Jenny moved at once, setting down her basket and checking the pot. “I am here,” she said to the room. “Ye didnae think I would forget ye now, did ye?”
Emma stood by the door for a heartbeat, taking it all in. The air felt heavy with care.
“What can I do?” she asked.
Jenny looked up, startled. “Nothing, me Lady. Ye neednae trouble yerself.”
Emma stepped forward. “I asked how I can help.”
The woman on the cot tried to push herself up. “We are fine, me Lady. Ye sit and keep clear. Nay need to ruin yer fine dress.”
Emma moved to her side and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I have more than one dress,” she assured. “Please, lie back. Or else you will make Jenny’s work harder.”
The woman sank down with a faint laugh.
Jenny hesitated, then surrendered. “If ye are set on it, ye can wet the cloths and keep them cool. Lay them on their heads and wrists. It helps when the fever runs wild.”
“I can do that,” Emma said.
She fetched a bowl of water from the corner and dipped cloth after cloth in it, before wringing them out and pressing them to warm skin. The old man did not stir when she touched his forehead, and the woman smiled weakly when the cool rag met her brow.
“Thank ye,” she murmured. “I didnae expect hands so gentle from the Laird’s wife.”
“I did not expect to find such stubborn patients,” Emma quipped.
That drew a small laugh from the corner. A young man with a bandaged arm sat on a stool, watching. “We thought ye would be like the Laird,” he admitted. “Grim and sharp. All orders.”
Emma refreshed another cloth. “Disappointing for you, I am sure.”
“It is a cruel world,” the woman said, smiling at the ceiling, “when a fearsome pirate marries someone so gentle.”
Emma laughed with them, feeling the sound loosen something inside her. “You do not know me well enough to call me gentle. Ask my previous suitor.”
“Aye, we heard about him,” the young man said. “Seems he got what he deserved.”
Jenny moved between them with a pot and a spoon, checking tongues and pulses, giving small measures of bitter liquid.
Emma stayed at her task, trading a few quiet words with each patient. She listened attentively and asked them questions that kept them grounded to the present. Where were their families? How long had they been unwell?
The answers varied, but one thing did not. When Logan’s name came up, their voices dropped.
“He kept the raiders away for the last two weeks,” the young man revealed. “We owe him for that.”
“He scares the children half to death,” the woman added softly. “But at least they sleep safe at night.”
Emma laid a fresh cloth on the old man’s wrist and listened. She realized something quite important as she worked: they loved their Laird, but they feared him more.
She folded that knowledge away like a letter to read again later
The light had started to dim by the time she washed the apothecary smoke from her hair and hands. By the time she stepped into the dining hall, candles had been lit along the walls and on the long table. Their glow blurred the edges of the stone and made the room feel smaller, closer.
David stood where he always did, along the wall with his hands clasped behind his back. Guarding the door. Guardingher.
Isobel was already at the table, talking quietly with one of the older women. She brightened when she saw Emma and waved her closer.“Come sit with me, Emma.”
Emma took her place and let a maid set a plate in front of her. Toast, a bit of meat, and mashed potatoes. Her stomach churned, but she forced herself to tear a piece of toast and chew.
She glanced toward the wall. David’s gaze was on the door.Always the door.When he did look her way, it was quick and assessing, as if checking that she had not vanished.
