Then a thought jolted her awake. It was not an important thing to say, but Emer knew she would not be able to relax until she had an answer.
“Davi, dearest, dinnae go to sleep yet. I want to ken...why do ye have feelings for Gawain? Is it because he gives ye a few shillings for doing this work for him, or something else?”
There was silence from Davinia’s side of the chamber, but Emer knew her sister was thinking, not sleeping.
Finally, she answered, “I’m three and twenty, Em. There are nae many options open for me around here if ye think about it. Mistress Drummond is very strict and will allow nae skuldudrie between her staff, and the same goes for Mistress Burroughs upstairs, in case ye’ve been wonderin’. But I nae want a groom or footman- and I certainly dinnae want Mister Banting or another one of the senior members of the household chucking me under the chin..., ugh! When I came to work here, I saw him..., Gawain, I mean, and he’s just so-”
“Do ye think him handsome, Davi?” Emer was bemused. She could see nothing to admire in Gawain’s slender form, “He looks so neat and innocent, he could pass as a schoolboy truant!”
Davinia was roused to defend her love’s appearance, “Just because he shaves and wears the finest clothes, does nae mean he’s nae fully a man underneath it all. He turns himself out so fine, I’m guessing, to make up for his brither’s lack of fashionable airs and graces. Caillen could pass for a devil-may-care ne’er do well, so there!”
Emer could not help laughing at the two of them fighting over their masters’ perceived shortcomings.
“I ken Caillen would fall over himself laughin’ if he could hear us now, Davi,” she said.
Her sister saw the funny side of things and settled down for sleep. She found it harder to do than she thought.
“I wish ye had nae brought up that subject with me, Em,” Davinia said sadly, “I have such an aching skull now, and all I can think about is the possibility of Gawain returning me affections because me blood’s as well-born as his own.”
Emer sighed in the dark and said, “I beg yer pardon, dearest sister. Be of good cheer, though; maybe we can venture into the nearest town when the fair comes round. Bessie would be able to carry both of us. A fair will be just the place for us to meet two handsome swains.”
The last thing Emer heard before she went to sleep was the sound of Davinia turning restlessly in the bed beside her.
The dawn brought bad news with it.
Emer rose when the light began to turn grey in their bedchamber and went to the washstand to check if she could use the same water from the previous night. It seemed to be clear and clean enough, so she plunged her hands into the water and splashed it over her face.
“Time to rise, Davi,” she said in a cheerful tone. They were both used to rising early on the farm.
There was no immediate reply, and Emer heard a slight groan coming from under her sister’s coverlet.
“Davi?” she crept closer, but her sister’s hand flapped her away.
“Dinnae come any closer,” Davinia croaked, “I have a sore throat, maybe a fever. Go to the distillery and mix me one o’ yer elixirs, Em. Tell Mistress Drummond I cannae work today.”
“Oh, Davi, I’m so sorry for ye. I will fill in for ye downstairs as much as I can.”
“Aye, thank ye,” the rasping voice under the covers replied, “Please do Gawain’s bedchamber for me too-I wouldnae want him to think I have forgotten him. He leaves the key for me under the cushion in his dressing room. Remember to give it back to him afterward.”
Emer did all she could to make her sister more comfortable. She insisted on plumping her pillows and dabbing water on her face with a washcloth. But Davinia’s blonde hair was damp with sweat, and her green eyes were unfocused.
Emer left to make her a soothing concoction and tidy Gawain’s bedchamber.
Chapter Twelve
Today is going to be as full o’ work as I can hold! I hope I still have time to clean Gawain’s bedchamber as Davinia requested. If I fall behind in me duties, I can always skip dinner and go upstairs to clean instead.
True to her prediction, Emer was kept on the run from the time she went down to the kitchens to inform Mistress Drummond. When the cook heard Davinia would not be downstairs to help that day, she threw her hands in the air with frustration.
“How am I to run a busy castle kitchen when half me staff are still a-bed? Clary and the spit roast boy are also sick. These summer fevers are enough to drive me to distraction. I hope nae one else succumbs. And if that wasnae enough, I have his Lairdship’s workmen coming in all day to make for one of those new-fangled closed ovens.”
“Never ye mind, Mistress Drummond,” Emer reassured her, “I will come to the kitchens whenever I can. Please can I have the key to the distillery? I need to make a healing drink for me sister.”
Cook’s eyes brightened when she heard this, “Are ye telling me ye have some skill with herbs and roots?” and after Emer nodded, she beamed a smile, “Here’s the key to the distillery, Emer, and it comes with me blessing. Hie yerself there immediately and make enough for yer sisterandthe two others. ‘Twill be nice to have a healer in the keep again.”
“I’m nae healer, Mistress Drummond,” Emer insisted, “me grandmither showed me how to make basic tinctures and elixirs-enough for our family to withstand the maladies that arrive with the summer heat.”
“What are ye doin’ still standing here prattling away, girl? Away with ye this very moment! And remember to tell Mistress Burroughs yer whereabouts before she sends a page all over the castle looking for ye.”
