Toby focused on Ailsa, the only face she recognized. “Wha… what devilry is this?” she panted.
Ailsa shook her head. “You are ill. The knights are trying to help you.”
Toby grasped the front of Ailsa’s gown with one hand as if the little girl would save her, but her struggles eventually eased and her grip relaxed. Breathing quickly, like a dog panting on a hot summer day, she closed her eyes and surrendered against Tate’s powerful body. The strength to fight was leaving her.
Tate felt her go limp. He and Stephen passed concerned glances as the servants continued to fill the tub. Stephen had a grip on her wrist, feeling her fast, weak pulse. He didn’t like it. As the tub filled and her blood continued to race, he shook his head.
“This is not a good sign,” he murmured. “She is not calming.”
“What about your brew?” Tate was genuinely concerned. Stephen did not raise an alarm for no reason.
“Another minute or so for full potency.”
Tate fell silent but it was apparent that he was searching quickly for a solution. His mind was never idle nor was he familiar with surrender.
It was deathly quiet in the room but for the pouring of water. Then, Ailsa thought she was hearing things. There was a low hum in the air that would rise and fall in rhythm. She was so concerned with her sister that it took her a few moments to realize that Tate was singing. His lips were pressed against Toby’s right ear, his soft baritone filtering through her fever-hazed mind. It was a miraculous sound and Ailsa was entranced; her sweet little face lit with a smile as the air was filled with the gentle sound of Tate’s voice.
To the sky, my sweet babe;
The night is alive, my sweet babe.
Your dreams are filled with raindrops from heaven;
Sleep, my sweet babe, and cry no more.
It was a lullaby, sung from mother to child. Ailsa had heard Toby sing it before, though it hadn’t sounded nearly as beautiful as when Tate sang it. Tate glanced up at Ailsa when he had finished the verse and, seeing her smile, gave forth the second stanza.
Your heart is light, my sweet babe;
Your slumber is divine, my sweet babe.
The angels hold you, my arms enfold you;
Be at rest, my love, for you are ever mine.
A peaceful hush had settled over the room. Like an attempt to quiet a fussy baby, there was a fragile spell in the air. Ailsa’s voice shattered it.
“Sing the fairy song!” she cried.
Startled, the knights shushed her in unison. Justifiably contrite, it did not deter her enthusiasm. She whispered loudly this time. “Sing the fairy song!”
Tate gave her a reproving look. The singing excited Ailsa and thankfully seemed to soothe Toby. He launched into the old folk ballad, normally a lively dance. He wasn’t surprised when Ailsa dropped her sister’s hand and began to leap around the floor.
Dilly, dilly, lady fairy, how shall you fly? Long to the day as slumber grows nigh;
On gossamer wings, you touch the stars.
On the wings of angels, you steal our hearts.
Come touch my heart, O fairy dove,
And take me from the world above.
Ailsa stopped her jig and clapped happily. The knights quieted her in unison again.“Hush!”
Ailsa’s mouth formed an “O” and she put her hand to her lips in a silence gesture. She looked at Toby, fearful that she had disturbed her, but Toby was sleeping as peacefully as she could be given the circumstances. Tate began to sing another song, a calming lullaby, as Stephen went to take his brew off of the fire. He poured a good amount in a pewter cup and came back over to the tub.
“It should cool so she does not scald herself trying to drink it,” he said quietly. “But your singing has accomplished wonders; she is calm now.”
