“Naught. I think I’ve been wearing ma belt too tight for the weather.”
“Magnus, I’ve seen yer belt. There is only one hole that’s worn. Ye’ve been wearing it the same way for years from the looks of the leather. If aught, ye’ve lost weight since ye’ve been here. Let me see, please.”
They entered the storage building Saoirse used, and she drew back the rabbit hides from the window. She gestured for him to step into the light. She eased his leine from beneath his belt and pushed down the plaid. There was a red welt that wrapped around his waist, just below where his belt rested. She pulled up his leine and walked around him, noticing the red patches covered nearly all of his waist.
“When did this start?”
“A few days ago. I dinna remember exactly. It itches and is tender, but only when I touch it.”
“Ye didna think to tell me?” Saoirse shot him a disapproving glance as she pushed down on the material, but his belt was in the way. “Take off yer belt and let me see properly.”
“Saoirse—”
“Nay as yer betrothed, as yer healer. Come on, Magnus. Someone’s already tried to kill ye by poisoning ye. Ye canna keep aught like this from me.”
“I dinna want ye to fash.”
“I’ll be a sight angrier if ye die.” Saoirse crossed her arms and tapped her toes. Magnus sighed. His forefinger and thumb caught her chin as he kissed her. He drew back and laid his belt over the table before coming to stand in the light again. He folded the plaid in at his waist to keep it in place and to reveal more for Saoirse to examine. She peered at his skin, leaning closer as she gently twisted him in different directions. “I need to see yer hip better.”
She ran her cool fingers over the angry welts, but she stopped when she reached a patch of scaly skin on his left hip, near his buttocks. She pushed the fabric down farther and frowned.
“Magnus, ye havenae been out in the sun without yer plaid, have ye?”
“Nay. I havenae been prancing around in the altogether.”
“Nae prancing. But have ye been in the sun, mayhap at the loch? I dinna ken why yer skin is darker here and here than anywhere else.” Saoirse pointed to two places. She moved around to his other side, but she found nothing there. “Lift yer plaid, so I can see yer thighs.”
Magnus didn’t bother arguing. The places Saoirse touched were sensitive, almost like a sunburn, but he hadn’t been uncovered enough to get one. She pulled a stool over and gestured for him to sit. She sat on one facing him. She pushed back his plaid, letting it gather between his legs. She ran her hands over the outside and inside, then top and bottom of his thigh.
“Look here. This skin shouldnae be so dark, either. When did this happen?”
Magnus stared where she pointed. He had no idea. “I dinna remember seeing that before.”
“Magnus, ye’ve said that a lot lately. Callum and Siùsan mentioned ye saying ye forgot things they told ye. I’ve seen ye think aboot things far longer than ye needed to before answering a question.”
“I ken. Ma mind grows fuzzy at times. I dinna ken why. I’ve slept plenty.” Magnus offered her a sardonic smile.
Saoirse went back to examining his legs. She noticed spots with yellowy-white patches of scaly skin. She was growing more alarmed by the moment. She stood but motioned for him to remain seated.
“Take off yer leine. I want to see the rest of ye.”
Magnus followed her instructions, but he worried if anyone walked in. They’d left the door open, but it still wouldn’t appear appropriate. Even though they were betrothed—or rather because they were betrothed—he could imagine what people would say.
“I dinna see aught unusual aboot yer chest or back. Ye arms dinna have any discoloration either.” Saoirse was growing fed up with only seeing Magnus unclothed when she had to examine him. She wished to enjoy his physique without worrying about him dying. She turned away but thought better of it. She moved behind him and combed her fingers through his hair. His light brown hair was thick, so it wasn’t easy to see his scalp, but she noticed patches of discolored skin similar to what she found on his thighs. “Something isnae right, Magnus. Do ye feel out of sorts?”
“I’ve had a headache for three days, but naught I canna manage.”
“Why didna ye ask me for a tincture?”
“Because I can manage, Saoirse. It’s just a dull ache.”
Saoirse didn’t agree that it was “just” anything, but she wouldn’t nag him. She went to a shelf and reached for a jar. She gasped when Magnus reached over her shoulder and lifted it down. She hadn’t heard him approach. He went to wrap his arm around her waist but thought better of it.
“Could ye catch what this is? Are ye at risk being near me?”
She turned to look at him. “I dinna ken. I dinna think so. Nay one else has complained of aught similar. I dinna think it’s catching.”
“What do ye think it is?”
