked with my Grandmama from the time I could walk—and in those years, I met a lot of banfasas who visited her. Not to sound conceited, but I am a good banfasa. A very good one. The years picking up human techniques only made me better.”
“I’d agree, just from the little I’ve seen.” He leaned back.
“So why would they come here and lie about me?” The ugliness that was Rainier Territory swept over her like dirty floodwaters. “Why?”
“I’m guessing it was to prevent your finding work elsewhere. To force you to return to Ailill Ridge.”
By the Gods’ forests and hills.
Unable to sit with the rage inside her, she rose and paced up and down the porch, stomping hard enough the wood reverberated like a drum under her feet.
“Wait…” Stopping, she pointed at the healer. “That’s why you were rude to me. Why you told Calum you didn’t need help.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression rueful. “I was wrong to believe what they said without checking for myself. I’m sorry, lass.”
The sincerity in his tone dispelled much of her anger. Although she’d like to slap the shifters—no, Pete—because he would have been the one to come up with the idea.
She stood still, letting her fury recede.
Watching her quietly, Donal patted the chair beside him.
With a sigh, she resumed her seat. “I guess there’s nothing I can do. Protesting isn’t highly effective against something like slander.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to deal with this myself.” His eyes, more gray than silver, held the cold wrath of an approaching blizzard. “Since I was the one lied to and heard exactly what they said.”
“That doesn’t seem fair to—”
“I’m a werecat.” The curve of his lips was almost cruel. “And I do so enjoy playing with my prey.”
“Ah, uh-huh. Sure.” Lesson one in survival: annoying this healer would be bad for a person’s health. “Um, thank you?”