“I shall pay whatever fees are necessary.”
“I will fetch her.” Her dress rustled as she departed.
As the door closed, he dismissed the notion that woman might have recognized Marie. Her wariness came from dealing with unscrupulous patrons. On this side of town, nay doubt she dealt too often with a seedy lot. Colyne walked over to the bed and turned back the coverlet.
Marie moaned against his neck.
Worry rode him as he lay her upon the thinly covered straw mattress and pulled up the blanket. He pressed a kiss on her brow. “A healer is on the way.” As much as he wished to strip her of her clothes and add his body heat to hers, he couldna until after the healer left.
Marie coughed.
At her continued trembling, Colyne built a fire and then lay by her side and drew her against him. “Easy now, lass.” He combed away the wet hair clinging to her face. And with her every shiver, her every rough cough, his fear at her declining condition grew. Terrified, he closed his eyes.
And prayed.
The healer’s brow sagged into a haggard frown as she examined Marie. “How long has she been this weak?”
Colyne ignored the sharpness of her tone, thankful for her competence and the fact that she genuinely seemed to care. “Since this morning.”
He didna explain Marie’s bout with seasickness. Though he doubted the information would interest the healer, he wasna taking any chances of word reaching Renard’s knights of a man and a woman arriving by ship and staying at this inn.
As if able to read his mind, the healer’s eyes narrowed on him. “Has she been sick?”
Her cool stare fueled his unease. They were too far from the royal palace where someone would recognize the king’s bastard daughter. Their recent flight from the Kincaid prodded his suspicions.
“Her clothes are ill fitting,” the woman pressed at his silence.
“Aye, a few days past, but she had begun to recover. Then, this morning, while delivering goods to the docks, a fight broke out. My wife accidentally fell into the water.” A reasonable explanation for the smell of the sea on her garments, as well as their sodden state.
The healer grimaced. “See that she is kept warm and drinks plenty of water. I will leave herbs that should keep her from developing a fever and help her sleep.”
Marie appeared so fragile. “Will she live?” Colyne asked, unable to keep worry from trickling into his voice.
The woman studied him a long moment. “I am not sure.”
Fear balled in his chest, a keening so deep it tore through his heart. “I canna lose her. Please, if there is anything else you can do to help her . . .” He knew he sounded desperate, but he didna care.
“God and time will decide her fate.”
“Stay,” he all but demanded.
Tired lines marred the healer’s weathered brow. “I have done all I can and have others who need my attention.”
Colyne wanted to argue, order her to remain. In the end, he came to a compromise. “Can you return on the morrow?”
“I will. If a fever begins, I am to be sent for immediately. Ask the innkeeper; she will fetch me.” She eyed him with a shrewd look. “You will be staying with her?”
“Aye.”
“You are a Scot?” she asked with conversational ease as she reached over to the basket of herbs she’d brought and removed several pouches.
Wary, he hesitated. Within her gaze, he read bored interest. “We are here on business.”
“Your reasons are your own,” she said with a shrug. She measured a small amount of herbs and set them on a small platter. After loosening the pouch of another sack, she took a pinch of a white powder and sprinkled it atop the crushed leaves. With care, she mixed them. “Hold her head up while I give her these.”
He complied as she fed her patient the concoction, and then encouraged her to drink some water.
In her groggy state, Marie struggled to swallow, but finally, she finished the last of the herbs.
