“My lord,” he said. “I apologize for my hasty entry; I did not know you were here.”
“No apologies necessary,” Guy said, moving for the door. “I was just leaving. Lady Alys, thank you very much for your hospitality. If you will give my compliments to Lady Sheridan and wish her a swift recovery.”
Guy was at the door before Alys could protest. He almost seemed panicked to leave. But he wasn’t clear yet; in his haste, he opened the door and ran headlong into a small man with unkempt white hair and a gnarled face.
“Forgive me,” Guy apologized. “I did not see you, my lord.”
The old man brushed at the front of his tunic for no real reason. In his hand, he held a big leather satchel.
“I am Lott Gilby, the physic. I have come for the Lady Sheridan.” His sharp eyes fell on Alys. “You there, lady. Where is the Lady Sheridan?”
Alys recognized the physic who had bandaged her wrist. She motioned him inside. In the course of the exchange, Guy slipped out without being noticed.
“In there,” Alys pointed at the bedchamber door.
The little man shuffled in, very business-like. Neely, having been gone since sunrise, had no idea Sheridan was ill.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked Alys.
“Sick headache,” she told him.
It wasn’t a new story with Sheridan. Neely had seen many of these episodes. He opened the chamber door for the physic, immediately spying Sheridan on the floor. He burst into the room, almost knocking the old man down in his haste.
“My lady,” he knelt beside her. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”
She stirred and the puppy jumped up, trying to lick Neely’s face. “I have not hurt myself, if that’s what you mean,” she said quietly. “I just need to be left alone.”
Neely was about to tell her that a physic had been summoned but the old man pushed forward and knelt beside Sheridan.
“My lady,” he said. “De Lara sent me. Can you tell me what is wrong?”
Sheridan peeped an eye open, looking at him. “A sick headache. There is naught you can do for me. This has happened before.”
The physic grunted, digging in the satchel he brought. He pulled out some phials of liquid, pouring some of this and some of that into a small pewter cup. As Alys and Neely watched curiously, he tossed a measure of white powder into it and stirred the concoction. It was like watching a witch make a brew and they were properly awed by the mystery.
“Drink this,” he instructed to Sheridan.
With Neely’s help, she sat up and drank the bitter brew. As she wiped her mouth and made a face of disgust, the physic turned to Neely.
“Put her on the bed,” he said. “She will sleep like the dead for a day and night, but it should cure her.”
Neely picked her up and lay her gently on the bed. Sheridan was still wiping her mouth. The puppy jumped up on the bed beside her, wriggling happily and burrowing in her covers.
“Sleep now, my lady,” the physic instructed. “I shall return tomorrow to see how you are faring.”
He was concise and business-like. And it was apparent that he had no time for pleasantries now that his task was complete. Neely escorted the physic from the apartment. When he returned, his expression was guarded. Sheridan was on her back once again, a cool cloth over her eyes.
“My lady,” he began hesitantly. “I must ask you a question.”
“Neely…” she was exasperated; would no one let her sleep? “What is it, then?”
Neely glanced at Alys, on the opposite side of the bed, and noted her bandaged wrist. His jaw began to flex.
“May I ask what has gone on this morning?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He lifted an eyebrow, speaking mostly to Alys. “I am not a fool. I know I was sent on a ruse because Lady Alys apparently did not want me around. I will not argue the point, as it is my duty to serve the House of St. James. However, upon my return I find Lady Sheridan huddled on the floor in distress and Lady Alys with an injured hand. I would appreciate a logical explanation of why I was sent away and why everyone seems injured.”
