“He will live,” Master Achmet pronounced upon learning of this new development.
“But he is not awake,” Rosamund said.
“He is attempting to wake himself, madame. It may take another few days. Keep him comfortable and feed him watered wine.”
Rosamund followed the physician’s instructions. With Adam’s help, she kept the earl’s large body bathed and clean. She saw that he was put in a freshly laundered linen shirt each morning and again each evening. She changed his bedding daily. Patiently she held the pewter cup to his lips and coaxed him to drink a dozen times a day. She slept by his side at night in case he should awaken or otherwise need her. Her devotion was commendable. Adam began to see what kind of woman his father had fallen in love with and desired to wed. He found himself admiring Rosamund.
At first Adam had been concerned when his father had confided to him that he had fallen in love. Patrick had arrived home to celebrate his fifty-second birthday. Adam was more concerned when he learned that Rosamund was only twenty-three. It was true that marriages between many people of their class had a disparity of age between the bride and the groom. But his father had been widowed for twenty-nine years. While he certainly had a healthy appetite for female flesh, he had never evinced the slightest desire to marry again. But now his father’s face lit up each time he spoke to his son of Rosamund. Each day during the winter Adam’s father had written to his beloved. These letters were now in a leather pouch that the earl had brought with them. He wanted to share his winter’s loneliness with this woman he adored. Adam was finally convinced that his father was not in his dotage and that spending the remainder of his life with Rosamund Bolton was the right thing for the Earl of Glenkirk to do. Now he gave her the packet of letters, but Rosamund, concerned with Patrick’s health, put them aside to read another time.
When Adam met Rosamund he knew instantly that his instincts had been sound. She loved his father every bit as much as he loved her. Her concern for the earl and her tender care of him were real. Not once did she complain. Not once did she whine that now her wedding was to be delayed. Her sole reason for being, it seemed to Adam, was his father’s well-being and eventual recovery. And then Master Achmet said they might move the earl to Lord Cambridge’s house. While he was not fully conscious yet, he did appear stronger and able to make the short journey.
Tom had purchased a house off the High Street with a large garden in the rear that was now beginning to come into bloom. The earl was carried in a litter from the bedchamber in which he had been residing into a covered cart. Rosamund was by his side and rode in the cart with him. At Lord Cambridge’s house, servingmen hurried forth to carry the litter inside and upstairs to the bedchamber where the earl would now rest. He seemed none the worse for the transfer between the inn and the house. Rosamund was beginning to show her exhaustion, but they could not convince her to leave Patrick’s side.
And then Maybel arrived from Friarsgate. “As if my poor child hasn’t had enough difficulty in life,” she announced as she entered the house. “Where is she?”
Tom chuckled, and even Adam was forced to smile at the older woman’s words. His sister’s grandmother, Mary MacKay, had been much like Maybel.
“What, Maybel, no greeting for me?” Lord Cambridge teased her.
“Good day to you, Thomas Bolton,” Maybel said. “And this fine fellow, from the look of him, is the earl’s son.” She curtsied. “My lord. Now, where is Rosamund?”
“She is upstairs, and we are both glad you are here, Maybel,” Tom said. “Come, before you see her, and let us tell you what has transpired. Will you have a bit of ale?”
“I might, if it’s good ale,” Maybel considered as he led her into the house’s small hall and settled her. “Ah, at last a seat that does not rock back and forth. I am not a good traveler, my lords,” she told them. “Now, tell me all.”
Adam Leslie explained what had happened though Rosamund had given Maybel some idea in her message to Friarsgate. Maybel listened and nodded as the tale unfolded.
“Has there been any improvement?” she asked when Adam had finished.
“He hasn’t opened his eyes yet,” Adam said, “but he is awakening. You can tell it. And he is able to drink. Rosamund has been feeding him like an infant. She makes him a drink with wine, eggs, a bit of cream, sugar, and a bit of grated cinnamon stick or vanilla bean. He seems to enjoy it, for he drinks it all each time she gives it to him. She also makes him egg custard, and she gives him milk toast.”
“He is growing stronger?” Maybel said.
“Every day,” came the hopeful reply.
Maybel nodded. “Is the physician bleeding him?”
“Nay. He said it is not necessary and would but weaken my father,” Adam responded.
“I never heard of not bleeding a patient,” Maybel remarked. “Is this a good physician? Have you consulted others?”
“He is the king’s physician,” Tom said. “And so you are not taken unawares, he is a Moor.”
“What is that?” Maybel demanded suspiciously. “Some foreigner, I’ll vow.”
“Aye, he comes from Spain, and the king brought him to lecture at his college,” Adam explained.
“A Jew?” Maybel queried.
“A Mussulman,” Tom answered her, grinning. “An infidel, Maybel.”
“God have mercy on us all,” the old woman said, crossing herself. “Are you absolutely certain he is not out to murder the earl?”
To Maybel’s consternation, both men laughed. “Nay,” they told her with one voice.
“He is the king’s most trusted man, Maybel. I swear it,” Tom said.
“Well,” Maybel allowed, draining the mug of ale a servant had brought her while they talked, “if you says so, my lord, I must believe it.” She stood up. “Now, take me to my child.”
They both escorted her upstairs to the earl’s bedchamber where Rosamund sat. She jumped up when Maybel entered the room, wordlessly hugging her old nursemaid.
“Thank God you have come!” she cried.
“Thank God and his Blessed Mother Mary, indeed!” Maybel agreed. “I have never seen you so pale, so worn. You are to go to bed at once, Rosamund Bolton, and I’ll hear no nonsense about it! I am here now, and I will watch over Lord Leslie myself. You will be no use to the man when he awakens if you continue on as you have. Where is Lucy?”
“With Philippa,” Adam said.
“Have you a servant girl who can help me, my lord?” Maybel asked Tom. “Not one of those flighty lasses with little more wit than a post, but a lass who can follow orders.” She looked at Rosamund. “Are you still here, my lady?”
“I sleep by his side at night in case he should waken,” Rosamund said.
“Well, for now you will sleep in another chamber,” Maybel said firmly.
“Next door,” Tom quickly said to his cousin before she might protest. “And I will find a lass among the servants to help you, Maybel. Come, Rosamund,” he coaxed her, taking her by the arm and leading her from the bedchamber.
“Well, my lord”-Maybel looked straight at Adam-“what think you of this?”
Adam shook his head. “I do not know,” he admitted. “I had hoped he would regain his full faculties by now. The physician says, however, that it is not unusual and that he is making a little progress each day. He believes he will open his eyes shortly.”
“And what think you of my lady, Adam Leslie?” Maybel asked directly.
“I think she loves him desperately, Maybel. I pray my father recovers so that they may marry and live their lives together,” Adam answered honestly.
Maybel nodded. “You are, I can see, like him. At first I was not certain it was right. I have been with Rosamund since her birth. Her sweet mother was not strong. I have protected her as best I could from those who would harm her. She has been fortunate in her men. Both Hugh and Owein adored her and she them. But her feelings for them were nothing like those for your father. I have never seen the like of such a love. I doubt few have. To see them together was to see magic,” she concluded.