Read Online Mist Over the Water by Alys Clare - Free Book Online Page B

‘I told them to!’ he said in a hoarse whisper. Then, realizing that I did not understand, ‘I thought the robed figures who tried to kill me were monks, you see. Now I’m not so sure, but then, in my panic, I did not dare let my rescuers take me within the abbey.’
    ‘I see.’ Yes. It was all too clear. Morcar had faced a frightful choice between surrendering to the first-rate care of the monks, two of whom might have just tried to kill him, or being taken to his meagre, dirty lodgings where he would probably die.
    He was looking at me anxiously. Hastily, I wiped the deep frown off my face, but it was too late. ‘I’m so sorry, Lassair,’ he said. ‘I found someone to take a message to my mother to send help, and it never occurred to me that the task would fall to you. I have brought you here to danger and to the deeply unpleasant task of nursing me. Can you ever forgive me?’
    ‘There’s nothing to forgive!’ I said, putting all the sincerity I could muster into my voice. ‘Edild would have come herself but she is presently occupied with several very sick people back in Aelf Fen. I volunteered to come,’ I added, stretching the truth a little, ‘because this sort of experience is quite invaluable to an apprentice healer like me.’
    ‘That’s what she told me too,’ Sibert put in, obviously keen to add verisimilitude to my tale.
    Morcar managed a crooked grin. ‘Really?’
    ‘Really,’ Sibert and I chorused together.
    Morcar stretched experimentally, then very, very carefully moved his right foot. Surprise flooded his face. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed.
    I leapt up. ‘Does it hurt?’ I was already running through what stronger pain-relieving drug I could administer that would not risk sending him into a permanent sleep. He had already had several drops of poppy . . .
    But, ‘No, it doesn’t hurt,’ Morcar was saying, still looking amazed. ‘It throbs a bit, but otherwise it’s just numb.’
    I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You should drink,’ I said, pouring some watered-down willow infusion into a cup. ‘As much as you can, for it will help reduce the fever.’
    Morcar looked embarrassed. ‘Speaking of drinking,’ he began.
    It was Sibert who made the leap of understanding. I was ushered outside while he helped my cousin fill the new pisspot.
    Morcar was still very sick. He managed to drink most of the infusion, but then, with a petulant, almost spiteful gesture that I blamed entirely on his feverish state, he pushed my hand away, spilling the dregs of the drink on the skirts of my gown.
    I made him as comfortable as he could and sat beside him as he twisted and turned, muttering under his breath. I feared he was growing delirious again and, indeed, soon his moans grew in volume although he was deeply asleep, if not unconscious. I put my hand on his forehead. He was very hot.
    Sibert crawled over to me, awakened by Morcar’s mutterings and cries. ‘Is he all right?’
    It was a singularly dull question, but I realized Sibert was still half asleep and therefore had only a part of his wits about him. ‘No,’ I replied shortly. ‘His fever’s creeping up again.’
    Sibert studied Morcar for a few moments. ‘Can’t you do anything?’
    ‘No,’ I repeated, cross that he was making me confront my inadequacies. Then, relenting, I said, ‘Sibert, do you think you could go and fetch me some freshly drawn water?’ We had our own supply – Sibert made sure to keep the bucket inside the door filled – but it had grown stale and warm from the fire. Sibert nodded, drew on his boots and slipped outside into the darkness.
    I reached into my bag and found my little bottle of lavender oil. Pouring a few drops into the palm of my hand, I dipped in my fingers and, kneeling beside Morcar, very gently began to massage his head, from his temples across to his brow and then right up into his hairline and over his skull, extending the process I had begun earlier. Fevers were usually accompanied by