“Stay away from me, Alys,” Lord Lockwood rasped. “I don’t want you to get ill.”
“I’ll be all right, my lord,” Alys said as she applied another cool compress to his brow.
“I told you to call me Jeremy. Please,” he added. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was pleading with her.
“Why do ye want me to call ye Jeremy?” Alys asked, confused by his vehemence.
“Because it makes me feel less alone,” he whispered. He raised his hand to his face and pressed his fingers against his eyes. “I have a devil of a headache,” he said. He shivered, and Alys pulled the counterpane over him to keep him warm.
“Why do ye feel alone?” Alys couldn’t help asking, since he’d echoed what she herself had said not two hours ago.
“No one in this house cares about me,” Jeremy said, his tone self-pitying. “My wife resents my presence. Mistress Ashcombe wishes only for a grandson to inherit the estate, and the servants are loyal to the masters they’ve served for years. I’m an outsider, a means to an end.”
“Ye are the master of all ye survey,” Alys said. “Including yer wife.” Evil shrew that she is, Alys added silently.
“I don’t care to be her master. I can’t bear the sight of her,” Jeremy confessed. “My parents shared a deep love and treated each other with the utmost respect. That’s what I was raised to wish for in a marriage. I don’t expect Marjorie to love me, but she’s like a she-wolf that’ll rip out my throat at the first sign of weakness.”
“She’s most concerned about yer health, my lord,” Alys said, hoping to make him feel better.
“She’s concerned about my cock,” Jeremy said bitterly. “I do beg your pardon. That was unnecessarily crude.”
“Ye needn’t apologize to me, my lord. Ye’re not yerself just now.”
“I think I’ve been more myself these last few minutes than I have been for the past month.”
Alys was spared from replying by the arrival of the physick, who carried a bowl and fleam, the tip of the tool rusted from frequent use. She vacated her place on the bed and moved into the corner, where she stood next to a chair, wondering if it might be all right for her to sit down in the doctor’s presence.
“My lord, if you would just extend your arm,” Dr. Williams said, bending over Jeremy.
“No.”
“My lord, the bleeding will help to balance your humors, and purging will help flush the pestilence from your body.”
“I said no,” Jeremy repeated, his voice strengthening. “Leave me.”
“But Lady Lockwood—”
“Lady Lockwood doesn’t speak for me.”
“I’ve been charged with treating you, my lord,” Dr. Williams persisted. “You are ill and not thinking clearly.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my thinking.”
“But my lord—”
“Get out!” Jeremy roared. “And don’t come back.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Dr. Williams said, clearly affronted. “I’ll just see myself out.”
“Maybe ye should let him treat ye, Jeremy,” Alys suggested as soon as the doctor departed, nearly choking on the name. It felt wrong to call him by his Christian name, but she didn’t want to cause offense.
Jeremy shook his head just as Marjorie Lockwood’s outraged tones pierced the silence. She didn’t sound pleased with Dr. Williams.
“I really do feel awful,” Jeremy muttered.
“Then why did you refuse to be treated?” Alys asked, confused by his reaction to the physick.
“If a soldier is wounded in battle, the more he bleeds, the weaker he gets. Same goes for vomiting and the runs. They weaken the body. My brother told me so,” Jeremy explained when Alys gave him a questioning look. “If a man is ill, how can the result not be the same?”
“So ye propose to do nothing at all to get better?”
Jeremy smiled weakly. “I propose to let the illness take its course.”
“Then ye need to sleep. I’ll be right here when ye wake,” Alys promised.
“I thank you, fair Alys, for being kind to me,” Jeremy whispered, his eyelids already fluttering.
And I thank ye for treating me with respect, Alys thought as she watched his face relax in slumber.
Chapter 34
Lord Lockwood was so lost in his fever dreams that he didn’t even seem to hear the man enter, the newcomer’s face instantly breaking out in a sheen of sweat. The room was so hot, Alys could hardly breathe, her chemise sticking to her flushed skin. She looked at the man, wondering if he might be a new physick brought in by Lady Marjorie.
“I’m Hal Robson,” the man said. He was as tall as Jeremy but wider in the shoulders and thicker in the waist. His hair was a sandy brown and his eyes the color of clover honey. He was dressed in a brown doublet and matching breeches, and mustard-colored hose. His shoes were adorned with silver buckles, and he wore a gold ring on his left hand. “The new steward,” Master Robson explained. “How is he?” he asked, tilting his chin toward Jeremy.
Alys shook her head, unable to find the words. Lulled to sleep by the heat, she’d been wakened by the chattering of Jeremy’s teeth. The chills that gripped him made him bounce like a marionette, the strings pulled by an inexperienced hand.
“I don’t think ye should be here,” she told Master Robson.
“I’ve only just arrived from Bedford Abbey. Jeremy and I have known each other since we were small boys. I heard he was ill.”
“He’s very poorly, Master Robson. I think ye should leave now.”
The steward nodded. “If there’s anything you need, please send for me. I’ll help in any way
