The silence that followed stretched long enough that Edith thought he might refuse to answer. Then, he turned to face her again.
“There are some things in life that a man can never claim,” he said quietly, holding her gaze. “Like love he has to hold in silence because it is impossible. Love he can never speak of.”
The words were somber, nearly painful.
Understanding dawned slowly on Edith. “Oh, Martin…”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Aye.”
Edith lowered her eyes. “I see,” she said quietly.
The door creaked open. It was the cook.
Angus stepped inside, carrying himself with all the stubbornness of a man who was clearly unwell and determined to deny it. Martin straightened, walking to meet him halfway.
“Martin,” Angus announced, “I have come to inform ye that I am perfectly healthy.”
Martin sighed. “Wonderful.”
Angus swayed slightly, and Martin caught him by the arm before glancing toward Edith.
“Lady Edith,” he said calmly, a small smile touching his lips. “Yer patient has arrived.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was a classic case of denial.
Edith stood up, joining Martin as he helped Angus onto the bench, even as he swore himself capable of doing everything on his own.
“Lie still,” Martin instructed gently, wiping the sweat that had beaded along Angus’s hairline with a napkin.
Edith bit back a smile. It was interesting to see him like this, less brooding and more proactive. Or perhaps it was just the way he was as a healer, going out of his way to make a patient comfortable.
She moved to the table, collecting the tools she had laid out earlier. It was a small collection—a small bowl, a wet rag, a dry rag, and some herbs.
Her hands were steadier than she’d expected, given the nervous flutter that had taken over her entire body moments before Angus arrived.
Ye have prepared for this, Edith. Ye ken what to do.
“Lady Edith will examine ye today,” Martin announced, his voice carrying his usual calm authority. “Ye will answer her questions honestly.”
Angus eyed her warily. Of all the cooks in the kitchen, he was the least familiar with her. He was new in the castle and mostly kept to himself, assisting the older woman occasionally.
“Are ye certain she kens what she’s doing?” he asked.
Martin nodded. “Quite certain,” he said. “More than certain, in fact.”
Edith’s heart swelled with pride, though she kept her expression neutral as she stepped closer to her patient. She could not allow the praise to get to her before her actual performance, lest she make a mistake.
“Angus,” she said, “how long have ye been feeling unwell?”
“I am nae unwell,” Angus insisted, attempting to sit up on the bench.
He swayed, and Martin caught his shoulder, steadying him without comment.
Edith pressed her lips together. “I see,” she murmured. “How do ye feel?”
She listened carefully as he explained his symptoms, noting the things he tried to play off as though they were not a big deal. Afterward, she continued exactly as she had practiced, checking his pulse first with the same careful attention Martin had taught her.
