The smile faded from Daisy’s face.
“Fetch me another,” Lily said, her tone clipped. “One of the rejected ones.” She paused, her eyes landing on the dull red gown folded near the back. “That one. The deep red.”
Daisy obeyed at once, lifting the dress and laying it across the bed.
When the maid left, Lily sat down to eat. The food was warm, but she hardly tasted it. Her eyes lingered on the blue gown that still gleamed within the wardrobe.
She forced herself to look away.
How long could she continue like this? Hiding from him, fleeing down unused corridors, putting on gowns she hated only to prove a point? Each choice felt desperate, like hands tight around a broken saddle.
She placed her spoon on the table and lowered her hands onto her lap. A part of her wondered how much longer she could keep Alasdair at a distance before everything she fought to bury rose back to the surface.
CHAPTER 22
The woundedhall was quieter than usual that morning. The storm had passed, but left a trail of fever and aching bones. Lily moved slowly between the cots, her hands steady as she checked every man. She paused near a cot where a young maid held a damp compress against a soldier’s brow. The man groaned faintly, and Lily leaned closer to examine the work.
“Hold on,” she said softly, placing a hand on the maid’s shoulder. “Shift it just a bit higher. See? The cloth is sliding too low. The coolness must reach the temple as well.”
The maid flushed, adjusting the compress. “Like this, me Lady?”
“Aye,” Lily replied, a smile on her face. She pressed the cloth into place for a moment, then nodded with satisfaction. “Now he will feel the difference. Always cover the full line of the head, as the fever rests there.”
The maid’s eyes brightened with relief. “Thank ye, me Lady. I wouldnae have thought of that.”
“Ye will in time,” Lily assured her.
She turned toward the long table, where a pot of roots simmered gently. The faint scent of herbs clung to the air, sharp and clean, and she reached for the spoon, stirring with care, when Daisy’s voice cut through the hall.
“Me Lady!” Daisy called, her voice high-pitched with excitement. “Look who I found by the castle gates.”
Lily turned at once, the spoon slipping back into the pot. Her breath caught as her eyes landed on Timothy.
He stood leaning on a crutch, his foot wrapped in clean linen. His face was pale, but he managed a bow. “Me Lady.”
“Timothy,” Lily greeted, crossing the room swiftly, joy flooding her chest. “It is good to see ye again.”
Timothy nodded, and Lily’s eyes shifted to his foot. “And ye have changed the bandages, I see.”
Timothy nodded. “Aye. Every night without fail. It is all thanks to ye. If ye hadnae been there that day, Dr. Moseley would have amputated it. Ye are the reason I still have a foot to worry about.”
Lily shook her head. “Daenae thank me.”
But then Timothy’s words registered.
“What do ye mean,worry about?”
He swallowed, shifting his weight with care. “I have tended it well—truly, I have. I change the bandages each night, and I never put me weight on it for long. But the pain has grown somewhat sharper. Practically unbearable, unlike before. These last two days, I couldnae go to work.”
Lily’s brow creased, and she gestured toward an empty cot near the wall. “Sit down, Timothy. Let me see it.”
“Me Lady,” he protested, “I wouldnae take yer time. There are others here in greater need.”
“Ye came to find me, did ye nae?” Lily asked softly.
Timothy lowered his head. “Aye, but I thought ye would just give me some herb so I can be on me way.”
“Sit,” Lily ordered.
