I pushed the thought aside and pulled back the curtain hung around the baroness’s bed. I stared down at her, keeping myself at some remove. A cross hung upon the wall behind her, as well as one around her throat.
Her fair, swan-like throat, which I needed to touch to see if her glands were swollen. For she was pale and feverish, and turned away from the light I was letting in, not even opening her eyes. “I cannot stomach another bleeding,” she said. “Please leave me in peace.”
These doctors of physic and their bleeding.As if it would do her any good at all. “Leave, I cannot,” I told her. “Yet I will not bleed you. You may rest assured of that.”
Now her eyes fluttered open, and they were the pale, watery blue that even in the hale and hearty appears sickly. She was not yet ten years older than I, closer to Thomas’s age than her husband’s, far too young to meet her end soon. “No bleeding?” She passed weary eyes over me in judgment. “Ye are a woman.” Her brow wrinkled briefly. “Scarce more than a girl.”
For healing, I was “scarce more than a girl”; when it came to marriage, I was fruit half-rotted, unfit for any but the beasts to consume. I did wish these mortals would make up their minds.
“I am a cunning woman,” I said.
“Of course you are.” The baroness gave a bitter snort. “My husband will fetch a cunning woman for me—but he will never let you near his son.” Her laughter turned into a racking cough that shook her entire body.
I frowned; whatever she might think, I wasnotsecond best. “How long have you had that cough?”
She waved ineffectually as she finally got it under control. “Three... months. Two before Robert sent for a physician, and even then, ’twas only our boy had gotten ill as well.”
“Did they prepare you no theriac?”
She shook her head.
“Feed you rue or borage?”
Another shake of her head.
“Vinegar or garlic?” I sighed as she shook her head yet again.Those “learned men” did scarcely anything to help her heal!Well, I would. I would gather what plants there were in the garden to make my theriac, and ensure her meals were cooked in cinnamon, cassia, ginger, and cloves. But I must confirm her ailment for myself.
“Will you remove your cross?” I asked her. “I need to feel the side of your neck.”
“Your Grace, no!” the maidservant cried out. Her eyes flashed in my direction as she lowered her voice. “What if it’s a curse she means to set upon you?”
I scowled. As if I would waste a good curse on someone I had only just met.
“Then someone has beat her to it,” the baroness said, with a bitter laugh.
“Do not speak so,” the maidservant pleaded.
The baroness shook her head. “I know what those doctors do not wish to say. I know why the priests came to hear my confession, and why they have sprinkled the walls with holy water. Seems hardly worth the effort to curse me now.” Pinning me in her gaze, she removed the cross, and laid it upon her bedside table, right atop the devotional.
Mab take me, I was beginning to like this woman. I dearly hoped I would be able to save her life.
I stood alone in the garden outside the manor kitchen, looking for a particular herb. I scented it right away, with its fragrance somehow reminiscent of both juniper and musk. It grew in a shaded area of the garden near the fishpond, for its natural habitation is on the banks of the river. Wild celery, I called it, and it would grow higher than my arms could reach; its flowering time had ended the month before.
This plant eased pain, strengthened the lungs, and improved the appetite, so I must gather plenty for the baroness and young Malcolm to chew on. Later I would raid the pantry for spices and brew up a theriac; this would be able to heal any disease.
I hoped.
I rested my basket upon my hip and stood in silence, face raised to the sky. I might have been a bird set free from its cage, or a man, were it possible, stepping out of an iron maiden not merely alive, but whole. I breathed not man’s hearth fires nor the stench of holy water, but blissfully pure, clean air. The heaviness of iron was nowhere upon me, save for the hinges of the kitchen door. I planted my feet, and felt the rich soil beneath me, even through the soles of my boots. The tiny creatures crawling about in the dirt seemed to tickle my skin.
The garden was alive with that magic only the fae can appreciate.This must be what humans feel like when they pray.
The mortality choked me. But now, all around me was good, rich soil, abundant growth, nature all but unconfined. A breeze rustled over my clothing, stirring the tiny hairs on my arms; the scent of the last summer flowers teased my nose.
Then moss and musk, the decay of innocence into something sharply profane. A hissing came, like a snake poking its tongue into my ears.Bess-you-seem...
“There she stands, my wood nymph. I knew I would find you here.”
I opened my eyes, heart pounding in delight. “Thomas!”
