Alys filled a pitcher with cold water and grabbed some cloths before making her way up to Lord Lockwood’s bedchamber. He stood by the window, his back to her, wearing only his shirt and breeches. His feet were bare, and his hair, which had been neatly tied back for church, hung to his shoulders. When he turned, Alys noticed that his temples were damp and his gaze was unfocused, his eyes glassy with fever.
“Ye should be in bed, my lord,” she said softly, hoping he wouldn’t take offense at her telling him what to do.
“I’m all right,” he replied stubbornly.
Alys stood there with her pitcher, unsure what to do. She set it down next to the flower-painted basin by the bed and pulled back the counterpane, debating whether she should leave the master in peace.
Lord Lockwood moved away from the window and caught himself on a bedpost as he swayed on his feet.
“Please, yer lordship,” Alys said softly. “Ye need looking after.”
Lockwood smiled sadly. “Better you than my wife,” he said under his breath.
“Let me help ye into bed,” Alys urged.
He allowed her to take his arm and steer him toward the bed, where he stretched out, his hair fanning across the pillow.
Alys perched on the side of the bed and pressed her palm to his forehead. He was burning up, his heat seeping through the fabric of her skirts where his leg touched her hip. Alys poured some water into the basin and wet a cloth before wringing it out and placing it on Lord Lockwood’s forehead. It wasn’t much, but it would cool his brow for a few moments.
“Lady Lockwood sent for the physician,” Alys said.
“I don’t need a physician,” Lord Lockwood murmured without looking at her.
“Why are men so stubborn?” Alys asked, a smile tugging at her lips. “She only wants to see ye well.”
“Does she?” he countered.
“Of course she does.”
“I suppose you’re right. I can’t die until I get a child on her,” Lord Lockwood said quietly. “Once she has a son, she’ll have no need to remarry. She’ll be able to hold on to the estate as his guardian.”
Alys didn’t know how to respond to that, so she refreshed the cloth in the cool water and pressed it to his forehead again. “How do ye feel, my lord?” she asked.
“For God’s sake, call me Jeremy,” he said, fixing his fevered gaze on her.
“I couldn’t do that, my lord,” Alys replied, keeping her tone soothing.
“It is my name,” he said.
“It’s yer Christian name, and I couldn’t permit myself such familiarity.”
“Alys,” he whispered, and wrapped his scorching fingers around her wrist. “You are so…”
He never got to finish the sentence because the door opened and an older gentleman with iron-gray hair entered the room. He was tall and gaunt, his hooked nose overshadowing thin, colorless lips, his gaze sharp and unsympathetic. He was dressed all in black, and Alys momentarily thought Lady Lockwood had summoned a priest instead of a physick.
“Away with you, girl,” the man barked at Alys.
“And who might you be?” Lord Lockwood demanded.
“I am a physician, sir. Albert Williams, at your service,” he announced with a courtly bow. “Lady Lockwood believes you’ve contracted smallpox.”
Alys was about to leave the room when Lord Lockwood called out to her. “Stay, Alys. She’s had smallpox already,” he said to the doctor. “She’s safe.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Dr. Williams said diffidently. Alys’s safety had clearly not been uppermost in his mind. “I’ll need to examine you. Perhaps the young woman can return once I’ve finished.”
Lord Lockwood nodded and smiled miserably at her. He looked like a child who was poorly and wanted his mother nearby.
Alys left the room and went to get some fresh water. By the time she returned, she found Dr. Williams in the corridor, speaking to Lady Lockwood in hushed tones.
“I don’t believe it’s the smallpox, my lady. Your husband is fevered and complains of body aches and a megrim, but there are no sores in his mouth. Since he hasn’t been directly in contact with anyone who’s come down with the smallpox, it’s safe to assume he’s not afflicted.”
“What’s wrong with him, then?” Lady Marjorie asked.
“I think it’s the ague, my lady.”
“Will it spread to the rest of the household?” Lady Lockwood asked, her voice sharp with tension.
“If it is indeed the ague, then probably not, but if there’s some other reason for the fever, then it might.”
“So, you don’t actually know what ails him?” Lady Lockwood said.
“It’s difficult to say with any certainty, my lady, given that his lordship doesn’t have any telling symptoms, such as sores or a rash.”
“How do you propose to treat my husband?” Lady Marjorie demanded.
“I shall bleed and purge him, and I want the room thoroughly heated to help him sweat out the fever.”
“Of course,” Lady Marjorie said, her voice utterly flat.
“I don’t advise you to care for his lordship yourself, my lady. You must preserve your own health at all cost, especially if his lordship’s illness proves to be catching.”
Lady Marjorie nodded. “I’ll have Alys attend on him. Where is that girl?” she cried in a pique of anger, turning to peer down the length of the corridor.
“I’m right here, my lady,” Alys said, making her presence known.
“Were you eavesdropping?” Lady Lockwood exclaimed.
“No, my lady. I—”
“Never mind. Get in there,” Lady Marjorie barked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Alys had been away from the room for no more than a quarter of an hour, but Lord Lockwood looked considerably
