“Fine. The bloodletter can examine me.”
Alasdair approached the bed now.
“I apologize for my appearance, Lord Morpeth.” Meaning that he was wearing what Morpeth was—just trousers and an untucked shirt.
“We are dressed the same, Doctor. Illness is a great equalizer.” Morpeth grimaced.
“Aye.” Alasdair was surprised to hear this—one of his own deeply-held beliefs—from the baron.
“What did ye eat for luncheon?” he asked.
“He did not eat,” Lady Lyndmouth said.
“Why dinnae ye eat, Lord Morpeth?”
“I was not hungry.”
“Perhaps the pain had started before luncheon then?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps even yesterday?”
“Yes. But very little then.”
“Have ye seen any blood in yer urine? Or in yer stool?”
“No.”
“And the pain is located where?”
Morpeth pointed to the center of his abdomen.
“And obviously the pain is worse when ye move.”
“For the last two hours, the only thing that eases it at all is holding perfectly still, Doctor. Even then, it is still present.”
Alasdair looked in Morpeth’s eyes and could see the fear there. Big men like Lord Morpeth were not used to physical limitations. And to be a big mananda lord—Alasdair could see how one might feel omnipotent, might have the arrogance to think the world was there for his pleasure and his pleasure alone. How one might reach out and destroy a young woman’s life with as little care as one might have in picking a daisy.
Alasdair wondered what kind of man he might be if he had been born into Lord Morpeth’s position and never had to starve or struggle or endure bone-aching weariness.
He would never know, and he was glad.
He was more than glad. An unexpected surge of joy ran through him.
He suddenly felt free.
For the first time in years, he could not imagine envying any other man. He was not jealous of any lord, positioned high above him in the strata of society. Not Lord Morpeth. Not even his friend, the earl, Thomas Drake.
He had kissed Arabella Lovelock. He had held Arabella Lovelock. He had slept next to Arabella Lovelock. And now every effort in his life must be bent toward making sure that happened again. And again. And again. And so on for the rest of his life.
She had thought he was the not-stupid man. He must be that for her. And the first step was continuing his life’s work. And being the best physician he could be, even if it was for this man in front of him. Arabella had defended Alasdair, his practice. He must be worthy of that defense.
“May I examine ye, Lord Morpeth?”
Morpeth started to laugh and then stopped.
“The tensing of the abdominal muscles hurts, my lord?”
