She obediently raised her head and downed the liquid. It tasted of strawberries. “It is delicious,” she whispered, caught a shaft of black pain through her head just from those few words, and moaned.
“It is good you don’t see the color,” the Healer said. Hastings heard her say to someone else, “The potion will relieve her of the nausea and lessen the pain in her head and shoulder. I have examined her. She will not sing for a while, but she will mend.”
“What else is in it, Healer?”
“A bit of ground gentian to calm your belly and just a small chunk of pounded iris root.”
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Hastings nodded, closing her eyes against a sudden shaft of pain. Alfred’s scratchy tongue on her cheek felt good. It tickled. She even managed a small smile.
She heard the man say, “I will leave her here then. I have duties that must be attended to. I will fetch her this afternoon.”
“Aye, that will be fine, my lord.”
My lord? It was Severin. She tried to raise her head to see him, but the dizziness forced her back down.
“Do not move, Hastings. You should know better than to try that.”
“I just wanted to see Severin.”
“You will see him later. You heard what he said. Duties. Men-I
learned when I was just a little nit-they always have duties. What are duties, I ask you? Aye, duties are drinking and wenching and slicing each other with their swords and carving each other with their axes. Severin is no different. They are a wicked breed. I would say a worthless breed, but since they are necessary so that the next generation of them may be spawned, it would be going too far. Aye, a pity we cannot bring them all together and let them fight each other off a cliff. Close your eyes, Hastings, and rest. Alfred will lick you to sleep.”
The damned cat did lick her to sleep.
When she next opened her eyes, the pain in her head was only a dull throb. She felt only tightness in her shoulder. Her belly was calm. Severin was staring down at her.
He lightly touched his palm to her forehead, then to each cheek. He sat down beside her. “You feel cool to the touch. The Healer says you will be fine. Do you remember what happened?”
The hazy fog lifted in her mind and she nodded slowly. “Aye, I remember now. I rode into Oxborough village to visit Ellen, Thomas the baker’s daughter. I was going to tether Marella in the alleyway. A saddle fell on me from an upper window. I don’t remember anything else. No, I remember that I fell into a pile of refuse. It smelled very bad.”
“It is a very strange coincidence. It was one of my saddles that hit
you. Gwent had taken it to Robert the leatherer to mend it. It is big, fashioned for a war-horse. You were lucky it didn’t strike you directly on your head. Also, you no longer smell of refuse. The Healer bathed you. It is a relief. Ellen found you. She ran to the keep and fetched me. I brought you to the Healer.”
“But why would your saddle-of all saddles-fall on me? Nothing like that has ever happened before.”
He shrugged, but he was frowning even as he patted Alfred, who was standing on his hind paws, his front paws on Severin’s leg. “I don’t know as yet, but I will find out.”
Suddenly there was a ferocious hiss. Alfred froze, his tail bushed out, his fur sticking up from his body. He was staring at Severin even as he dug his claws into Severin’s leg. No, it was Trist he was staring at. Trist calmly regarded the giant cat, sniffed the air, looked at Hastings, then retreated back into Severin’s tunic.
Severin patted the lump in his tunic, saying low, “Stay there, Trist. That cat could eat four of you.”
Trist rumbled against his chest. Severin smiled. “He is trying to convince me he isn’t afraid of Alfred.”
It was the first smile she had seen on his mouth for two days, since Marjorie’s arrival at Oxborough.