Rumors that the lord and lady of Lochlavine had been seen at the Black Heart Inn confirmed what they already knew. Ian’s family was on their way to Hightower. Soon, they would arrive to use the cross and return to their time.
“Màiri,” Ian whispered. “Are you unwell?”
She’d avoided looking at him, embarrassed and unsure after what had happened between them. But she looked at him now and nodded.
“I believe I may be so.”
Her head pounded. Her heart beat rapidly, but it felt much different than it had the night before with Ian. Nay, she did not feel well at all. By now conversation around her had stopped, and everyone was looking at her, which only made her feel more conscious of her illness.
Ian stood.
“No,” she said, not wanting to interrupt his reunion with his family. “I’m fine. I simply need to rest a bit.”
He looked like he had something to say about that. But before he could react, Marian had grabbed Màiri’s arm and was escorting her from the chamber.
“Stay, Ian,” she said. “I will take care of her.”
He answered, but Màiri didn’t hear the words. She was having difficulty breathing, but as they walked, her chest seemed to fill with air a bit easier than it had in the solar. Perhaps it had just been too warm in there.
Màiri took out a kerchief and wiped her forehead with it.
“’Tis quite a bit cooler out here.” She caught Marian’s expression of concern. “Was it not warm in there?”
Marian gently shook her head. “Nay, I did not believe so. But then, I am always cool.”
“As am I.” She modified, “Except today.”
“We shall return to your chamber. I will find the maid to make you comfortable, and fetch a physician as well.”
“No!” Marian looked taken aback, so she quickly amended, “That is to say, I do not believe my condition warrants it.”
Marian stopped and cocked her head to look at her.
“There is something more, is there not?”
Her stomach roiling, Màiri wanted to deny it. But as her new friend waited, she actually wanted to tell her. To share what happened with someone other than Alana and Ambrose.
“My father blames the physician for my mother’s death. She was ill, aye, but it was only after the man visited her that she worsened.”
“What illness took her?” Marian asked gently.
“We do not know. It happened in just a few short days. She complained of stomach pain”—Marian’s eyes glistened with understanding—“and then a fever.”
“Do you believe the physician was responsible?”
“Nay. And yet . . .”
“You do not care to summon one?”
Màiri shook her head.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When she and Marian entered the dressing chamber, Màiri paused.
“I will help you undress,” Marian offered, and when she did not reply, she said, “Màiri?”
“I do not know where to go. Shall I stay here?”
“Where else? Oh.”
