“The blow must have rendered me unconscious,” she repeated firmly.
“It did no such thing. You will shortly recall that we had a brief conversation before you fainted. I do not doubt that the blow made you dizzy or that you fainted from sheer exhaustion, which accounts for your sleeping so deeply and so long. The difference was notable, so I did not try to wake you. I knew sleep would do you good and that you’d travel more comfortably so.”
She frowned, only to wince again as she said, “I’ve no memory of that ride.”
“You stirred when I dismounted here at Elishaw but went back to sleep before I carried you upstairs,” he said. “You are in my sister Amalie’s chamber.”
“But who are you?” Lady Murray said, moving to stand beside Simon and making Sibylla feel more vulnerable than ever and a little uneasy. “You look familiar,” her ladyship added. “I am sure we have met somewhere.”
“At Sweethope Hill, my lady, when you visited Amalie last summer before she married,” Sibylla said, avoiding Simon’s gaze. “She and I are friends, although I’ve seen little of her since she married Westruther. I am Sibylla Cavers of Akermoor.”
“I do remember you,” Lady Murray said. “But ’tis no mystery that I did not know you, as bedraggled as you were when my son carried you in. He said you’d fallen into the river. We could learn no more, because you slept even whilst Tetsy and another maidservant undressed you and put you to bed.”
“It was kind of you to look after me,” Sibylla said.
“I doubt that anyone at Sweethope Hill told me your name. In troth, I am quite sure that I never heard your surname. Did you say Cavers?”
“Not now, madam,” Simon said. “We ought not to have wakened her. She should rest until the herb woman comes.”
“But I don’t need her,” Sibylla protested. “I am rarely sick, sir. If you will just send someone to gather a handful or two of willow bark and boil some water to steep it, I shall be my old self in no time. And, pray, ask someone to find something dry for me to wear so I can get up. I detest lying abed.”
“Nonetheless you will stay where you are until you have recovered from your adventure,” he said.
Her lips tightened. She was grateful for his hospitality but annoyed with herself for having shown weakness before him—or, indeed, before anyone.
Softly, he said, “You would do well to think carefully before you defy me.”
She glowered, looking him in the eyes again, only to wish she had not.
This time, his mother broke the spell, saying, “Do not waste your breath arguing with him, my dear. He rarely alters his decisions.”
“Then he should learn to be more considerate of other people’s wishes,” Sibylla said, still watching Simon. More tartly, she added, “Why did you not take me home to Sweethope Hill, sir, instead of bringing me all the way here?”
“Would you have subjected this child or her brother to crossing that river after their ordeal?” he asked, laying a hand lightly on the little girl’s head.
“Her brother! Do you mean to say there were two of them in the river?”
“Aye, and thankfully, my men were able to save the lad,” he said. “Due to the rains we’ve had, the river is still rising, so I decided that Elishaw was the most suitable place to look after you. You and the children will be safe here.”
He turned away and, with a touch to his mother’s arm, urged her back to the doorway. As he did, Sibylla noted a tightening at one corner of his mouth, but whether it was from vexation or triumph she did not know.
He shut the door without looking back, and a nearby sigh of relief reminded Sibylla of the child’s presence.
“I was sure the lady would send me away,” Kit muttered.
“I warrant she would if she could. But if his lordship said you could stay—”
“He did, aye,” the child said, nodding. “He brought me up here himself.”
“Then you may stay,” Sibylla said. “Have you any other name but Kit?”
The child shrugged. “That be all they call me.” “Where is your brother, Kit?”
A cloud passed over the thin little face. “Dand do still be asleep, mistress. I thought he were drowned. He’s not, but the laird would no let me stay with him.”
Wondering if the boy was in dire straits, Sibylla said bracingly, “Recall how deeply I slept, Kit, and I am fully grown. If they think he needs a good sleep to make him well, they may fear that with you in the room, he might waken.”
“He might, aye,” Kit said thoughtfully. “Mayhap ye should sleep more, too, mistress. The laird said ye need your rest.”