Page 27

When Adam woke at dawn, the first thing he saw was Aillenn perched on the edge of the bed, dressed only in her leine, sewing.

He blinked a few times. Even in the dim light, she was more beautiful than yesterday.

Beautiful and fascinating and tempting. But he dared not delay their journey further by pursuing that line of thinking.

“What are ye doin’?” he croaked.

“Ah! Ye’re awake.”

She quickly covered herself with the bedcurtain. He wondered why. He’d seen—and touched and kissed—every bit last night. Every delectable inch of her.

Clearing his throat and his thoughts, he scrubbed at his eyes and sat up. “Is that the curtain?”

“Aye. I’m repairin’ it.” She glanced at him, unable to hide the pleasure in her eyes at the sight of him. “I’m almost finished.” Then she shyly lowered her eyes to where she clutched the curtain to her chest. “I want to thank ye.”

“Thank me?”

“Aye, for…” She gazed at the spot where they’d made love.

He couldn’t help but grin. “’Twas my pleasure.”

She gave him a sly glance. “I think from now on I shall have to insist on goose-down pallets.”

“From now on?” The idea of a future with her pleased him immensely.

She pretended she didn’t hear that. She went back to her sewing, frowning intently at her work as he pulled on his braies and slipped into his leine.

He was completely dressed by the time she snipped off the final thread and slipped needle, thread, and scissors back into a case in her satchel.

“There,” she said. “’Tisn’t perfect, but ’twill have to do. I have a task to attend to.”

A task? Oh aye, he remembered. Aillenn had promised to look in on Finlay’s wee brother.

He hung the curtain while she dressed, doing his best to hide the ragged seam in the folds of the drape. Then they packed up their satchels, grabbed an oatcake and ale in the great hall to break their fast, and bid Pitcairn a grateful farewell.

Finlay brought them their horses. Then the lad led them to his home, a nearby crofter’s cottage.

Adam squinted at the thick smoke coming through the roof. It was common wisdom that the ill should be closeted in a warm environment. But the Rivenlochs came from Vikings. They believed in clean water and fresh air.

“What’s your brother’s name?” Aillenn asked Finlay.

“He hasn’t got one yet. He was born but a sennight ago.”

Eve’s heart sank. Whatever confidence she’d had crumbled. Though she dared not admit it to Finlay or anyone else, there was little hope for a bairn who fell ill so soon after birth.

“Shite,” Adam said under his breath.

She gave him a sharp glare. He obviously understood the odds as well. But there was no point in discouraging Finlay.

She meant to do what she could. She would comfort the bairn. She would comfort the family. And, for the love of God, she would open the door to let in the outside air. Why people believed peat smoke was good for sickness, she didn’t know.

Mostly what she would do is pray. She was a woman of faith after all. She believed in miracles. And if she prayed with a pure heart, entreating God to save this poor infant, surely He would intervene to save the child’s life.

True to her fears, when Finlay opened the door, a cloud of smoke coiled out.

“Leave the door open,” she and Adam said simultaneously.

She cocked a surprised brow at him. Perhaps he believed as she did, that sick people thrived on fresh air.

She waved away the smoke as she stepped into the cottage. By the fire was a wan young woman with a pinched face holding a swaddled bairn.

“They’re here to help, Ma,” Finlay said. “I’d stay, but the laird needs me at the keep.”

The woman looked confused. It probably wasn’t every day a nobleman and a lady stepped into her cottage. But she was too desperate to question their motives.

“My bairn is so sick, m’lady,” she whimpered. “Can ye do anythin’?”

Eve rushed forward to take the bairn from her. The wee lad was pale, struggling to breathe. His lips had a bluish cast, no doubt from lack of breath. “He needs fresh air.”

She carried him toward the door while Adam flung open the shutters on the two windows.

The young woman clasped her hands over her mouth. “Are ye sure?”

Eve nodded. That was one thing of which she was certain. Perhaps the only thing.

When she carried the bairn into a patch of sunlight coming through the door, the wee thing didn’t flinch once. He hadn’t the strength. He barely had the strength to breathe.

“Has he been fed?” she asked.

“He won’t take the teat,” the young woman said. “I’ve tried givin’ him milk from our cow…honey…a wee bit o’ gruel. He won’t eat a thing.” She dissolved into tears.

Eve placed the back of her hand on his brow. It was hot and dry.

“Water?” Adam suggested.

She nodded. “A clean, wet rag.”

While she waited, she closed her eyes and murmured a long and fervent prayer for the child.

Adam brought the wet rag, and she squeezed a dribble of water out of it onto the bairn’s lips. But there was no response.

She opened his mouth with her finger and drizzled a little moisture within. But he was too weak for even that. And she dared not pour any more into his mouth, lest he choke on it.

Adam came up beside her and mumbled, “He’s not breathin’.”

He was right. Her heart leaped into her throat. It was one thing not to eat. It was another not to breathe. Her mind raced. What herb was good to clear breathing?

Mint. “My satchel. Look for the green vial.”

Adam nodded. There was no time for ceremony. He dumped the contents of her satchel across the rush-covered floor. Costumes and weapons, books and tools, food and bottles spilled out with a clatter. But though he inspected each label on every vial, he couldn’t find a green one.

Then she remembered. She’d used the last of it for Sister Eithne’s sore throat.

“Bloody hell,” she mumbled in frustration.

“What do ye need?” he asked.

“Mint.”

He grimaced doubtfully, but he upended his satchel anyway and began rummaging through the copious contents.

Meanwhile she continued reciting under her breath every prayer she knew, praising God in His mercy, calling on the Lord’s forgiveness, beseeching Him to restore the wee bairn to health, giving Him all glory and praise.

To her amazement, Adam returned with a packet of dried mint. Was there anything he didn’t have in that satchel?

“Can ye heat a wee bit o’ water?” she called over her shoulder to the bairn’s mother. “Not too hot, warm to the touch.”

The woman nodded.

It would take several moments before the water was warm enough to steep the mint and make an infusion to help the bairn breathe.

Adam apparently thought that was too long. Before Eve could protest, he snatched the bairn from her, pinched its nose closed, and blew a light breath into his mouth.

She was mortified and curious all at once. Would that work?

The air trickled out, but the bairn didn’t take another breath in.

Adam repeated the process with the same result.

Five more times he blew into the bairn’s mouth, inflating his wee lungs. But nothing helped.

“The water’s warm,” the mother called out.

Eve took the bairn from Adam and said, “Put the mint in the water, and bring the wet rag.”

She prayed once again. This time with more force.

“Almighty God, ye have the strength and the wisdom to perform miracles. Ye know the answer to all questions. Ye have the power to heal all ills. Prithee do not abandon this child in his innocence, this child who will one day be your faithful servant. Do not torment this devoted family by takin’ away the source o’ their joy and the lamb o’ their comfort.

Prithee remove the Devil’s hand from the bairn’s throat, and breathe the Holy Spirit into him, in the name o’ Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Adam brought the small pot of hot water on a thick pad of linen. She flipped the bairn over on his belly along her forearm and draped the wet rag over his head and the steaming pot, trapping the mist beneath for him to breathe.

But she could feel nothing on her forearm. No movement at all.

Tears started in her eyes. And she suddenly realized with horror why it wasn’t working. Why God wouldn’t answer her prayers.

It was too late. She knew that. Yet in desperation, she offered one last silent entreaty.

Merciful Lord, prithee do not suffer this bairn to die for my sake.

Forgive me all the sins that I have done, thought, and said.

Send me cleanness of heart and purity of soul.

Strengthen me with your might, that I may always withstand evil temptations.

If ye will in your infinite mercy save this bairn, I vow I will live virtuously and love ye with all my heart, with all my might, and with all my soul, so that I may never offend ye, but ever follow your pleasure in will, word, thought, and deed, through Jesus Christ Thy Son. Amen.

Adam murmured gently, “M’lady, I think he’s gone.”

“Nay.” The word came out on a sob. “Nay, he can’t be.”

But she knew he was right.

And now she realized it was her fault.

She had forsaken her calling. Succumbed to earthly temptations.

And this was her punishment.

Tears rolled down her face, past her trembling chin.

Adam spoke softly. “Do ye want me to take him?”

She shook her head. She had one more task to do. Using the warm mint water to baptize the infant, she murmured the familiar words to bless him.

Then she took a moment to swallow down her grief and square her shoulders.

A nun’s purpose wasn’t only to heal the sick. When that wasn’t possible, it was her task to comfort the survivors.

She straightened and tenderly turned the bairn over, cradling him in her arms.

When she turned toward the bairns’ mother, the woman’s face crumbled with devastating knowledge. She clapped a hand over her mouth to filter the keening wail that erupted from her soul.

It took every bit of strength Eve had to walk toward the woman without collapsing in anguish. She handed the bairn carefully to his mother.

“I’m so sorry.”