Grove chuckled. “Understandable, but he’ll come round.”
Her apprentice emerged from the workroom when she entered the shop. “I’m sorry for my rudeness, Mrs. North. It won’t happen again.”
Eyes downcast, he looked sorry, but there was an edge of bitterness to his words. “It’s important you understand why I spoke up for Addison and Hogg.”
He shrugged. “I don’t like either of them. They’re bullies. I suppose I don’t want to see them hanged, even though they would have let me and you take the blame.”
“It’s possible, but just because other people aren’t honorable doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak up for what we believe is right.”
She thought of her father. For all his faults, that’s exactly what he had done.
Giles nodded slowly.
“You must be hungry,” she said. “We’ll have a quick lunch then open. Let’s hope trade will be brisk to make up for the morning.”
Tuesday
Heavy autumn rains impeded the progress of Munro’s coach from Shrewsbury to Birmingham. His frustration grew as the wheels bogged down in mud time after time, and the passengers were obliged to step out into the deluge. Cold, wet and miserable, they climbed back aboard when the coachmen succeeded in dislodging the conveyance from the mire. There was a great deal of grumbling, but Munro closed his eyes and thought of Sarah. He couldn’t recall ever being as excited about anything as he was about seeing her again.
The complaints gradually deteriorated into coughing, sneezing and sniffling. Munro took out his kerchief and held it over his face. There’d be no kissing and cuddling if he came down with an ague.
He fretted it would be too late to call into the shop by the time they arrived at The Swan. Sarah might think he hadn’t kept his word.
Eventually, he dozed off.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept when the coachman shook him awake. “Thou’s reached thy destination, sir.”
Bleary-eyed, he stumbled out of the coach, retrieved his baggage and wandered into the inn. The innkeeper greeted him. “Welcome back, Mr. Pendray. You don’t look too well. Best you go straight to bed. Same room as before.”
He made an effort to reply, but his head was pounding, his throat raw. He gripped the wainscoting as the foyer seemed to tilt. He was in trouble. There was something he had to do before he sought his bed.
A boy picked up his bag. What in tarnation was his name? “Er, Luke,” he rasped. “Can ye run along to the pothcary shop and tell Sarah, er, Mrs. North, I’ve arrived. I’ll see her on the morrow.”
The lad disappeared. Munro wasn’t sure if he’d given him coin or not.
Leaning heavily on the banister, he slowly climbed the stairs, nigh on swooning when a wave of heat swept over him as he entered his room.
He was ready to cry like a bairn at the exhausting effort it took to get his wet boots off. He removed his clothes with difficulty and climbed between the sheets. His teeth refused to stop chattering, but he was on fire.
Sarah lay in bed, listening for the sound of a knock at the door. She suspected Giles was doing the same downstairs. They’d both started the day in good spirits, looking forward to Munro’s return. When day turned to evening with no sign of him, Sarah sent her apprentice to The Swan. He came back with news the Shrewsbury coach had been delayed.
That buoyed their spirits through the evening meal, but as darkness fell and the hours went by, Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat and acknowledged he was not coming back.
Sick at heart, she was about to blow out the candle when she heard the rapping.
“He’s here,” Giles shouted jubilantly. “I’ll let him in.”
It was highly inappropriate to greet a gentleman caller in her night attire, but she didn’t care. Cinching the belt of her wrapper, she flew down the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of a bedraggled urchin.
“It’s Luke, from The Swan,” Giles explained.
She gripped the banister afraid she might swoon. Something dire had befallen Munro. “C…come in,” she managed to stammer. “You’re soaked.”
Thankfully, Giles still had his wits about him, whereas she couldn’t gather her thoughts. “What’s happened?” he asked.
“Mr. Pendray came in on the coach. He told me to tell thee he’ll come on the morrow.”
She bristled. Did he not realize she longed to see him? He’d gone to bed while she lay awake worrying.
“Didn’t look too well,” Luke said.
Guilt assailed her. “He’s ill?”
“Everybody who got off the Shrewsbury coach looked peeked, coughing, sneezing.”
Sarah sprang into action. “Giles, get dressed, then mix a quantity of horehound juice with the diapenidion we made earlier. I’ll fetch the garlic and honey. Luke, go back to the inn and tell the cook…”
Raindrops spattered the walls as he shook his head vigorously. “Cook’s gone to bed. I’ll not be the one to wake her.”
Sarah took a deep breath. The weary-looking child should have been in bed hours ago. “Very well, I’ll make the onion tea here. Wait for us. We’ll accompany you back to the inn.”
She rushed back upstairs, saying a silent prayer of thanks there was one last onion. Gulping back the stinging tears, she quickly chopped it up and set it to boil in water.
She dressed while it simmered, unable to stem the persistent tears. “Find the oil of wintergreen,” she shouted to Giles.
Willing her hands to stop shaking, she poured the potent-smelling hot liquid into the empty cider flagon, more than grateful when it didn’t crack.
Her willow basket was barely big enough for the flagon. She slipped garlic cloves, a spoon and a cake of honey into her pocket, donned her shawl and went downstairs.
The boys were ready. Giles had a packet with the diapenidion in one hand, two vials of wintergreen oil in the other. The breath hitched in her throat when she saw he’d let Luke borrow his new cape, but she had to concentrate. “Can you think of anything else?” she asked her apprentice.
“I brought oregano oil as well,” he replied.
Of course! She should have thought of that.
“You smell funny,” Luke whispered.
She sniffed her fingers. There wasn’t time to rush back and wash off the onion smell. People at the inn would just have to understand. She was on a mission to tend a sick man.
They hurried out. Giles handed his key to Luke and the boy locked the door.
“I’m coming, my love,” she chanted over and over in her head as they hurried to the inn.
Wintergreen
It occurred to Sarah as she climbed the wooden stairs that she’d swept into The Swan like Boudicca marshaling her forces against the Romans. Small wonder the gaping innkeeper had hurried to unlock the room. Luke clutched the tumbler the landlord’s wife fetched from the kitchens.
Sarah took the candle lantern from the landlord and held it high, dismayed by what she saw. Munro lay curled up amid disheveled sheets, his brow fevered, his beautiful hair plastered to his head. His eyes were open but he seemed to have little idea that people had entered his room.
“Help me sit him up,” she told the harried landlord.
They each hooked an arm under Munro’s and dragged him to a sitting position. The heat of his body alarmed her. He was on fire.
Giles had the foresight to plump up the pillows and they settled Munro against them.
She and the landlord were both sweating and he looked very nervous. It was understandable. Illness tended to clear an establishment quickly. More than two hundred years had passed since the Black Death, but the terrifying tales of its horror were handed down from one generation to the next. “Thank you for your help. I suggest you get Luke to bed.”
There was no argument. The yawning boy handed the cape back to Giles and left with his master.
She kissed Munro’s brow, struggling to keep the tears at bay when he smiled weakly and rasped, “Sarah.”
She willed h
erself to think…think…he sounded hoarse…his throat…
“This first?” Giles asked, holding out the oregano oil.
She accepted it, grateful one of them was of sound mind. “This will taste bitter,” she told Munro. “Stick out your tongue. You must keep the oil under it for a while.”
He obeyed, grimacing as she administered two drops.
“Don’t swallow yet,” she commanded, relieved when he seemed to understand.
“Peppermint,” he rasped.
Another good sign. He’d detected the peppermint oil mixed in with the oregano.
“Pour some of the onion tea into the tumbler,” she told Giles, scraping a spoonful of honey from the cake. “Then we need water from the ewer and a wet flannel.”
Hoping he was awake enough to hold the tumbler, she put it in his hands, then cupped her own around his. The flagon had kept the liquid warm enough to be effective. “Drink this now. Down in one.”
She helped him lift the tea to his lips. He took a sip then grimaced again. She forced him to take more. “I know it tastes awful, but if you drink it all, I’ll give you honey.”
Giles chuckled. “You remind me of my mother, Mrs. North, coaxing me with the promise of a treat.”
She shrugged. “Men are little boys at heart. He’s delirious. He won’t remember.”
Munro slurped the last of the tea. “Now, I want my honey,” he wheezed.
Smiling, she held the spoon to his lips.
“I’ve longed to taste your honey,” he said hoarsely, a lustful glint in his eyes.
As Munro licked the honey from the spoon, she risked a glance at Giles, but he didn’t seem to be aware of their patient’s intent. “I’ll sit up with him first,” she said. “Get some sleep.”
The boy huddled under his cape in the chair.
Munro lifted the sheets. “Come to bed, my lovely Sarah.”
Tempted to giggle, she dabbed his forehead with the damp cloth. “You won’t remember any of this on the morrow.”
He took hold of her hand and held it to his nose. “Ye smell of onions.”
“Behave and try to get well.”
“Come to bed and I’ll be well.”
She leaned close to his ear. “Giles is here with me, but I’ll do my best to soothe you.”
He grinned like a drunkard and pushed the sheets down around his hips.
She yanked them back over his nakedness. “Not like that, silly man. Lie down and keep still.”
She straightened the pillows under his head, then reached for the wintergreen oil.
Even in his fevered state, Munro was aroused by the delicate touch of Sarah’s warm hands rubbing his chest with fragrant oil. “This smells better. What is it?”
“Wintergreen. Take deep breaths and it will help.”
He inhaled, noticing her nostrils flare when he expanded his chest. “Reminds me of something.”
“Well, some people make tea with the leaves, or chew them to perfume their breath. The oil is often used to clean and lubricate muskets and pistols.”
The mention of lubrication sent his mind off on another tack, but she’d said something about Giles. He narrowed his eyes, disappointed to see the lad asleep in the armchair. “I love to feel yer hands on me,” he whispered. “I dinna suppose…”
A yawn interrupted his train of thought and sleep claimed him.
Sarah knew Munro had fallen asleep, but her hands seemed to have taken on a life of their own. She carried on gently massaging him, admiring the rise and fall of his chest, the tight male nipples, the line of soft, black hair that wandered down his belly to…
Her errant hands accidentally brushed the linens lower to expose his manhood curled up in its nest of dark curls. Even in repose he was impressive.
She pecked a kiss on that most intimate part, praying she’d done enough to heal him.
Giles occupied the only chair, so she covered her beloved with the sheet and curled up around his legs, listening to his labored breathing.
Kindness
Bright daylight was seeping under the door when Munro awoke. He wasn’t sure where he was, but at least his headache was gone. He swallowed, grateful the fire in his throat had eased. A pleasant aroma stole up his nostrils. He could breathe again.
However, there seemed to be something wrong with his legs when he tried to sit up.
“Please be still, Mr. Pendray,” a voice cautioned. “You’ll wake her.”
He narrowed his eyes. Giles loomed over him, one finger pointed to the bed.
Sarah lay curled across his legs, sound asleep.
Memories rushed back. She had come to his aid in the middle of the night. He rubbed his fingers into the stickiness on his chest, remembering her loving touch. As a result of her efforts, he might live after all, though the taste of onion lingered. He suddenly felt hungry, not surprising since he hadn’t eaten since the day before. “I’d be obliged if ye’d find something for us to break our fast,” he whispered to Giles. “Ask the landlord.”
The lad’s eyes brightened at the mention of food. “Back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” he replied. “That was one of mam’s favorite sayings.”
Once the boy had left, Munro eased his legs from under Sarah, pulled the sheet over his chest and drew her up into his arms. She nestled her head against him, obviously exhausted. He suspected she’d kept vigil until sleep claimed her.
Contentment stole over him as the future became clear—he’d awaken every morning with Sarah in his arms, the sheet gone when there was no Giles to worry about. He sifted his fingers through soft curls, imagining how they’d feel on his…
A loud banging at the door jolted Sarah awake. She sat up. “What?”
“Giles is at the door with our breakfast,” he said, his voice still raspy.
She smiled. “You look much better.”
“Can’t open the door,” Giles yelled.
“I feel like a new man,” he lied, watching her stretch as she walked across the room to let Giles in. He had an insane urge to ask her to do it again, but the boy came in, laden with pastries. He was glad he’d covered himself when Luke followed with tankards of ale.
“How art thee, sir?” the lad asked, handing Munro a tankard.
“All the better for Mrs. North’s care. I thank ye for bringing her.”
“She insisted on coming,” he replied.
“Still, ye deserve a coin or two, and I’ll see to it as soon as I’m able.”
“Didn’t do it for the money, sir. Thou hast always been kind to me.”
Giles ushered the lad out, then sat in the chair to eat.
Sarah perched on the edge of the bed and bit into a jam tart.
Munro took a sip of ale and lay back against the pillow. “’Tis sad. A lad like Luke. He considers I was being kind when all I did was engage in a few conversations with him.”
“Most people probably ignore him,” she replied.
“Or treat him like he’s a nothing,” Giles offered with his mouth full.
Munro thought of the black-faced urchins he’d seen. “I must tell you about my Welsh relatives and the bairns who toil in their coal mines. The conditions they endure made me sick.”
“Eat something first,” Sarah said, holding out a pastry.
He decided he’d like to be spoiled for a little while longer. “I’m too weak. Ye’ll have to feed me.”
Sarah recognized the familiar glint in Munro’s eyes. It warmed her heart as well as her body. Even when he was brought low by illness, his sense of humor shone through. She rose to his challenge, broke off a piece of pastry and held it to his lips.
He accepted it, pretending to bite her fingers as he did so.
“You’re naughty,” she whispered, aware Giles was watching.
“Incorrigible,” he agreed, opening his mouth for another piece.
She took a bite of her own pastry then fed him again.
They continued the game until he unexpectedly frowned.
“I’m we
aring you out,” she said.
He shook his head and whispered, “Behind you.”
She glanced over her shoulder, dismayed to see Giles standing by the door, struggling to hold back tears.
“I’m going back to the shop,” he muttered. “We’ll be late opening up.”
He fled before Sarah could stop him. “He’s right. I have to go.”
“That’s not why he’s upset,” Munro replied, taking her hand.
“I know. We should have been more considerate. He misses his parents. However, there is good news. Battersby has offered to pay his fees if he wants to return to King Edward’s.”
Munro bristled. “He willna want to depend on Battersby to pay the fees, if he decides to go back to the school. He loathes the mon. I’ll foot the bill.”
He admitted inwardly the news Giles might return to King Edward’s had hurt more than his pride. In the back of his mind, he’d imagined a scenario where the lad came with him and Sarah to Scotland. With a good tutor, he could excel at his studies and eventually enter Edinburgh University.
But would the boy want to leave Birmingham, and, more importantly, how did Sarah feel about the situation? She’d been honest and told him they could never have bairns of their own. That didn’t mean she’d be willing to take on a twelve-year-old.
Did either of them have it in them to love someone else’s child?
Still, he’d sworn to do what he could for bairns who had no other recourse, and Giles was no stranger. In a few short days, they’d become very attached to him.
“That’s generous of you,” she replied, her hand on the doorknob.
While he’d been immersed in his thoughts, she’d gathered her things and was ready to leave. “I’ll mention it to him.”
“When will ye come back?”
“Later. This is early closing day.”
He lowered the sheet. “Can ye nay apply more oil to my chest before ye go? It did me a world o’ good.”
Kingslayer's Daughter (The House of Pendray Book 2) Page 18
