I jammed my foot into the threshold. “I’m not asking permission,” I growled. I shouldered my way inside and laid Laurel on one of the beds.
The physician stared at me, mouth open. “Didn’t you hear me?” His voice had a singsong quality, though at the moment it came out closer to a squeak. “I don’t treat people from Sherwood Forest. Get out.”
I crossed the room in two long strides then fluidly grabbed him by the front of his tunic, lifted him bodily into the air, and pinned him against the wall. His eyes bulged. His mouth flapped open and closed, and his feet pedaled helplessly above the floor.
“You will treat this woman to the best of your ability,” I snarled, “or I will make you regret refusing.” So much for resolving not to intimidate people.
His eyes darted toward Laurel and back to me.
“I’m the Sheriff of Nottingham,” I spat. “You will treat her immediately, or I’ll have you arrested here and now. And you will speak of this to no one. Understood?”
His head bobbed up and down. I set him back on the ground, and he scuttled toward Laurel.
Laurel stirred as he approached, her eyes barely opening. The physician tried to get her to move her arms and legs, but she could only manage the faintest twitch when asked. Her face was flushed with fever, and sweat dampened her hairline.
The physician inspected her, gently prodding here and there. “Hmm,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Thereisan infection,” he said, slipping back into his singsong voice, “but that’s easily remedied.”
Relief swept through me so quickly my knees nearly weakened. An easy remedy. Sybil had been wrong, after all. She hadn’t known what she was talking about. She had been ready to let Laurel die because she didn’t know enough to save her. I caught Laurel’s eye and nodded encouragingly.
“Can you do it now?” Laurel asked. Her voice was parched, and every word seemed to cost her an immense effort.
“Why, certainly. Certainly, I can,” the physician answered. Then, with a quick glance at me, he added, “my dear lady.”
He scurried to a corner and picked up a large kit. The tension began to drain from my shoulders and neck. It would all be over soon. Laurel would be fine. She would recover, and she would call me a mother hen, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life being mocked by her if it meant she was alive to do it.
“Now don’t look, my dear,” the physician said in a calm, comforting tone. “Don’t look.”
Laurel turned her head away but I watched as the physician opened his kit. Inside were scalpels, tubes, and a large jar full of leeches. The physician took hold of a scalpel in one hand and reached for Laurel’s arm with the other.
“Wait just a minute,” I thundered, knocking the scalpel from his hand.
Unfortunately, it was not only the scalpel that went flying. The physician did too. I hadn’t intended to strike with that much force, but he crumpled to the ground all the same. The scalpel skittered across the stone floor with a sharp metallic ringing.
“Sir,” the physician shouted from where he lay spread across the floor. “I must ask you to restrain yourself.”
“What do you think you were doing?” I roared.
“It is customary to bleed the infection out of the patient.”
“She’ll die if you do that.” How could anyone think losing more blood would help her? Only days ago, Laurel had nearly died because she had lost too much already. She had no blood to spare. Couldn’t the fool see how pale she was? Couldn’t he see how little strength she had left?
“No, she’ll die if we don’t get the infection out,” the physician retorted. His singsong tone vanished, replaced by something harsher and uglier. “This is why I hate treating people from Sherwood Forest. All of you want help, but none of you like my methods.”
I pointed at him, and he curled into a protective ball. “Do not take blood from her,” I warned. His eyes darted around the room as if looking for a way to escape.
“Baron.” Laurel’s weak voice came from behind me. I dropped beside her at once and clutched her hot hand. The fever Sybil had predicted was raging so Laurel’s skin burned against mine.
“Maybe he knows best,” she whispered.
“No.”
“Baron…”
“There has to be another way.”
Her eyes looked glassy. “I don’t think there is. I don’t have long.”
I turned back to the physician, still cowering on the ground. “What other options are there?”
