“None.”
She nodded. When a man was useless, there was usually a woman who was more than capable. “I will speak with the countess. I am sure after your prayers that his lordship will recover.”
He shook his head, disapproval in every line. “I have another family to visit,” the vicar said, his tone dark. “Five souls, all feverish like this.”
“Has anyone died from it?”
“Not yet,” he said darkly. “But one never knows with sickness. I will return this evening, and if I deem his lordship is failing, then I will bring the doctor back.”
Li-Na bowed her head as the vicar headed for his horse. As she stood with her head bowed and her hands clasped, she evaluated the heat of the day and the position of the sun. If the vicar returned this evening, they had precious little time to help Lord Daniel. And by all that was holy, she would see that he survived.
She waited long enough to hear the vicar mount his horse, then she turned and headed inside the castle. She met Mrs. Hocking in the great room and didn’t mince words. “Who is the medicine woman here? The one you went to see for the fever powder for your son?”
Mrs. Hocking nodded grimly. “I’ll get her for you, but you should know. People think she’s a witch and will say you truck with witches.”
She guessed that an accusation of witchcraft could be dangerous, but Li-Na didn’t care. “Will her powder bring down his lordship’s fever?”
“It helped my son.”
“Then they can call me a witch. I don’t care.”
Chapter Sixteen
Daniel’s chest ached.And his hands. And his legs. And bloody hell, who had been using a cricket bat on his head?
He made a sound. He knew that because it echoed in his head like the bang on a large gong. Then someone lifted him up and pressed a glass to his mouth.
He drank, the first swallow feeling like knives along his throat. The second was only marginally better. The third exhausted him.
Someone settled him back on the bed.
It occurred to him that this particular situation had happened before. He hurt. He drank. He slept. Except this time, after a few breaths, he opened his eyes.
Li-Na was sitting down beside him, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Flawless skin, long black hair, and a serenity that made him drink in her presence as if she were the water he’d been needing.
As he watched, she picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and stroked it across a page. He couldn’t see what she painted. Only her. And for a moment, that was enough. But only for a moment.
“You…painting?” he rasped. Then he swallowed. “Whatare you painting?”
She looked at him. “Do you think I could tend you for three days and night and not paint you?”
Three days and nights?
“May I see?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it is not you. It is fever and sweat. It is the prickliness of your beard, and the sound of your moan.”
Now he had to see it. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness flattened him. Worse, when he’d moved, she’d matched him, pressing her palm against his chest to keep him down.
“Do you need to use the privy?”
He didn’t have the strength.
“Mrs. Hocking’s son will be here soon. He has been helping.” She looked at him. “You have been paying him well for the work.”
