collapsed. The physician is with him now.”
Rosamund jumped from her chair. “Where is he? I must go to him! Take me at once, Adam Leslie!” She was pale and trembling with fear.
Adam did not argue with her. He stood and took her by the arm, saying to Lord Cambridge, “Will you come with us, too, my lord?”
Tom nodded, following as Adam Leslie led them from the chamber where they had been seated, down the corridor, and up a flight of stairs. Opening the door to one of the inn’s guest apartments, he ushered them inside. Almost immediately a very tall, dark-skinned gentleman in long white robes came forth from another room.
“Ah, my lord, you have returned.” He looked curiously at Rosamund and Tom. “This is the lady?” he queried.
“Aye, this is my father’s betrothed wife, Master Achmet,” Adam replied. “This physician was sent by the king,” he explained to Rosamund and Tom.
“How is the earl?” Rosamund asked anxiously. She was still very pale and could not contain the trembling that continued to afflict her.
Seeing it, the physician took her by the arm and seated her near the fire, sitting next to her. He took her hand in his, his fingers wrapped lightly about her wrist, his gaze thoughtful. “Calm yourself, madame,” he said in a quiet voice. “What has happened has happened. Your heart is racing too quickly, and that is not good for you. My lord, would you pour the lady some of that wine? When you have drunk a bit of it, madame, we will speak on the earl’s condition.”
Adam quickly filled a goblet and handed it to Rosamund, who drank deeply and then, as she felt calmer, turned her amber gaze to Master Achmet.
“The earl,” the physician said, “has suffered a seizure of the brain. He is yet unconscious. He may awaken with no ill affects at all. There seems to be no harm done to his limbs, for they are quite supple. He may awaken, the ability to speak gone from him. I have seen that in many cases. He may awaken with his memory impaired. Or he may not awaken at all. This is my prognosis, madame.”
“Have you bled him yet?” she asked.
“Bleeding would not be advisable in this particular case, madame,” the physician said. “The earl will need all his strength to recover.”
Rosamund nodded. “When do you think he will awaken?” she asked.
“I do not know, madame,” was the honest answer.
“I will nurse him myself,” Rosamund said.
“That would be best for his lordship. The quality of women who purport to do nursing in this city is not at all good,” the physician agreed.
“Tom, send a message to Friarsgate. Maybel must come!” Rosamund decided. “And we cannot remain here at the inn. You have a house in Edinburgh, don’t you?”
“I sent ahead to have it opened and aired,” Lord Cambridge replied. “I thought to let you and Patrick have a few days to yourselves there after your marriage, while I took young Philippa to court and showed her the sights of the city.”
“When can the earl be moved?” Rosamund asked Master Achmet.
“I think it best he regain consciousness first,” the physician responded.
“Adam”-Rosamund turned to Patrick’s son-“forgive me for giving orders without consulting you. I am not yet your father’s wife. Will these arrangements suit you?”
Adam came and knelt down next to Rosamund. “I know how much he loves you, madame, and I am content in the knowledge that you will take the best of care of him.” He took her small, cold hand and kissed it gently.
“Thank you,” Rosamund said simply. She turned back to the physician. “What am I to do?” she asked him.
“You must keep him comfortable and quiet. Moisten his lips regularly with water or wine. If he is able to swallow, give him wine to drink. I will come twice daily to check on my patient, madame. If there is an emergency, I can be reached either at the castle or at my house in the High Street.” Master Achmet arose from his place by her side. “I will leave you now,” he said, bowing before he departed.
Rosamund was still wearing her cloak. She stood and unfastened it, laying it aside. “I want to see him now,” she said and walked past them into the earl’s bedchamber.
Patrick lay upon the bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow, his skin pale. Yet he looked no different than when they had parted last October.
“Oh, my love,” Rosamund whispered softly as she sat upon the edge of the bed and took his hand into hers. His hand was clammy, and the limp fingers did not squeeze hers back. “Patrick, can you hear me?” she begged him. “Oh, God, this cannot be! Do not take him from me. From his son. From Glenkirk.”
The man on the bed lay still and silent.
Rosamund did not hear her cousin until he spoke to her.
“What am I to do about Philippa? Will you tell her, or shall I?” he asked.
Rosamund looked up at him, her face stricken with her grief. “You must tell her, Tom, if you will, for I cannot. I will not leave him now.”
“Shall I send her home with Lucy?” he wondered.
“Nay. Poor lass, she was so looking forward to this trip. We are here now. You heard what the physician said. Patrick could awaken and be absolutely fine. If I send her back she could miss the wedding and would not be able to visit the court. You must take her to court, Tom. And how did the king know of Patrick’s illness to send a physician? I would ask Adam that.”
“He has already explained that to me,” Tom said. “The earl had corresponded with King James in order that your marriage be celebrated in the Chapel Royal. As soon as they got here last night, Patrick sent a message to the castle. This morning, when his father fell ill, Adam sent to the king for aid.”
“He is a good son,” Rosamund remarked.
“He is like his father,” Tom responded.
“It is too late to dispatch a messenger today,” Rosamund said. “I will write to Maybel myself, but you must see my correspondence sent in the morning by the fastest means possible, Tom. And we will move Patrick as soon as the physician says we may. He was an odd fellow, wasn’t he? He is not a Scot.”
“He’s a Moor,” Tom told her. “Another bit of information I gleaned from Adam Leslie. His family was driven out of Spain by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. They resettled themselves across the Strait of Gibraltar. The physician has been visiting King James’ court. He is a skilled doctor, and a surgeon, as well. You know the king has begun a college for medicine here in Edinburgh. He feels a physician should be educated and that surgeons should not be barbers as well. Master Achmet is skilled in diagnosing disorders of the brain. He is famous for his knowledge. King James hopes to convince him to lecture to the Scots students. It was fortunate he was here.”
“How do you obtain all this knowledge in so short a time?” she demanded of him.
Tom grinned. “I have my own skills, cousin,” he told her. Then he said, “Come out into the dayroom now with Adam. Your earl is comfortable for the moment. You need not sit by his side constantly.”
“His lips are dry,” Rosamund replied. “Let me moisten them. I will join you shortly.” She went across the bedchamber and dipped a clean cloth she found into the pitcher of fresh water sitting on the table beneath the window that looked out over the inn’s back garden. The garden below was showing signs of green in many places. After returning to Patrick’s side, Rosamund wiped the cloth gently over his mouth several times. He made no movement or sound at all. Rosamund felt tears beginning to fill her eyes. She blinked, and they ran down her cheeks. Impatiently she brushed them away as she bent and kissed his cold lips. Then she replaced the cloth by the pitcher and went out into the next room.
“He is so still,” she said to Adam. “His lips were beginning to dry. I have moistened them.” Looking about, she saw her cousin was no longer there.
“He went to seek out your little daughter,” Adam said.
“Poor Philippa,” Rosamund responded. “She will be very distressed to learn her beloved Uncle Patrick is ill. My girls love him very much.”
“He was always wonderful with my sister, although she tried his patience greatly,” Adam said.
“You never found her,” Rosamund answered him. “I am sorry.”
“I haven’t given up hope, madame,” he told her. “I will seek her until I find her. One day I shall. Then I shall bring her home.”
