“Is he still asleep?” she asked. Donnan turned. His pale brow glistened with sweat, his gaze was unfocussed like a drunkard’s and his pupils were big black wells in his peaty brown eyes. “Pa, I think he’s unwell.” Donnan muttered something incoherent and his chest rose and fell faster than she thought was normal. “I think he has a fever,” she said, feeling his forehead. “And look at his hands, they’re trembling.”
Donnan sat up, curling his hands into fists. “I’m not ill.” He flinched as Aedan swept over to him and put his hand to his forehead too.
“Does Nannie Hattock still live at her cottage?” asked Aedan.
“I don’t want you to get her.” Donnan got to his feet, staggering towards the door before falling to his knees.
“Who’s Nannie Hattock?” asked Kaetha.
“A healer. She’ll know what he needs,” said Aedan. “Try to get him to eat and drink a little, if you can. I’ll be back soon.” He snatched up his cloak and left.
She held a waterskin to Donnan’s lips, helping him take small sips.
“You thought I was a thief,” he muttered.
“I didn’t think that, you bampot.”
“A trespasser then.”
“Well, aye. You were. But we’re not turfing you out, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Not if you need our help.”
He laughed. “Perhaps you should.” He began to push himself up again.
“Wait. Just sit for now.” She put an oatcake in his hand. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She shrugged. “You should still eat. Now, I’ll be right back. I just want to check something.” Remembering her father mention the vegetable patch and herb garden, she hastened through the pantry and out through the back door. The garden was a cacophony of leaves tumbling over one another, vegetables, herbs and weeds. She stepped into it, soil damp against her bare feet. Her hands brushed over leaves of dandelion, beetroot and thyme, pushing them aside to see what else grew there. Pale leaves shaped like tiny pointed slippers caught her eye. Feverease. Gwyn had used this herb in lots of remedies.
She rushed back with a bunch of it and gathered things from the pantry. She made a fire and set a pot over it. Into it, she poured the last of their water, then bruised the leaves before dropping them in. After it had brewed, she gave him a cup of it.
“Are you a healer?” he asked.
“Not exactly.”
He screwed up his face after tasting the drink. “What’s that?”
“Feverease tea. It’ll help.”
He grimaced.
“Just drink and stop being rude.”
Hearing the door open, she turned, expecting to see her father. But a woman stood in the doorway, staring at them with large, owl-like eyes. There was a severity to the angles of her features. She wore a neat, plain gown of dark green and a white cloth cap covered most of her hair which was the colour of damp straw. A large dog appeared at her side. The cat hissed at the sight of it, his ears pricking up and his tail puffing out thickly as it swished from side to side.
“I’ve brought you some bread, Donnan. And water from the well. Who’s your friend?” She narrowed her eyes at Kaetha’s dirty feet.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Mairi. Mairi Dunbar.” The woman peered at the leaves floating in the pot. “What’s that he’s been drinking?”
“I made him feverease tea. He’s not well.”
“I’m fine,” said Donnan.
“You’re clearly not.” Mairi knelt beside him, took the cup and sniffed it. “You’re sure that’s feverease? You shouldn’t go playing around brewing leaves you don’t know are safe, lass, you might do more harm than good. Look how he’s sweating. Some leaves are poisonous you know.” She took the cloth cover from her basket, dipped it in her bucket of water, rang it out and patted it against Donnan’s forehead.
“Of course I haven’t poisoned him!” She scowled at Mairi. “The drink didn’t cause his paleness or sweating. He woke up like that.”
The door opened again and in stepped Aedan with an old woman. She cut a striking figure. Her uncovered hair which hung loose and wavy below her shoulders, was threaded with all tones ranging from black to white and her eyes were raven dark. Her clothing looked Edonian, reminding Kaetha of Morwena’s. Over deer hide leggings, she wore a long tunic of muted red, ornamented with shells scratched with intricate shapes. Despite her reliance on a stick, she moved with authority as she walked across the room, carrying a wooden box with a rope handle.
She sniffed the air. “Feverease?”
“That’s right,” said Kaetha.
“Good.”
Kaetha caught Mairi’s eye.
“Kaetha is it?” said Nannie.
“Aye,” she said.
“Aedan’s been talking about you.”
“Kaetha, this is Miss Hattock,” said Aedan.
“But you’ll call me Nannie like everyone else. Now where’s the lad?”
“He’s sitting beside Kaetha. This way.”
It was only then, as Aedan guided Nannie closer, that Kaetha realised the old woman was blind. Using her stick to steady herself, she knelt beside Donnan, reached out, finding his shoulders, then felt his head. “So lad, how long have you been unwell?”
“I’m not. I’ve just not got back to full strength since . . .” he trailed off.
“Your shoulder’s not been troubling you anymore?” she asked.
“It hurts sometimes.”
“Hmm,” Nannie frowned. “You need to look after yourself better. Eat properly,” she said, squeezing his arms. “You’re like to fade away.” Kaetha noticed that the oatcake she’d given him remained untouched.
“The tea will have helped,” said Nannie. “I can tell your new friend will do you good, lad.” She opened the wooden box, searching its contents with her clever fingers. “Hold out your hands, lass,” she said as she drew out
