She smiled, leaning close to him, grateful that he didn't pull his arm away. Whether it was the alcohol talking or something else, she couldn't bring herself to interfere — it just felt so good to sit here with his arm around her, sheltering her from the cool night air. The smell of him was intoxicating, and she could feel her heart beating hard in her chest, urging her to do something about it… but she held herself still. A part of her was still frightened she was imagining the connection between them, the chemistry… that it was just wishful thinking, that she'd damage their friendship irreparably by doing anything as stupid as confessing her feelings for him.
Still, they sat for a long time on the hillside together before turning in for the night. And she certainly had a few dreams that night… dreams in which she was a whole lot less frightened about making it clear what she wanted from him.
Chapter 26
The next day dawned cloudy and overcast. The somber weather suited the mood of the villagers… with downcast eyes they headed for the church, where a memorial was being held for the lost men at midday. It seemed the choice had been made to burn the bodies rather than bury them — from what Karen could gather, the men's wounds were too severe to make an open casket an option, and cremation had been opted for instead.
Thankfully, Connor had seen fit to organize more clothes for her than simply the pairs she had borrowed from the innkeeper's daughter. She had a reasonably varied wardrobe now, including a simple black dress that seemed appropriate for a funeral… even though, as she looked down at it, it reminded her a little of a witch's costume. She wasn't a witch, though, she told herself firmly. She was a regular woman who was going to a funeral to pay her respects to the dead, and she wasn't going to be stopped from doing that by silly superstition.
Still, she felt a little out of place at the memorial, so she sat in the back, trying to draw as little attention as possible. Though she drew a few cool looks from passing villagers, it seemed the focus wasn't on her today… or perhaps Connor's harsh words the night before had gotten through to them, and they'd all resolved to leave her well enough alone. She sat and listened as the villagers shared stories about the six lost men — there was a sermon from Father Caleb, too, oddly touching, and a few of the villagers even sang songs. Still, she felt like an outsider. She hadn't known these men… hadn't grown up with them the way so many people around here had. All she'd known was the unpleasant way they'd treated her at the bar… but that wasn't any indication of who they really were, was it? She took a moment to say a little prayer, feeling odd about it. She'd never really been a practicing Catholic, and her medical career had driven a lot of what religious thought she had out of her. But in this moment, in this church, it felt appropriate to hope that the six men were at peace.
She avoided the crowds as they left the church after the ceremony, not wanting to antagonize anyone — especially the widow, Rosemary, who had sobbed throughout the whole service. She found herself almost hiding behind the church, waiting for the crowds to disperse… which was where Connor found her. He, too, was dressed in black, looking rather dashing — or was it just that he was wearing something different?
"Are you alright?" he wanted to know, moving to her side.
She couldn't help but think of the evening before, the time they'd spent together on the hillside… the warmth of his arm around her… she shivered a little, annoyed by how strong her crush on him was getting. It was distracting… and she had other things to think about right now.
"I'm fine," she said with a shrug. "Just trying to keep out of everyone's way."
"Nobody's been bothering you, have they?" The protectiveness in his eyes sent a surge of warmth through her, but she shook her head.
"No, no. Everything's fine. I just… it's not really my grief, you know? I didn't know those men. I can't imagine how everyone's feeling." She sighed. "I can't stop thinking about the investigation."
"Aye, I'm in the same boat," Connor said, shaking his head. "Hard to grieve when I'm so focused on figuring out what did this — and how to stop it striking again."
"I can't help but wonder how they got those lesions all over them, too," she said, glancing over her shoulder to ensure they weren't being overheard. "It's just not how the disease generally works… it only attacks the part of their bodies that would have come into contact with the diseased part of the cow. So how did they have them on their chests and shoulders?"
"How did they get it at all, is what I'm wondering," Connor said with a frown. He put his arm around her shoulders, surprising her, and led her away from the church, down a winding path she knew led eventually to the paddock where the quarantined cows were being kept. The casual intimacy of the touch was distracting, but she tried to focus. He just wanted to walk away from the church while they talked, that was all. No need to read into it…
"What do you mean?" she said, realizing he'd spoken.
He looked thoughtful. "I mean, most herdsmen I know don't touch the animals at all — let alone their udders, where the pox are seen. That's why it's milkmaids who generally come down with the pox, right? Herdsmen don't do any milking unless they're pressed — and from what the farmers have all said, none of them stepped in to help out with the milking."
"Old Maggie was curious about that, too," Karen said with a nod. "Curious and a bit suspicious."
"I'm not surprised. I've been meaning to go and visit with her, actually," he said, clicking his fingers as he remembered. "She may have some insight into what happened the other night… or at least she'll be able to tell us where to start looking."
"Could there be a supernatural explanation for the men coming down with the pox in that strange way?" she asked, the thought occurring to her suddenly. "A — a curse, or something?"
"It's possible," he shrugged… then an amused look came into his eye. "I mean, there are other explanations, too, for how a man might come to have contact with an illness like that in so many intimate places…"
"What do you mean?" She blinked… then realized what he was getting at. "Oh! Of course — if they had contact with the milkmaids…" She wrinkled her nose a little. "I still don't see why anyone would sleep with someone who was covered in lesions… doesn't seem especially romantic. Maybe we should visit the sick maids again?"
"Aye, a good idea. Probably best for you to go alone this time," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "I'd imagine women would be more likely to share their secrets if there wasn't a member of the Watch present…"
"Ah, yes. The secret ways of women… very clandestine," she said solemnly, drawing a laugh from him that made her heart glow with warmth. He was such pleasant company… even after a funeral, with everything that was going on, being in his presence was making her feel more content than she could remember feeling in a long time. They continued to walk for another hour or so, strolling at a pleasant pace through the countryside. She was worried that he had duties he was neglecting to be with her… but couldn't quite bring herself to bring it up for fear of reminding him and sending him away.
Finally, they reached the inn, and he bid her good afternoon. She headed inside, at a bit of a loss for how to spend the rest of her afternoon. The inn was packed with mourners, and she hesitated a little before quickly grabbing some food and taking it up to her room, not wanting to intrude on the town's grief any more than she had. She'd leave her visit to the young women until the next day, she decided, settling into her room with her lunch. It would be good to see how they were mending from their illness… and to see if they had any insight into what could have caused the odd spread of the pox to those six young men. She was glad Connor wouldn't be with her. It might be something of a sensitive subject… after all, one of the men in question was married, and from what she'd seen of Rosemary, who didn't have any lesions anywhere on her body, it wasn't his wife he'd contracted the pox from…
But all of that would need to wait until tomorrow. For now, all she could do was sit and think, her mind worrying away at the problem like a dog
with a bone. There was information she was missing; she was sure of it. And one way or another, she was going to find it.
Chapter 27
She passed the afternoon pleasantly enough, and got an early night, tucking herself into bed to be ready to get up bright and early the next day to go and visit with the young women. She'd drop in on Mary and see how she was feeling, though she didn't hold out much hope that the girl would be any more willing to talk than she had been… she had more hope for the sisters, who seemed much more social, more likely to be on friendlier terms with the young men who'd passed away.
There weren't many people about when she headed out to the stables to collect her horse, which she was glad of. The grief in the village was still palpable, and she didn't want to feel like she had to avoid people's eyes, feeling guilty for even being there in the first place. She was going to solve the mystery — that had been her decision the night before. That was what she could do for the villagers. She couldn't cure their sick of the pox, only slow its spread, and she certainly couldn't bring back the lost young men… but she could use her knowledge, her skills and her dedication to help find out what had happened and make sure it never happened again.
It was a pleasant ride up to the little cottage Mary shared with her family. She peered up at the window she now knew belonged to Mary, trying to see if the girl had decided to let any light in — but sure enough, the window was shut and bolted, the curtains drawn tight. What was worse, when she knocked on the door, Mary's mother answered, looking sad and drawn. She explained that Mary wasn't letting anyone into her room — she was barely opening the door long enough to accept a meal once a day, so visitors were definitely out of the question. Karen stayed long enough to have a brief chat with the worried woman and to answer a few of her questions about the girl's sickness… but there wasn't a lot she could say that was very useful. Cowpox shouldn't be causing such intense depression in the girl — as unpleasant as it was to be unwell, it was clear that something else was going on with Mary.
She just wished she knew what. And did it have something to do with the night she'd seen Danny lurking in the bushes outside the cottage? She asked Mary's mother a little about the girl's relationship with the cowherders, but the woman just shrugged, saying that she didn't think her daughter had any suitors among the lads of the village. Besides, her depression had started well before the deaths of the young men.
Still feeling at a loss, she headed down the street to visit with Anne and Rhianne instead. The girls' mother answered the door, looking tired but happy enough to see Karen. It seemed the work of looking after the sick girls was beginning to wear her down, on top of everything else — Karen offered to help by changing the girls' bandages for her, an offer she accepted gratefully.
Sure enough, the girls were still in bed, looking much as they had the last time she'd seen them — though it looked like Anne had been crying. Rhianne was dozing, drifting in and out of consciousness as they chatted.
"I wish I could have been at the funeral," Anne said softly when the topic of the lost herdsmen came up. It seemed she and her sister had found out quickly what had been happening — they'd heard the shouting of the herdsmen outside their window when the storm had come, and Anne reported hearing shrieks and screams much like the ones Karen had heard in the village. They exchanged worried glances, a shiver running down Karen's spine as she remembered that night.
"What took them?" Anne murmured; her eyes full of fear. "What was it that would do a thing like that? Carry them up into the sky and…" A tear ran down her cheek and she dashed it away.
Karen sighed, turning her eyes down to the lesions she was carefully dressing, not quite sure how to answer the question.
"I don't know yet, and neither do the Watch," she admitted softly, feeling a pang of sadness at the grief that twisted Anne's young face. "But we're doing everything we can to find out." She hesitated, wanting to broach the subject of any contact the girls might have had with the herdsmen, but not quite sure how to go about it without offending or embarrassing them. They were very young… when she'd been a teenager, anything like a conversation about sex would have sent her running for cover. "Did you know any of them?" she asked finally, feeling like she was prying. "The young men?"
"Aye, we did," Anne said softly, twisting at the bedsheets between her hands. "They were always around when we worked, bringing the cows to us for milking… we were friends, I suppose. We'd known them for years and years."
"Were you close with any of them?" she asked gently, not wanting to pry too much… but a blush came to Anne's face that piqued her interest.
"Kind of," she said faintly. "I — well, there was Galen…"
"Anne was in love with Galen," came Rhianne's voice from the other side of the room, slurry with sleep but her eyes glinting with amusement as they slid open. "Absolutely obsessed, it was disgusting."
"Rhi!" Now Anne was blushing furiously. "I had a bit of a thing for him, that was all. He — " She shrugged her shoulders, and now Karen could see the sadness in her eyes. "He was always sweet to me, that's all. We weren't seeing each other, or anything."
"Did you —" She hesitated, biting her lip. It was so hard to ask these questions without risking embarrassing the girls… "Anne, can I ask you some personal questions? I promise I won't tell anyone — it's just to help with the investigation, to help find out what's going on."
"I didn't sleep with him, if that's what you're asking," Anne said frankly, drawing a feverish little giggle from her sister on the other side of the room. "Wish I had."
Karen almost smiled in relief… but held the expression back, mindful of the somber mood. "Did you — touch each other, at all? We noticed that he had pox, that's all," she explained, thinking back to the body of the one Connor had told her was called Galen. He had been a fine-looking young man… the injustice of such an early death twinged at her and she shook her head sadly. "We were wondering whether —"
"I didn't give it to him," she said indignantly. "As soon as I noticed the sores, I covered them up. Didn't want him thinking I was disgusting." She tilted her head, curious. "How'd he get sores? The herdsmen never touched the cows where they get the pox."
"That's what we're wondering," Karen said, disappointed by this new dead end. "You're sure neither of you had any close contact with any of the young men?"
"Definitely not."
"What about Mary?"
Rhianne giggled weakly. "Absolutely not. She hated all six of them. They used to pick on her for being short… then when she got taller, they picked on her for, you know… developing." Rhianne made a gesture to her chest that indicated pretty clearly that she was talking about breasts.
Karen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It seemed young men never changed.
"No, she'd never have touched any of them."
Then how on Earth had they gotten the pox? Karen wondered, frowning. Here she was, stuck again at yet another dead end.
Chapter 28
She spent another half hour or so with the girls. They seemed to enjoy her company — she imagined any distraction from the boredom of being stuck in bed was a welcome one — so she lingered on, chatting away with them and assuaging a few of their fears about the virus they'd come down with. It seemed news had reached them of how insular and shut-in Mary was being… they were worried she was much sicker than they were, and that there was a chance they might be about to get much, much worse.
"I don't want to die of pox," Anne said, sounding miserable. "I want to get married first, at least."
"The pox will go nicely with your wedding dress." Rhianne giggled. The girl was utterly delirious — and the joke didn't seem to impress her sister, who scowled and then turned pleading eyes to Karen.
"Don't worry," she said, trying to sound as reassuring as she could. "Honestly, the worst part of this disease is how long it lasts. You won't get any worse than this… and you'll be all better in eight weeks or so. I promise. You're definitely not going to die of i
t."
"I bet Mam wishes we'd die of it," Anne said darkly, though there was a look in her eye that told Karen she was just being hyperbolic for the sake of it. "She's so fed up with looking after us…"
"She'll keep you safe," Karen said with a smile. "That's her job. That's what moms are for. When she gets old and frail, you'll do just the same for her."
The girls nodded, which made Karen smile — she'd expected a groan of resistance, but it seemed these two girls were more than willing to care for their mother in her old age. There was something sweet about that… and something that made her feel a pang of grief for her own mother. At least she'd had a generous life insurance policy. That money should go a long way to caring for her parents as they got older… hardly a substitute for having their daughter with them, but there wasn't much she could do about that now, was there? She sighed heavily, feeling grief creeping around her mind. What she wouldn't give to talk to her mother again…
So, she was in a somber mood as she rode away from the row of cottages. No new answers about how the men had gotten the pox… let alone answers about what it had been that had taken their lives the other night in such a horrible way. The expressions on their faces still stayed with her — utter, heart-stopping fear. She hadn't been able to ascertain cause of death with any real precision — it could have been the fall or the wounds, but part of her suspected that it might have actually been fright. Fear could do a lot of dreadful things to people… including stopping their hearts, if the fear were strong and immediate enough.
And fear seemed to be the dominant mood in the village as the days wore on. The village remained in mourning, quiet and morose as time passed. Karen stayed as quiet as she could, keeping out of the way of the townsfolk, wanting to leave them to their grief… and, if she was honest, there was an element of fear there, too, a worry that occasionally stopped her from sleeping. She'd read about what happened to women with knowledge that went beyond the average in medieval times… she had a few dreams about fire, about the villagers hauling her out over crimes they'd imagined, and though she wasn't proud of it, she was afraid.
Troubled By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 6) Page 11
