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Those words proved true since Trey’s fever climbed again, and Mara and Tara were quick to react. Though this time Reeve went and fetched the buckets of snow.
By sunrise, Trey was resting, but Tara didn’t like the look of one wound, and she feared that poison had already set in. As the day went on and the fever continued to rise and fall and Trey remained in slumber, she feared the worst.
“We’ve done all we can,” Tara said to Mara, as they watched over Trey.
Mara brushed her son’s auburn hair back away from his face. “I won’t let him die. There must be something else we can do.”
“There might be,” Mercy said from the open door.
“Tell me,” Mara was quick to demand.
Tara was pleased to see that Mercy looked much better, her cheeks full with color as she approached them.
“Bliss could possibly help,” Mercy said. “She is a Pict woman who helped heal me when I was shackled to Duncan after I had been struck with an arrow.”
“She is a healer?” Mara asked anxiously.
“As Bliss once explained to me, she is not a healer and yet she heals.”
“She is a witch?” Mara asked nervously.
“No,” Mercy said, shaking her head. “She is a remarkable woman. You would like her.”
“It matters not,” Mara said obstinately. “If she can help my son, then she is welcome here.”
“I’ll go ask Roan if he can bring Bliss here,” Mercy suggested.
“I’ll go with you,” Mara said, and looked to Tara.
“Go,” Tara urged.
“I won’t be long,” Mara assured, and hurried out with Mercy.
Reeve entered shortly after the two women left. He was shaking his head. “I could barely understand mum, something about getting a witch to help Trey?”
“No, a healer of sorts,” Tara clarified.
“If she thinks it will help,” Reeve said. “Duncan and Mercy will be replacing you soon, so that you can join me in a meal.”
Tara smiled and was ready to tell him she was starving when she looked to Trey first and saw his eyes open wide.
“Reeve,” she said, standing and waving him to the bed.
Once he saw his brother’s eyes open, he rushed to his side. “I’m here, Trey. You’re safe.”
Trey’s eyes darted past Reeve to settle on Tara. They spread wide, and he raised his hand and pointed his finger at her and in a bare whisper before once again closing his eyes, he said, “Death.”
Tara collapsed to the chair, her skin rising in gooseflesh.
“He doesn’t know what he says,” Reeve said.
But Tara wondered if perhaps he had learned something about her, perhaps he had known she was a death bride and in his pain tried to warn his family.
“He doesn’t know what he says,” Reeve insisted again.
They had no time to argue. Mercy appeared at the door.
“Hurry,” she said breathless. “Willow has brought Jacob. He is seriously ill.”
