Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(99)
“Yea, m’lord.” Serilda smiled and batted her eyelashes. “A wise decision.”
Brant studied the rest of the items. “What is this you are grinding? This powder?”
“Oh, this?” The midwife reached out her hand to stop him from touching it, quickly pulling the pile toward her into a bowl. “It’s fer a man.”
Brant raised an eyebrow.
“What I mean, it is fer a man’s member, fer when he cannot raise his own sword in battle.”
Brant grunted as he got her meaning. “You know of many cures?”
“Yea. Are you ailing, m’lord?”
“Nay.” Brant scratched his beard and then his hair. “Blackwell Manor is infested with lice. I seek to rid myself of them before I infest Strathfeld.”
Serilda licked her lips as she shot him a mournful glance. “It’s a sad circumstance we still have lice. It’s easy enough to cure.”
“Good, give me the draught.” Brant held out his hand. “I wish to be rid of them immediately.”
“Nay.” Serilda shook her head. A small grin curled on her lips. “It’s easy to cure, but one who knows the potency must apply the draught. I will apply it fer you if you wish—unless you trust someone who is skilled not to burn you with it?”
Brant thought of Della. Nay, she would burn me on purpose.
“Fine, get it done with.” He sat in one of her chairs.
“Not here, m’lord. It is necessary to do it while you bathe.”
Brant gave her a disbelieving grumble. He swung around in his chair to face her. She smiled innocently. “I have not heard such a thing.”
“It is so you may rinse the draught instantly. Mayhap, we could go to yer chamber. No one would think aught was amiss if you ordered a bath there.”
“Yea.” Brant sighed as he scratched his head again. Standing up, he gruffly motioned her to follow him. “Bring what you need. Just be quick about it.”
* * * * *
Della felt awful. Brant had left with little effort to speak to her. She hated the fact she’d walked the grounds in search of him, desperate to see him again, to know he’d really come home. He was nowhere to be found and that could only mean he was purposefully avoiding her. It was just as well. She didn’t know what she’d say to him if she saw him.
With her husband’s arrival, she’d hoped Cedric would be ordered to stop following her. The knight complained more than any man she’d ever met, until she was finally forced to order him to stay at least five paces from her at all times lest she be tempted to scream. Stopping in her progress across the hall, she suddenly turned to make her way abovestairs to her chamber. She glanced over her shoulder as she climbed and grimaced—there was her dutiful guard exactly five paces behind her.
“M’lady?” Cedric asked as she scowled at him. His voice held the natural whine she’d come to despise. “Are you to be sick again?”
“Nay.” Della scowled, remembering that morning when she’d vomited in her chamber pot and the eve before when she’d almost vomited on Cedric’s boot. In truth, her stomach did feel a little queasy. Nonetheless, she didn’t want her guard knowing. His over-attentiveness was just as annoying as his complaining. “I’m going to lie down awhile.”
“You appear a bit gaunt. Would you like me to fetch the midwife?” Cedric continued to follow her abovestairs.
“And leave me unattended?” Della gasped in mock alarm. “I might run off.”
“I meant after you were locked in yer chamber,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
“Oh.” Della bristled at the reminder. “Nay, I don’t wish for Serilda’s attentions this day or any other.”
Cedric chuckled under his breath and his insolent face gave away the fact he knew of her checking.
Della narrowed her eyes at the sound. “Do you have aught you would like to say to me?” She kept her glare merciless, as she placed her hands on her hips.
“Nay, m’lady.” Cedric’s expression became blank and he turned his gaze sheepishly away. “Naught.”
Della cursed under her breath and pivoted around to continue angrily up the stairwell. When she reached the top, her abdomen tightened. Rushing toward her bedchamber, her stomach churned violently. She lifted a hand to her mouth and pushed her way inside. Running to the pot, she vomited the sparse contents of her morning meal into it. After a few heaves, she was left taking deep, gut-wrenching breaths until the sickness began to subside. The strange nausea left as briskly as it came. Suddenly, the sound of splashing penetrated her thoughts. Della froze, bent over on her knees above the chamber pot.