I had not lost Katreine. I had never had her to lose. My chest felt cracked open, my insides exposed. I would return to Ross’s stronghold. By nightfall, I would be leagues from here, and I would use this all-consuming pain to achieve my goals. I could still take the king’s assignment. I could return in a sennight and claim my injuries had healed much more quickly than I’d expected. Mayhap, I’d even send word ahead, hinting at it, so the assignment would not go to another. The chance to achieve all I had been after should have bolstered me, but it didn’t. One question kept coursing through my mind. What good were the lairdship, the land, the warriors, the clan name if I did not have Katreine to share them with?
Chapter Twenty-four – Katreine
I walked between the two guards Alec had assigned to watch me, my satchel of herbs and remedies tucked under my arm, my steps matching theirs as we moved along the castle’s stone corridor. My mind was turning on how I could possibly get a missive to James and to Millicent.
The guards stopped before a heavy oak door to the king’s ill daughter, Mary. One rapped his knuckles against the wood to announce my arrival, then pushed it open. I stepped into the chamber, and my breath caught at the sight. I had seen luxurious rooms before, but this went far beyond anything I had known. The walls were hung with pale blue silk that rippled in the light breeze from the narrow windows. A fire burned low in the stone hearth, casting a warm glow over the polished floor. In the center of the room stood a massive carved oak bed piled high with thick furs. Mary reclined in the middle of the bed. Her pale hair spread around her, and her gaze, surprisingly bright and alert for one who’d supposedly been ill for quite some time, was fixed on me.
“I’m Katreine Wallace,” I said, setting my satchel on a nearby table. “The king sent me to see ye.”
Mary nodded, her fingers plucking at the coverlet. “Thank ye for coming.” She motioned to my guards, who still stood in the doorway. “Out,” she ordered, with the certainty of one used to having what they said obeyed.
As the guards shut the door to her bedchamber behind them, I drew a small stool to the bedside and sat, my movements measured and unhurried. I’d learned long ago that confidence put patients at ease more than any poultice or draught. “I’ll need to examine ye,” I explained, reaching for her wrist. “May I?”
She extended her arm, and I pressed two fingers to the inside of her wrist, counting the beats. Her pulse was strong and steady, as I would expect in someone in good health. Curious. I kept my expression neutral as I moved my fingers to the glands at her throat, finding them normal, then asked her to open her mouth so I could examine her tongue. It, too, looked healthy, though dry.
“How long have ye felt unwell?” I asked, my voice quiet.
“Ages,” Mary said, the words coming too quickly.
“And what are yer symptoms?”
“A fever,” she said, her eyes darting to the hearth where the fire burned. “And I do nae have an appetite. I can nae sleep. My head aches.” The list sounded rehearsed, as if she’d given it many times before.
I nodded, watching her face. “Does yer skin burn when I touch it?” I asked, brushing my hand across her forehead.
She hesitated. “Aye.”
I kept my hand where it was, counting silently. “Yer warm, but nae fevered,” I said at last. “Yer heart beats steadily and normally. Yer eyes are clear.” I sat back on the stool and studied her. “I do nae find a trace of illness in ye.” I could perform many other examinations, but I strongly suspected her illness was a ruse. “Do ye have any sores or lesions I have nae seen?”
“Nay, but the two medicine men both agreed I was ill.”
I frowned at that. “Did they examine ye all over?”
She gasped. “Certainly nae! I would nae allow them to see me without my clothing, and da agreed it was nae proper.”
I stifled a snort. This lass had the king wrapped around her finger. “What did ye tell the healers ailed ye?” I asked, suspecting the men simply went along with whatever she said for fear of inciting her anger and possibly incurring the king’s wrath.
“My stomach aches constantly.”
“Does something vex ye? If so, that can certainly make yer stomach ache.”
She stared at me in stony silence.
“What else?” I prodded gently.
“I can nae breathe when I think upon marriage.”
“Are ye thinking upon marriage?” I asked gently.
“Aye,” she grumbled. “My da’s new wife—”
“Queen Yolande,” I inserted.
“Aye,” Mary said, and her tone made her distaste for the woman clear. “She wants me wed and gone, so da is pressing me to wed.”
“I see,” I said, thinking. This certainly could be what was making Mary ill. And the queen likely wanted her gone because Mary held so much sway over her da.
Mary huffed out a breath and said, “The medicine men told da and me that I have what is called female hysterics.”
