She tried to picture what he meant. “Is there a dragon on it?”
“When you see it, you shall know.”
The thoughts were whirling in Ailsa’s mind. Tate could almost see them. She was a lovely child and seemed sweet. He didn’t mind talking to her.
A pair of men ushered through the door with a large copper tub between them. A female servant, an old woman with white hair piled atop her head, directed them to set it down. She had the voice of a crow, screeching at the horse dung that one of the men had tracked on the floor. Behind her, several house servants followed with great buckets of water and began emptying them in the tub with great splashes.
Tate continued to swab Toby’s arms as Ailsa stood out of the way while the tub was filled. Stephen returned after a short time, leather satchel in hand, and ordered the fire in the hearth stoked. When he began to pull out his medicines, Ailsa could not resist standing next to him and watching curiously. It would seem she was intensely curious about everything.
Stephen ignored her for the most part but inevitably she began asking questions and he was obliged to respond. She wanted to know about everything and he patiently explained the willow bark, the crushed poppy, the foxglove extract and so forth. Soon, there was a fine brew rising in the small iron pot hanging deep in the hearth. With his ingredients cooking, Stephen went over to his patient.
“She is still burning,” Tate murmured so that Ailsa would not hear.
Stephen ran his hands across her forehead and opened each eye in turn. “She will not survive much longer at thistemperature,” he said quietly. “We must get her into the water now.”
The tub was half-full with water that was barely warm. Tate put the rag aside and took Toby into his arms, picking her limp body off the bed. She was hot, sweating and overwhelmingly delicious. He silently cursed himself for his perverse thoughts as he took her over to the tub. The servants were filling it furiously.
“Get her into the water,” Stephen directed. “Hold on to her so that she does not slide under.”
“We will lose our grip on her in the water,” Tate didn’t want to have to hold her by her hair as she slipped around in the tub. “Like so much dead weight.”
“Have a better idea?”
Tate’s solution was to step into the tub, fully clothed, and sit down in the water. Stephen helped him adjust Toby so that she was lying on top of him and he had a good grip around her waist. The servants continued to pour water and with the next cold dousing, Toby went rigid and a hoarse cry escaped her lips.
“My God,” she rasped. “They are trying to kill me.”
Tate’s mouth was against her right ear. “Nay, mistress,” he said softly. “We are trying to help you. Your fever is out of control and we must get you cool.”
She was semi-lucid, unsure of what was happening to her. She looked at Stephen, unrecognizing, and began to panic.
“Let me out,” she struggled against Tate’s iron grip. “Let me out!”
Stephen gently but firmly pushed her back. Getting a good grip around her waist, Tate put a hand over her forehead and held her back against his shoulder.
“Calm, Elizabetha,” he murmured against her ear. “No one is going to harm you, I swear it.”
Ailsa ran up to the tub, putting her little hands on her sister’s shoulders. “Be quiet, Toby. You must not be upset!”
Toby focused on Ailsa, the only face she recognized. “Wha… what devilry is this?” she panted.
Ailsa shook her head. “You are ill. The knights are trying to help you.”
Toby grasped the front of Ailsa’s gown with one hand as if the little girl would save her, but her struggles eventually eased and her grip relaxed. Breathing quickly, like a dog panting on a hot summer day, she closed her eyes and surrendered against Tate’s powerful body. The strength to fight was leaving her.
Tate felt her go limp. He and Stephen passed concerned glances as the servants continued to fill the tub. Stephen had a grip on her wrist, feeling her fast, weak pulse. He didn’t like it. As the tub filled and her blood continued to race, he shook his head.
“This is not a good sign,” he murmured. “She is not calming.”
“What about your brew?” Tate was genuinely concerned. Stephen did not raise an alarm for no reason.
“Another minute or so for full potency.”
Tate fell silent but it was apparent that he was searching quickly for a solution. His mind was never idle nor was he familiar with surrender.
It was deathly quiet in the room but for the pouring of water. Then, Ailsa thought she was hearing things. There was a low hum in the air that would rise and fall in rhythm. She was so concerned with her sister that it took her a few moments to realize that Tate was singing. His lips were pressed against Toby’s right ear, his soft baritone filtering through her fever-hazed mind. It was a miraculous sound and Ailsa was entranced; her sweet little face lit with a smile as the air was filled with the gentle sound of Tate’s voice.
To the sky, my sweet babe;
