placed his hands on his lean hips. “Ye canna stay here alone with a strange man, Rowena. I forbid it.”
Rowena frowned, feeling a shaft of rebellion race through her. She knew he wished only the best for her, but she would not allow him, nor anyone else to dictate to her.
She placed her hands on her own hips. “What say you, Sean?”
He glared at her even as chagrin registered in his eyes. “Now, Rowena, I did not mean to sound so…I am only…”
She raised her chin. “And have a care that you do not. Now be off with you so that I might get on with my own business here.”
“Rowena…” His tone was cajoling now, but she would have none of it.
“Go on, I said. You may stop ’round in the morning if you are truly concerned for my safety.” Though her determination to do as she would was still clear, the edge was now gone from her voice. ’Twas impossible to remain vexed at Sean for long. They knew one another far too well. Although she had never had a brother, if she had he would have been just like Sean, bright and handsome and protective.
The fact that she had no brothers, no sisters, no family of any sort besides her mother, made her hold Sean all the more dear. She didn’t even know her father’s name, having been told that it was for the best. Even on the day she had died her mother had refused to utter his name.
Telling herself that such thoughts could gain her nothing, Rowena watched as her friend moved to the door with obvious reluctance. Yet he said no more, glancing back over his shoulder only once before making his exit.
Rowena then turned to Hagar, who had also watched her son leave the cottage. The older woman suddenly cast a sympathetic, yet distracted glance at her and said, “Is there anything I might do?”
Rowena shook her head. “There is nothing to do but wait.” And suddenly she found herself confiding in her friend about those troubling ravings. “He has come around more fully, rambling wildly about dragons and dead babes. I fear his head injury may indeed have left the man addled.”
Slowly Hagar came forward, placing a covered container on the table, her dear face fearful. “Those do sound like the ravings of a madman. ’Haps Sean is right in this. The stranger could be dangerous, Rowena.”
“Pray do not worry. I have given him sufficient mandrake as well as other sleeping herbs. He will not waken.”
The older woman shook her head, glancing to the door through which her son had gone. “Sean and I…we love ye, lass. And only wish for ye to be safe.”
Rowena noted the odd catch in Hagar’s voice as she spoke of Sean’s and her own love. Rowena was more moved by this concern coming from Hagar, who had sought to guide her only in the gentlest ways, than she had been by Sean’s demands. Perhaps she should take heed here. Her mother had always told her to be wary of strangers. Heretofore there had been no reason for wariness, as she had never come into such close contact with a total stranger. But she should not allow her stubbornness to make her forget her mother’s advice.
Rowena took a deep breath. “I will have a care. But truly, I do not feel there is cause to worry for the next few hours. As I said, I have given more than sufficient of the sleeping potions to keep him docile. In this state he would be near impossible to move, and it would be unfair to call out those who have already sought their beds to aid us.”
Hagar watched her for a long, silent moment, then nodded, indicating the container on the table. “I’ve brought ye this broth, and will be back when the sun rises.”
Rowena bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you. I am grateful for your care.”
Hagar left the cottage without further conversation.
Rowena sighed. Since her mother died she had spent much time alone. Though she loved the villagers who had taken her and her mother in, she was also fond of her solitude.
She glanced back toward the bed. She tried to tell herself that the sick man would give her little trouble, but knew it was not true. Although she had decided that she would not allow herself to care about the outcome of his illness, she did indeed care. Again she told herself it was because of those who might await him.
It was with a decided determination to think of something besides the sadness engendered by this thought that she began to make herself a pallet on the floor near the fire. She did not mind so very much, as she had also slept there in the last few weeks of her mother’s wasting illness.
The task was too soon completed, as well as her other preparations for sleep. Cocking her head, she listened for any stirrings from the bed. There was nothing but the sound of the man’s deep breathing, which seemed to have grown somewhat raspy.
Rising, she went to peer down at him by the light of her candle. Though his face was very pale and drawn, that was no change from before. His forehead was cool to her touch.
The sound of his breathing had definitely changed. Determinedly she told herself not to become alarmed, for it could be caused by nothing more than a dry throat. When she fetched and spooned a bit of cool water into his mouth, the harshness did seem to improve somewhat.
Slowly she sank down on the bench beside the table and took a bit of the rich broth Hagar had placed there. Although it had grown cold, the flavorful liquid was welcome.
Several times Rowena reached up to rub her eyes, which felt gritty and tired. It had been a long and wearisome day.
Once the cup was empty she rose and went to her pallet. There was no telling what tomorrow might bring, and she would be well served to try to get some sleep.
She knew not how long she had actually been asleep when she opened her eyes again. Wondering what could have wakened her, she became aware of the fact that the man’s breathing was ragged again. That soft raspiness seemed to have grown harsher, shallower. Frowning, she rose and moved to look down at him.
That handsome face was flushed with heat, and though he slept on, he moved his head restlessly from side to side.
Rowena put her hand to his forehead. It was hot—too hot.
Chapter Two
Fever.
Rowena quickly went to the fire and put the water back on to heat. Because of the likely inflammation in his lungs, she made a mixture of horehound and honey. Then she placed a combination of sorrel and marigold into her mixing bowl to treat the fever. While she waited for the water to heat, she fetched a shallow wooden bowl, filled it with cool water and removed a soft clean cloth from the chest beside the foot of the bed.
Then she stepped toward the bed, placed the bowl upon the narrow table and dipped the cloth into it. When she’d wrung out the cloth, she hesitated, her gaze fixed on his face, handsome in spite of the illness that had robbed it of color and animation. She should not have told Hagar to go.
With a sigh of impatience, Rowena told herself that this was completely foolish. She had performed this very task more times than she could count. To hesitate with this man was madness. He was nothing to her, and utterly unaware of her at any rate.
Her suspicion that he might be a noble, a man who came from the world of her father,
