“Only one room?”
“I'm afraid so. But I prefer you not be alone. How are you feeling?”
“Feverish. I'll gladly see the doctor now.”
She chewed her lip, and he offered his arm. She looped hers under his so she could offer him some support up the stairs. The room was larger than before, complete with a quilted bed, a thickly padded chair by the fire, a dressing screen, washstand, and wardrobe.
At least now they would have a bit of privacy and wouldn't have to leave the room. Though Willa wasn't certain she was ready to make use of that chamber pot even with the screen separating them.
Willa led him to the bed, and he sat but did not immediately lay back. She looked at the paper that the innkeeper had given her with the doctor’s name.
“I think I'll go now,” she said.
He stood again. “Not alone.”
She put her hand on his shoulder and urged him back down on the bed. Then she did something rather bold. She slid her hand under the helmet around his neck.
“You're too warm.”
“I've been laying in the sun in the back of the cart for two hours. Of course I’m warm. You probably are too.” And then he slid his hand around her neck, his fingers gliding into the hair at her nape. The caress stole her breath. She couldn't move or think.
“You need rest too,” he said over the pounding of her heart.
She licked her lips. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry.
“I’ll rest once the doctor sees to you. Look, there's even a padded chair. How luxurious,” she smiled.
He let go of her, and she could breathe again. He moved the shield up, and she saw his smile. How had she come to adore it already? Willa turned away so he wouldn't see her blush and went to the door.
“I will only be a moment. Hopefully, he can see you soon.” She went down to the taproom. A man with feathery white eyebrows was speaking to the innkeeper who pointed to her. The man turned to her, brows raised.
“Lady Knightly?” he asked.
Willa blinked.
“Beg your pardon,” the innkeeper said, “this is Dr. Smith. Word spreads quickly around here. Your husband’s condition sounded urgent.”
“Are you in need of me?” Dr. Smith asked.
“Why yes,” Willa said with relief. “I was just coming to fetch you. That is rather quick.” Her gaze darted to the innkeeper, and he shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
“My husband, in an attempt to rescue me from highwaymen, sustained an injury to his head. Fortunately, he was wearing a knight's helmet when he was struck with a mace flail. Don't ask me how that came to be,” she said quickly. “I didn't see, but I'm so glad he was or he might not be with us now, but we can't take it off, and I know there is a terrible wound underneath.”
“My heavens,” the doctor said, “I will see him at once if I may. Is he bleeding?”
Willa turned back toward the stairs and the doctor followed. “Not anymore. But it gets worse. He…has lost some of his memory.” She didn't know what else to say since the truth was not allowed.
“Some of his memory?”
“Yes, parts before the accident he can't remember.”
“I see.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I once treated a boy who took a hoof to the head while shoeing a horse. He lost all memory for about three days, but as his head wound improved, his memory returned.”
Willa exhaled with relief. “That is most reassuring.”
