She wove the spell and wrapped it around Drew’s brain and organs, allowing it to sink deep into his tissues. Slowly, his seizure subsided and he became still, flopping back onto the bed.
He still breathed. His heart still pumped and his blood still flowed, but everything else, including the spread of the sickness, had been incapacitated. He would not get any worse, but neither would he get any better. It was a state of suspended animation and was a temporary measure at best.
Slowly Rose withdrew her power and slumped into a chair. “You can let go now,” she told Cailean. “He’s asleep. He won’t wake.”
Cailean glanced at her and then slowly released his grip on Drew.
Rose turned to Beatrice and Maggie. “When did this start?”
“About ten minutes ago,” Beatrice answered. She had gone pale, making the red welt on her forehead stand out all the more. “He was fine last night. Sitting up, talking and joking. We thought he was on the mend, but then this morning, when the laird came to check on him and I shook him awake, he began thrashing around and moaning.” Her eyes found Rose’s. “Is it my fault? Should I not have woken him?”
Rose shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Beatrice. It’s the sickness, same as before. It’s back, only worse. I don’t understand it. How did it take hold again so quickly? And why wasn’t he able to fight it off?” These last questions were muttered to herself.
She looked over at the two healers. “I need to see your notes,” she said. “Everything you have on the sickness.”
“Notes? Ye mean writing?” said Maggie. She tapped her head. “I dinna hold with such things. Everything I need is in here.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes at her sister. “Ikept notes,” she said in an exasperated voice. “One of the first things we were taught in the convent was scribing. I’ll get them for ye.”
She crossed to a cupboard and took out a thick wad of parchment tied with string which she handed over. “Although I dinna know if ye’ll find aught in here that will do any good.”
“Thanks,” Rose said, taking the bundle. “There might be something. I’m going to go and get some air while I study these but I’ll be right outside. Call me if there’s any change in Drew’s condition.” There shouldn’t be with the spell she’d placed on him but Rose didn’t want to take any chances.
Beatrice nodded. “We will.”
“I’ll escort ye out,” said Cailean. He held the door open for her and they both stepped out into the cool dawn air.
The sun was just rising above the sea, making the waves shimmer like beaten gold and promising a fine day ahead. Even so, the air held a bite that was strong enough to make her shiver.
“Here.”
Cailean threw his plaid around her shoulders and she took it gratefully. “Thanks.” It smelled like rain on the ocean and the wind across heather. It was a scent she was coming to associate with him.
He didn’t reply. He was staring out at the sea, his eyes far away. “Is there aught that can be done?” he asked at last.
She didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. She opened her mouth to give the usual reassurances, the platitudes that had become so second nature they fell from her tongue before she even thought about them. But she stopped herself. Cailean deserved better than that.
“I don’t know,” she said softly. She stepped up to his side and laid a hand on his arm. He startled at her touch and turned to look at her. “But I promise you this. I will do everything in my power to find out what this sickness is and to stop it. You have my word on that.”
Something flashed in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite place. Then, to her surprise, he placed his hand over hers. “That’s all anyone can ask of ye, lass.”
In his eyes she saw a bone-deep weariness and was reminded againof the weight he carried—the weight of an entire clan. She sometimes found it exhausting trying to look after her little family and there were only the three of them—herself, Elise, and Jenna—so how much more taxing must it be to have the weight of an entire people on your shoulders?
Cailean’s shoulders were broad, true, but nobody should have to bear the weight of such responsibility alone.
After a moment, he stepped aside. “I will leave ye to yer work,” he said. “Send word if ye need aught.”
She nodded and watched as he strode away. She sighed, blowing out a great breath. So much for this being a quick and easy task. Whatever this sickness was, it seemed it wasn’t going to play nice.
She looked around, spotted a fallen tree trunk nearby, and perched atop it, pulling Cailean’s plaid around her shoulders to keep off the morning chill. Carefully, she untied the string from around Beatrice’s bunch of notes and examined them. Beatrice’s handwriting was scrupulously neat and filled the page in orderly rows. There was only one problem: It was written in Gaelic.
She was sure Beatrice would be able to translate the pages for her if she asked, but there was no time for that. Instead, she tapped into her power, wove a spell, and the words on the page shifted and blurred, translating themselves into English.
This done, she leaned over the first page and began to read. It soon became apparent that this sickness did not follow the pattern of any epidemic she’d ever encountered. There seemed to be no pattern to who contracted the disease and who didn’t. There was no correlation with either age or gender. Nor did there seem to be the usual seasonal pattern of the infection dying off a little in warmer weather and returning when the weather turned cooler. According to Beatrice’s notes, the sickness seemed entirely random.
Rose put the pages to one side, frowning. No. She did not believe that. Every illness had a pattern. Every disease had markers that couldbe recognized, rules that it followed. She just had to figure out what this one’s were.
Clasping the notes in her fist, she made her way back into the infirmary. There was no sign of Beatrice or Maggie, but she could hear their voices coming from a room at the back and smelled the scent of medicinal herbs wafting from the open door. No doubt they were busy preparing some treatment or other.
