He placed the handkerchief on his lap. Urgently.
“What is that?” he rasped.
“Chamomile with beeswax,” she said lightly. “Good for inflammation. Soothing on the skin.”
She rubbed the last of it into her knuckles, then reached up and brushed her thumb over his mouth, spreading a bit of balm along the seam of his lips.
“There,” she murmured. “That should help your dry lips and skin. I reckon you stood in cold wind to end up so ill?”
He only managed a faint nod. His entire body ignited. With a fever, yes, but also something far more dangerous.
His heart thudded like a drum. His head spun—but not from congestion.
She was too close. Too composed. Too… touchable.
What was he supposed to say?
His throat worked uselessly, and then—
“Why are you so nice to me?” he asked, like an idiot.
The question hit her like a slap. She drew back. Slowly. Her hands fell to her lap, her expression shuttered.
She stood.
With calm, measured movements, sherolled her kit back into its leather sheath and tied it closed with one tight knot after another.
The warmth in her eyes was gone. Replaced by something colder. Controlled. Familiar.
“Set the pot by the hearth,” she said, brisk again. “The steam will help while you sleep.”
And with that, she was gone.
*
Maddie slouched againstthe door the moment she stepped out, clutching her chest.
Oh dear.
The man was positively…
Ugly.
No—no, no!
He was sick. There was a difference. Maddie had never been a shallow person. It didn’t matter whether someone was tall or short, wide or thin, rich or poor—she prided herself on seeing to the heart of a person.
But this man…
At least he hadn’t sneezed on her again.
She touched her throat, then her temple. No fever. Good. As long as she didn’t fall ill herself. Because then she’d have to dig into her vials and teach that man a lesson.
She thought of one particular blend—just a drop here, a splash there—and he’d itch for days.
She smirked.
Fortunately, she was not a vindictive person.
