“Niamh?”
Dallan turned to see a woman he didn’t recognize walking hurriedly into the infirmary, her harried gaze fixed on Niamh.
“Alva? What’s the matter?” Niamh rushed over to the woman, who quickly whispered something.
Dallan’s first instinct was to excuse himself, as Alva clearly desired a private word with Niamh. He stayed, however, because he still intended to see Niamh sent to rest. Instead of leaving, he turned toward the table, focusing his attention on the herbs laid out there as he finished his apple.
Several moments later, Alva left as swiftly as she’d arrived and Niamh returned to pick up another piece of salmon.
“Is she alright?”
“She’s run out of the infusion I made for her.” Niamh grabbed a leather bag with her free hand, peeking inside and frowning.
“And you don’t have what you need to make more for her?”
Niamh shook her head, her eyes taking on a faraway cast, her face even more pale than it had been.
“Can I take you to get more?”
“I doubt it,” she muttered, setting down the bag and the salmon. “I had to place a special order with the merchant, and it took him weeks to find the ingredients. I don’t know where I’d get them quickly enough to help her.” Now she began pacing before the table, one hand on her forehead.
“What are the ingredients?”
“Cinnamon and oranges,” she replied absently, her mind far afield.
Damn. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he’d hoped it was something he could help her find. It didn’t matter, though. He hated seeing her so upset, two days in a row now. “I’ll see what I can do, but only if you promise me you’ll rest.”
Niamh spun toward him. “You think you could find them?”
Dallan moved closer to her. “I don’t know, but I’ll do what I can to help. Don’t get too excited just yet.”
For the second time in as many days, Niamh threw herself into his arms. This time, however, it was so unexpected he had to take a step backwards to avoid falling. He had no idea what was wrong with Niamh’s friend, but if it was this important to her, Dallan would do everything he could to help.
After seeing Niamh’s struggles to keep the villagers alive and healthy, after realizing the toll it took on her, it was clear she needed a friend of her own.
Or, at the very least, a determined past lover who was prepared to look out for her.
Chapter Fourteen
Niamh’s world continuedto spin further and further off course. She felt as though she were living some strange, alternate life, where only the most unexpected things occurred.
First, Dallan had appeared, acting as though they were the best of friends with no bad blood between them. Had he truly forgiven her? He couldn’t have. Even she hadn’t forgiven herself for breaking his heart. Perhaps he still pitied her over the loss of Tadhg. No matter his motives, Dallan’s kindness toward her had breathed new life into her day.
Until Alva arrived.
Niamh’s stomach turned just thinking about it.
Alva had worked hard to keep from tearing up as she confided that her husband had sat down with her the night prior and told her he wanted to take a second wife. Alva recounted the heartbreaking conversation, beating herself up over her inability to give him any children at all. Niamh felt that pain as though it were her own. If things had gone differently, it could have been. Further proof that she’d made the right decision.
In spite of all of it, Alva was determined to give her husband a child. Except that she had run out of the infusion of cinnamon and bitter orange. She’d been using it regularly, and it hadn’t lasted as long as Niamh had expected.
Now, it all fell to Niamh.
And she wouldn’t let Alva down.
The trouble was that the merchant had been killed in the raid, and Niamh wasn’t allowed to leave the keep, let alone undertake some overland journey in search of rare ingredients for a woman who was otherwise in good health.
She shuffled again through the sparse selection of herbs and berries she’d managed to collect while foraging with Dallan. She needed to have him take her back out. They hadn’t even collected enough to hold over the village through the winter.
