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Well, who knew? Maybe the leeches could be a useful tool in reducing inflammation. “How are the children?” she asked.

“Well. Yer salve is a miracle. Their yellow crusts are getting smaller.”

“What salve?” Bhatair asked.

“Well, just honey, garlic, and bear fat,” Jenny said. “And it wasn’t mine. It was Mhairi’s. I just suggested to use something that helped to keep infection…um, rot-wound away.”

“Hmm,” Bhatair said, looking doubtful.

He didn’t say it was a good idea, but he also didn’t chastise her and try to humiliate her.

As she removed the knife from the fire and put into a clean basket on a clean cloth, she struggled to remember what little knowledge she had about other herbal antibiotics. She didn’t know much about herbal medicine, but she had an expert here that did.

“What else do you use against rot, Bhatair?” she asked. “What is available on Islay?”

“What ye mentioned,” he said. “’Tis what’s available.”

“Right. What about the chamomile oil that you’re making now? What do you use it for?”

Bhatair shrugged. “Joint pain. Red skin. Painful gas. Indigestion.”

She cleaned another knife in water and put it into the fire.

“What about cough? What helps with dry cough?”

“Licorice root. Garlic. Honey.”

She was almost shaking when she was brave enough to ask the questions she’d been dying to ask. “May I take those things and go with you to check on Una and Ailis? Please? I am worried about them.”

Bhatair held her in his gaze for a long time. “Nae. Ye may help with cleaning, but dinna go near my patients.”

CHAPTER 15

Jenny stared at the heavy wooden door of Ailis’s house, which was down the bailey and closer to the curtain wall.

Bhatair had just told her not to go near his patents. But Jenny was a doctor, and if someone needed her, she’d be there for them. Even if Bhatair would spit fire at her later.

She pulled open the door and entered. Inside, a dying fire played in the hearth. There was a large bed in the other corner of the room. A single small window cast light on a kitchen that consisted of one table, a sack of what looked like flour, and a basket of vegetables. A cauldron stood on the table. Jenny wondered if the poor woman had any strength to cook at all. And yet, the cauldron steamed with something appetizing. Maybe a neighbor or family member helped her.

Ailis sat on the bed, Una in her arms.

“May I come in?” Jenny asked.

Ailis gave her a long, empty look. “Ye… I had hoped ye might come. Nothing Bhatair did helped.”

Concern mixed with hope twinged in Jenny’s chest. “Is it all right if I look at Una?” Jenny asked.

“Aye,” Ailis said.

Jenny took the baby in her arms and her stomach churned. She was a very pretty little girl, but she was not all right. She was sleeping now. Her skin looked ashen, her lips were chapped, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Long red eyelashes cast shadows on her red cheeks.

“She looks dehydrated again,” said Jenny. “Has she been nursing?”

“Nae, she refuses to take the breast, poor”—cough—“wee thing. I’ve been throwing my milk. Have been so full, I couldna take it nae more.”

“Right. Maybe she has no strength to nurse. And plus, she has no appetite because of her fever and her illness. She must have terrible throat pain, and it probably hurts to swallow. I see it often with babies. First thing we need to do is to rehydrate her urgently.” Jenny went to the kitchen area and saw a clean, clay bowl. Still holding Una, she carefully picked up the bowl and brought it to Ailis. “Can you express your milk in here? But we won’t throw it away. We need to spoon-feed it to Una.”

“Aye.”