who finally stood back and surveyed the man with hands on her narrow hips. “I can make out none o’ that. Where do you ken he might come from?”
The elderly widow Aggie answered, “I canna reason it, neither. ’Haps his mind be addled.” She sighed. “We won’t be finding out, if he dies. And he may indeed, for he’s got the look of one not long for this world.”
Rowena knew a renewed sense of disquiet at the thought of this powerful man having lost his mind. But she made no mention of the name he had uttered with such clarity. She wished to give them no false sense of hope for his recovery. “’Twill be Rowena who brings him ’round if anyone can,” Hagar replied with some uncertainty. “Ye mun recall how bad off was young John last fall when he fell overboard and breathed in all that seawater.”
There were nods of agreement as all eyes turned to Rowena. She knew not what to say to this, and covered her disquiet by addressing Padriac. “Pray fetch me an extra bucket of water from the stream.”
She then began to clear the table of the roots she had been preparing for drying when Padriac came to fetch her. As she did so she listened as the women continued to discuss the stranger and the severity of his condition.
They might indeed have great faith in her, but their very likely accurate assessments of the man’s chances of recovery were trying Rowena’s self-confidence. As soon as Padriac returned with the water, she stated gently, “Thank you all so very much for your assistance. I am certain you must all have more pressing duties to attend than this. I do promise to let each of you know if there is some change in his condition.”
It would indeed be best if they all went back to their own work. Except for Hagar.
Rowena stopped the older woman with a hand on her arm. “Pray, would you stay and help me to tend him?” The request had nothing to do with the odd awareness she had had of the man as she examined him on the shore, she told herself. “I would greatly appreciate your doing so, for there are some plants I must gather in order to treat him.”
The older woman nodded and said, “I will warm some water whilst you are at it and clean him up, lass. He’s needing a bit of a wash.”
“I…yes, he is.” Uncertain as to why the thought of washing the man was so very disturbing to her, when she had seen many a man in various states of undress while treating them, Rowena put water on to heat. She then hurried out into the wood to gather some fresh mandrake. Only when she had gathered what she required did she return to the cottage.
Giving Hagar a brief nod as the older woman looked up from the large wooden bowl of water and the cloth she held, Rowena could not help taking in the long form on the bed. Quickly she set about brewing an infusion that would help to strengthen the stranger’s blood as well as calm his unrest.
As she did so, Rowena was infinitely conscious of the fact that Hagar had removed the man’s wet and bedraggled clothing, for it lay in a filthy heap upon the floor at the foot of her bed. The sounds of her wetting and wringing out her cloth could not be mistaken, nor could the soft but incoherent sounds he made as he stirred restlessly from time to time.
Rowena did not allow herself to even glance toward the bed again, though she was not certain why. As she had told herself earlier, she had examined and treated more than one man, despite her somewhat tender years. It had been her mother who had taught her about plants and their medicinal properties. Yet she had soon confessed that Rowena’s natural aptitude far surpassed her own abilities.
Fascinated as she was with trying new and varied combinations of plants, Rowena had taken what her mother had taught her and expanded her knowledge by trial and error, as well as by searching out every other healer in the surrounding countryside.
Rowena’s knowledge and skill had grown until she was often called upon to minister to those in nearby villages. She took great satisfaction putting her life to some use in the community that had taken in a bastard child and her English mother, making them their own when they had had no one.
After what seemed a very long time, Hagar said, “You can get a better look at him with all that muck washed away.” She stepped back, the bowl of water held before her, murmuring, “What a pity,” as Rowena drew near.
The man was so pale without that covering of sand and dirt that his tenuous hold on life was obvious. As Rowena stopped beside the bed, it seemed as if his incoherent muttering had grown louder, though she still could make out none of what he was saying. Again she felt a sense of regret. At the same time she could not help acknowledging that the face was undeniably a strong one, the features quite pleasingly formed.
She remembered the expression in his eyes when he had opened them on the shore. Rowena realized that those eyes would soften that broad forehead, proud nose, high cheekbones and lean jaw. His face would be a compelling mixture of strength and gentleness.
Hagar distracted her from these thoughts, saying, “I’ll warrant there’s a broken heart that will never mend, should he die.”
“Rosalind.”
The name flitted through Rowena’s mind and she did not know she had said it aloud until Hagar replied, “What say ye?”
Rowena shrugged. “Just a name he said.”
The older woman frowned. “Ye spoke with him?”
Rowena did not look at Hagar as she recalled how the concern and compassion in his gaze as he’d spoke that name had moved her. “Nay, he came ’round only long enough to say that one thing. You see how he has been since.”
The older woman moved to the door with the bowl. “I’ve heard naught of a Rosalind.”
Rowena answered softly, “Nor I. He seemed so…If I could I would find her and bring her to him, for there was such a look to him when he said it. Her presence might help him to come through this alive.”
Hagar’s gaze was kind but measuring. “Aye, love will do such things.” She went outside to empty the bowl.
Quickly Rowena returned to the hearth, where the medications she was preparing would soon be ready. In one bowl she had mixed rue with wine she obtained from a monastery some miles away, for any pain he might be having in his head. She had also made another concoction of the mandrake to further aid in relieving any pain, as well as aid in sleeping, though the man had not fully regained consciousness thus far. Lastly she had prepared another bowl with a mixture of rue and vinegar, beside which she’d laid a scrap of clean white cloth.
Hagar, who had now returned, said, “You will bathe his head in rue?”
Rowena nodded. “’Twill perhaps help him to regain his wits.”
The older woman nodded in turn.
When Rowena was ready she moved to the bed and, trying not to show that she felt strangely self-conscious about touching this man, put her arm under his head and tipped the first bowl to his lips. To her relief he took it easily enough, swallowing whilst not fully rousing.
When the second bowl was empty, and Rowena had rubbed the rue and vinegar across his wide brow, Hagar said, “Now all we can do is pray.”
Rowena sighed. “Aye. Though I will continue to give the medicaments.”
Hagar answered softly, “May God’s own hands be with ye, lass.”
Rowena
