It took her a moment to realize he was awake and watching her through narrowed eyes.
Filling a cup with water, Shanara lifted Reyes’ head and offered him a drink. “Slowly, now,” she admonished.
He drained the glass and asked for more.
“Why is there no one here to tend you?” she asked, surprised that the lord of the keep would be left alone when he was obviously ill. “Why do you not call your physician?”
“I sent him away.”
“Why?”
He glanced at the open window. “The moon will be full tonight.”
She nodded her understanding. “But surely, when you’re so ill, the curse will not come upon you.”
“I do not know. It is a chance I cannot take. There are but few who know that the curse is more than just a fable told to frighten children.”
Frowning, she looked at him closely. His face seemed hairy, but it was only because he had not shaved. Wasn’t it? “Why did you summon me?”
“I may have need of your help later.”
“You have need of helpnow,” she muttered.
A knock at the door drew her attention. When she opened it, she saw Alyce standing in the corridor. The maid’s eyes widened when she saw Shanara. When Shanara reached for the tray in Alyce’s hands, the girl stepped back, putting it out of reach.
“Give me the tray,” Shanara said, irritated by the maid’s behavior.
“Nay. I have come to look after my Lord Reyes.”
Shanara did not miss the possessive tone in the girl’s voice. “I shall attend him,” she said imperiously.
“Tis not a job for a lady,” Alyce retorted, the word ‘lady’ dripping with disdain. She leaned to one side, trying to see past Shanara and into the room beyond.
“Perhaps not,” Shanara said. She fixed the girl with a hard gaze. She was Lord Montiori’s daughter. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to give orders to underlings and have them obeyed. “Give me the tray and be gone.”
For a moment, it seemed the girl might refuse; then, lips pursed in silent mutiny, she handed Shanara the tray.
Using her heel, Shanara shut the door in the maid’s face.
Reyes eyed her balefully as she set the tray on the table beside the bed. She drew the blade through the fire to clean it, then she cut the old stitches from his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she pierced the edge of the wound with the tip of the knife. Thick yellow pus mixed with blood that looked almost black oozed out in the wake of the blade. Taking the poultice, she placed it over the wound to draw out the last of the poison.
An oath hissed from between Reyes’ clenched teeth as the hot poultice touched his skin.
While the compress did its work, Shanara poured a cup of willow bark tea, then, lifting his head, she held the cup to his lips. “Drink.”
He shook his head.
“Drink, you stubborn man. Tis good for what ails you.”
When he still refused, she tugged on a lock of his hair. “Drink, I say!”
“Shrew,” he muttered, but he drank the tea, grimacing at the bitter taste.
Lowering his head to the pillow once more, Shanara lifted the poultice, surprised to see that the wound looked much better already. She had intended to leave it in place through the night but that no longer seemed necessary. Was he by nature a man who healed quickly, she wondered, or was it a by-product of the curse?
Threading the needle with a length of silk thread, she endeavored to put everything from her mind but the task athand. She tried to ignore the whisper of the needle passing through flesh, tried to pretend it was no different than sewing a piece of cloth, but cloth did not bleed. She paused frequently to wipe away the blood that oozed from the edges of the wound as her needle moved in and out, drawing the ragged edges together.
As he had before, Reyes’ endured her stitching in silence. Sweat beaded his brow. Using a corner of the sheet, she wiped it away.
