19
Ewan watched Faye as she slept, the nip of worry at the back of his mind getting progressively sharper and more insistent. For the last few days, she lay in bed a little longer each morning, sleeping deeply. Despite the amount of rest she had received, smudges of exhaustion still bruised the delicate skin under her eyes.
A gentle knock came at the door.
He answered the door and found Moiré with a mug of steaming liquid in her hand. “Is she still unwell?” she asked.
Ewan nodded. “Aye, I think ’tis time to send for a healer.”
“I’d give it a bit more time,” Moiré replied with a certainty that offered some comfort. “Give her this. It should help.”
Ewan took the cup and cradled the hot beverage in his palm. “Do ye think…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Do ye think she’s with child?”
Moiré pursed her lips. “I’m no’ certain,” she replied slowly.
“We should call for the healer,” he said with finality.
“Mayhap, ask her?” Moiré suggested. “A woman knows if she requires a healer or no’.”
Ewan nodded, thanked her and quietly closed the door. “Faye,” he said softly. “I’ve got a tea for ye from Moiré.” He sat on the bed and gently squeezed his wife’s silky shoulder.
Faye’s eyes blinked open, heavy with fatigue.
“Moiré sent this tea for ye.” He held it out.
Faye wrinkled her nose. “Toss it out and tell her I drank it, please.”
“Do ye no’ like it?” He sniffed at a tendril of steam and was hit with a musty odor and an underlying sharpness that made his nose burn.
His face puckered with disgust.
Faye laughed, and she pushed up to a sitting position. “’Tis how I feel about it. I took a sip once and immediately was ill.”
Ewan set the mug aside. “Speaking of being ill…” He took her hand and found it warm from sleep—hopefully sleep, and not a fever. That thought chilled him. “I’d like to call a healer.”
She shook her head and gave a wan smile. “I’ll be fine soon. I just need a few more days, aye?”
“I’d feel better if we call a healer.” Ewan frowned. “Faye, I’m worried about ye.” He moved his thumb over the back of her hand, stroking it.
How he loved touching her smooth skin, reveling in the softness of it under his own callused fingers. Her lips lifted at the corners. He loved that too, her reaction to his touch.
He leaned toward her and nuzzled his nose next to hers before tilting her head back gently for a brief kiss.
I love ye.
He needed to say those words to her one of these days. But every time he thought to do it, he feared it might be the one thing to frighten her off. Faye might feel things deeply, but she was slow to express them. It was best for her to say it first, to allow her the control of stating her heart before he did.
“I care for ye, Faye.” He kissed her again. “So verra much.”
She stared up at him, her eyes soft with an affection that grazed the depths of his heart. “I care for ye too, Ewan.”
“Promise me ye’ll summon the healer if this doesna improve,” he said. “I dinna want anything to happen to ye.”
She nodded.
“And if ye’re no’ better in sennight, I’m calling the healer.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “Nay, lass. This has already gone on long enough. I should call for her today.” Regret effused him. He shouldn’t have listened to Moiré and given Faye an option. The thought of waiting even longer made an unpleasant knot tense in his gut.
“’Tis fine, truly.” Faye slipped from his grasp and eased up from the bed. “Do ye see? I’m fine.”
He didn’t reply. Something was amiss, and he didn’t like it.
“Go on about yer tasks, husband.” She pulled him to standing from where he sat on the bed. “And leave me to mine.”
He drew her toward him and inhaled her floral scent. “I’m worried about ye.”
She smiled up at him. “Ye needn’t be.” She kissed him once more, then nudged him toward the door.
He left with a heavy heart and waited a moment after the door closed behind him. As expected, the painful sounds of her retching came from the other side. He frowned. Surely, she was with child. It had to be why the women were acting so strangely. Why then wouldn’t Faye allow a healer to see to her?
The question plagued him all through the day as he met with Monroe and saw to tenants on his land. It rolled around in his mind, a rock worn smooth with worry, even as he finally went to his solar to tend to his correspondence. A folded parchment lay on his desk, its wax closure absent a signet marking.
He cracked the thick seal and swept away the small flecks that littered the surface of his desk. The parchment whispered in his hands as he unfolded it, as though confiding its secrets.
Careful handwriting looped over the page. His gaze slipped first to the end and found Blair’s signature at the bottom. A warning prickled at the back of his neck. What did she want?
He skimmed over the contents, and his hand tightened into a fist. He’d been correct. His uncle had been up to something. Blair had information to share but couldn’t write it in a missive in case Cruim found out. She asked to meet him in two days’ time at a cottage near the Shepherd’s Flock tavern in the village.
Faye wouldn’t like him meeting with Blair, but the note held no insinuation of seduction, and he had need of the knowledge she wished to share. He only hoped she wouldn’t play coy with him again, offering a trade of information for his affections. It was too steep a price to pay.
Monroe entered the solar with a ledger in his hand.
“Did ye leave this missive
