“Did Da give ye too much whisky?” Bella asked. “If’n he did, I can have a word with him.”
Lorna held up a hand to silence their chatter. All she needed was quiet and a dark room. “I just need a lie-down, aye?”
“The whisky,” Bella informed Ebby with a knowing wrinkle of her nose. “I snuck a sip once. Wicked stuff. Burns like fire.”
“Miss Bella!” Ebby appeared suitably shocked.
“Can the two of ye discuss my drinking habits somewhere else? If I stand here much longer, I’ll be heaving out the window again.” Lorna pushed past them into the bedchamber, sagged onto the bed, and curled into a ball.
Belatedly, what Bella had said hit her.
“Bella!” she called out, then grabbed her head. Have mercy. Speaking loudly goaded the beast jackhammering inside her skull.
“Aye?”
“Dinna be drinking yer da’s whisky, ye ken? It’ll stunt yer growth and make ye grow a beard.” Lorna cracked an eye to see if the child believed her. “I had a friend once who drank whisky when she was yer age, and she ended up having to shave the hair off her face three times a day forever.”
Bella’s dubious expression revealed she was not that easily fooled. “No offense, Mistress Lorna, but I think ye vomited out yer good sense along with all that whisky ye tossed up.”
Lorna draped an arm over her eyes. “Just dinna drink it, aye? Do ye want to feel like I look?”
“I think not,” the wee lass said. “Can we talk whilst ye lie there?”
“She needs quiet,” Ebby interrupted, then bumped into the bed.
“Bloody hell,” Lorna groaned, and curled into a tighter ball. A fresh wave of nausea churned harder, as if her hangover had gotten a second wind.
“I have the willow bark tea, mistress, and Mrs. Thistlewick’s remedy for the wobblies.”
Lorna risked uncovering an eye to discover both the maid and the child standing beside the bed staring down at her. “Ye two are like buzzards waiting for me to die.”
Both frowned but didn’t go away.
“I give up.” Lorna pushed up on an elbow. “Remedies first, and then conversation.” She scooted back against the headboard, hoping their chat was short and the remedies not too revolting.
Their frowns shifted to triumphant smiles. Ebby offered a cup in each hand. Both were steaming. She lifted the one on the left. “Best drink this one first. It’s the thickest, but when ye drink the willow bark after it, that should thin it out and make it easier to swallow.”
Lorna tried not to gag at that prospect. She accepted the small cup half-filled with a steaming substance that resembled the tar she had seen highway workers using to patch a road.
A hesitant sniff made her feel somewhat better. It didn’t smell nearly as bad as it looked. In fact, it had a cloyingly sweet, berrylike fragrance. The first sip was a syrupy rendition of elderberry wine. The acrid tartness of the willow bark brew remedied the icky-sweet aftertaste. But a subtle alcoholic burn lingered after both. Mrs. Thistlewick’s magical cure more likely ran along the lines ofthe hair of the dog that bit ye.
“And here is the bread. Fried to a crisp, sure to settle yer wame and help keep everything down.” Ebby offered a sympathetic smile as she took away the cups, trading them for a small plate of toasted bread that was a half-second away from being charcoal.
“Thank ye.” Lorna forced a bite. While chomping through the toast’s bitterness, she turned to Bella. “Yer turn, and I would be more than a little grateful if we could keep it simple, aye? My head is pounding.”
“Simple is nay a problem,” Bella said with a solemn nod. “I need yer help to get that cow out of this keep afore she marries my da.”
“Ye dinna like Lady Murdina?”
“Do ye?” The child’s tone revealed a maturity much older than nine years.
“No.” Lorna refused to insult the lass by patronizing her, and she had never been one for diplomacy. “But do ye understand why yer da is dead set on marrying her?”
“Aye.” The young girl sat on the edge of the bed, her brow creased in a studious furrow. “I ken it is because he loved Mama and stepmama Corinna and was really sad when they died.” She twitched a frustrated shrug. “I loved them too, but that doesna mean I want a mean old crone for my next stepmother.”
“He is afraid to love again because of the heartache, Bella.” Lorna wished she could explain the complicated subject to the youngling. “He doesna wish to relive the pain of losing someone he cares about.”
“Well, that makes no sense at all,” Bella said. “Is he going to stop caring about everyone just so he willna be sad if they go to heaven afore he does?”
