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I pick up the poultice and make my way to Gram. I light the candle on the bedside table and gently pull up a chair beside her. Her nightdress is already opened. She says it eases her breathing, no matter the nip in the air. I set the poultice beside the candle and cup my hands to my mouth, blowing warmth into them. I do not wish to touch Gram with cold hands. She’s resting so peacefully that I hate to touch her, to disturb her sleep in any way. But she needs the poultice, so I set to work.
In little time, I have the poultice rubbed into the deep crevices of Grams chest and neck. Hopefully my efforts will make it easier for her to breathe this night and ward off the dreadful coughing. I recline in the chair for a moment, taking a fortifying breath. I watch Gram’s chest rise and fall. I study her hands that are resting on her middle, one on top of the other. I recall the lives she’s saved with those faithful hands, the medicines she’s mixed, the healing elixirs by the hundreds. I place my own hand on hers. They are the same, minus the age lines and dark splotches. She rouses a little and I pull away. It is not my intention to wake her. She stirs when I stand, her eyes blinking furiously.
“Will…” Gram mumbles. “Will…”
“Will, what? What is it, Gram? I will do anything you ask of me. What do you require?”
But her eyes close again, gentle snoring filling the room once more. I blow out the candle and creep back into the kitchen. I’ll pray for her healing for the dozenth time, and hope the gods be merciful.
CHAPTER 11
The smell of the bakery is nearly my favorite thing in the world. Jordy’s mother is hard at work, taking the last of the yeast bread from the wood stoves and refilling the water barrel she uses to soak her aprons.
“Would you care for some assistance, Mistress Orwan?”
“Nonsense, sweet Milla. Sit. Eat. You can’t tell me that you would refuse sweet bread.” She sets a plate in front of me. “Eat, child.”
I tear away a piece of the sweet bread she offers and plop it in my mouth, closing my eyes to savor the bite.
“Is it to your liking, Milla?” she asks. “I made it fresh this morning.”
“It is absolutely sinful, Mistress Orwan,” I reply. “I shouldn’t be eating it. Gram and I broke our fast before I left out this morning. But I can’t resist sweet bread. If I worked in the bakery, I would weigh fifteen stone.”
“Well, Lady Orwan used to be a wee bit smaller than she is now as well, if I recall.” Master Orwan grins like the goat who ate the rosebush.
“Oh, poo poo on you, you old troll. I am the same size I was on the very day we met,” Mistress Orwan blurts, but she’s smiling, nevertheless. She leans close to my ear. “I taught my Jordy better manners than his father, to be sure.”
I hide a smile with the back of my hand and finish my bread.
Jordy joins us when he finishes in the stock room, taking a piece of the sweet bread for himself and placing a kiss on my cheek. “I’ve missed you, my lady. How is your gram faring? Father said her nights have been very disagreeable. It saddens me to hear of it.”
“Her fever has broken, but the cough persists. She has taken to her bed these last two morrows, but plans to rise when I return from market. She is as stubborn as a mule and strong as an ox.”
“All fine qualities, Milla,” Mistress Orwan reminds me. Her tone is soft and reassuring. “Never fault her for her stubbornness. It’s the very thing that keeps her going.”
I know her claim is true, and it elicits a smile. “Well, but at times she can be—”
My words are interrupted by trumpet blasts. My heart thumps in my chest.By the gods! Could itbe?
“That can’t be coming from the gallows,” Master Orwan says when the trumpets silence. “There are no wretches awaiting a hanging, aye, Jordy?”
“None that I know of,” he replies. “It would have to be a murderer, or a blasphemer—”
“Or a traitor to the crown,” I say matter-of-factly.
Jordy’s head jerks towards me. I raise an eyebrow, realization hitting him like a balled fist.
“Shall we go to the gallows and see?” Mistress Orwan asks. She looks out the bakery door. “Others are already walking in that direction.”
We all start for the door. Jordy takes my hand, giving it a light squeeze. I make a face he wasn’t meant to see.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
I whisper into his ear, “What if it’s him, the knight from the forest?”
Jordy is firm. “It could be. He was in direct defiance of the king, after all, and not exactly quiet with his speech. Anyone could have heard his treachery and informed the king.”
I nod and we keep moving.
