Eve’s heart sank.Whatever confidence she’d had crumbled.Though she dared not admit it to Finlay or anyone else, there was little hope for a bairn who fell ill so soon after birth.
“Shite,” Adam said under his breath.
She gave him a sharp glare.He obviously understood the odds as well.But there was no point in discouraging Finlay.
She meant to do what she could.She would comfort the bairn.She would comfort the family.And, for the love of God, she would open the door to let in the outside air.Why people believed peat smoke was good for sickness, she didn’t know.
Mostly what she would do is pray.She was a woman of faith after all.She believed in miracles.And if she prayed with a pure heart, entreating God to save this poor infant, surely He would intervene to save the child’s life.
True to her fears, when Finlay opened the door, a cloud of smoke coiled out.
“Leave the door open,” she and Adam said simultaneously.
She cocked a surprised brow at him.Perhaps he believed as she did, that sick people thrived on fresh air.
She waved away the smoke as she stepped into the cottage.By the fire was a wan young woman with a pinched face holding a swaddled bairn.
“They’re here to help, Ma,” Finlay said.“I’d stay, but the laird needs me at the keep.”
The woman looked confused.It probably wasn’t every day a nobleman and a lady stepped into her cottage.But she was too desperate to question their motives.
“My bairn is so sick, m’lady,” she whimpered.“Can ye do anythin’?”
Eve rushed forward to take the bairn from her.The wee lad was pale, struggling to breathe.His lips had a bluish cast, no doubt from lack of breath.“He needs fresh air.”
She carried him toward the door while Adam flung open the shutters on the two windows.
The young woman clasped her hands over her mouth.“Are ye sure?”
Eve nodded.That was one thing of which she was certain.Perhaps theonlything.
When she carried the bairn into a patch of sunlight coming through the door, the wee thing didn’t flinch once.He hadn’t the strength.He barely had the strength to breathe.
“Has he been fed?”she asked.
“He won’t take the teat,” the young woman said.“I’ve tried givin’ him milk from our cow…honey…a wee bit o’ gruel.He won’t eat a thing.”She dissolved into tears.
Eve placed the back of her hand on his brow.It was hot and dry.
“Water?”Adam suggested.
She nodded.“A clean, wet rag.”
While she waited, she closed her eyes and murmured a long and fervent prayer for the child.
Adam brought the wet rag, and she squeezed a dribble of water out of it onto the bairn’s lips.But there was no response.
She opened his mouth with her finger and drizzled a little moisture within.But he was too weak for even that.And she dared not pour any more into his mouth, lest he choke on it.
Adam came up beside her and mumbled, “He’s not breathin’.”
He was right.Her heart leaped into her throat.It was one thing not to eat.It was another not to breathe.Her mind raced.What herb was good to clear breathing?
Mint.“My satchel.Look for the green vial.”
Adam nodded.There was no time for ceremony.He dumped the contents of her satchel across the rush-covered floor.Costumes and weapons, books and tools, food and bottles spilled out with a clatter.But though he inspected each label on every vial, he couldn’t find a green one.
Then she remembered.She’d used the last of it for Sister Eithne’s sore throat.
