She had saved herself, damn her. And she’d saved him as well, curse her to hell and beyond. A girl who was half his size and she’d hurled herself at him, knocking him to the ground. If she hadn’t knocked him off balance, perhaps he would have seen the man in time. Perhaps. He’d seen her rip the man’s face with her fingernails, kick him in his groin. Who had taught her that? A lady would have swooned, surely, not knocked him out of danger and flung herself upon the attacker. His voice was sour as he said, “What are you doing to me?”
“Ah, a reasonable question. It’s about time. But your mood is foul as your breath.”
“Don’t mock me, lady.” He felt the bed give when she sat down beside him. She wasn’t looking at his face, but at his shoulder.
He reached up and grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?” He sucked in his breath at the pain. He closed his eyes a moment, gaining control. He had to, she was watching him.
“Drink this.”
She held a goblet to his lips. He tasted the sweet, crisp liquid, felt the foulness ease in his mouth and through his body.
“Good. Now hold still.” She added in a matter-of-fact voice, “I’m cleansing the wound with a paste I make of eryngo root, and bandaging it. You will survive, my lord.”
“What is this eryngo root?”
“Many call it sea holly. It grows just above the tide line. I mix it with pearl barley and water boiled with just three leaves from the gentian plant. Don’t fret, my lord, it won’t kill you.”
“Finish your bandaging and leave me be. I must question that other man.”
“Keep on your back for a bit longer, Severin,” Graelam said from just beyond Hastings. “She has got the bleeding stopped. I have spoken to the man.”
Severin felt a movement on his belly. Trist poked his head from beneath the covers that were pulled to Severin’s waist. He realized he was still wearing his breeches, but not his boots. He said gently, as he brought his hand to lightly touch the marten’s head, “I am all right, Trist. Don’t fret.”
The marten made a strange, soft purring sound, then flattened his chin on Severin’s belly, staring up at his master’s face.
“He wouldn’t leave you,” Hastings said. “He did leap away when you vomited, but you felt too wretched to notice. Then he crept back. He wasn’t with you this morning when you came to my herb garden. When Graelam and Beamis and your man, Bonluc, carried you in, he leapt onto you, yowling, sort of. I could not make him leave and I did ask him very politely.”
This damned wit of hers. Where had it come from? Why had she hidden it from him? It annoyed him. He looked at her then and said, “This would not have happened had you obeyed me.”
“No,” she said, surprising him, “it would not have.”
“The man,” Graelam said, looking from one to the other, “won’t speak of anything to the point. He won’t even admit to being Richard de Luci’s man. He just keeps whining that he’s from the village, here to trade furs. Indeed, he did have four or five pelts fastened to his belt.”
“I will rise soon. I will make him speak. I learned much in the Holy Land.”
“As all of us did, Severin.”
“You needn’t torture him,” Hastings said. “I will have him willing to tell you his deepest secrets within minutes.”
Severin grunted, making Trist raise his head and stare at Hastings. She reached down without thinking and lightly stroked the marten’s head. To Severin’s shock, the marten closed his eyes and lowered his head again to Severin’s belly, stretched out his short legs to Severin’s navel.
“Just how will you do this?”
“I will give him some sweet ale to drink that will cover the bitter taste of the mandrake and the yarrow root. Within a few minutes he will begin puking up his innards. No man can withstand it. I will offer to give him the cure for it if he will speak the truth.”
“I don’t believe you,” Severin said. “What would you give him to cease the vomiting?”
“Columbine and just a bit of gentian. I grind up the flowers and mix the powder into sour beer. The gentian seems to add calm to the mind and thus to the belly. Aye, you just had a bit of gentian to calm your belly.”
“Ah,” Graelam said, “you mean bitterwort. My Kassia uses that. She was complaining when Harry had a bellyache that her recipe wasn’t effective enough.”
She smiled at him. “I will send her mine. I learned it from the Healer last year.”
Severin cursed. Both turned to him, Graelam’s eyebrow arched. “Calm yourself, Severin. Because Hastings is seeing to you, you will be well much sooner than you deserve to be. Now, Hastings, would you like to mix up your belly poison for our prisoner?”
“Gladly. I must do some grinding and boiling. It will take me a while.”
“No! I forbid that you do this. I wish to see him and—”