“I know only that I have never known my father to be so happy in all of my life,” Adam told her. “My mother died birthing me, but it was said he had a fondness for her. He has never remarried, yet when he speaks of your mistress, Maybel, his whole face is alight and shines with his love for her. His happiness is palpable.”
Maybel smiled at Adam. “Aye, you are like him,” she repeated. “Now, get you gone, and I will watch over your father while my mistress gets a well-deserved rest.”
He smiled back at her, and after bowing, he left her alone with his father.
Well, Maybel thought to herself, and isn’t this a pretty mess? Patrick Leslie appeared to be sleeping, his breathing even and quiet. Maybel shook her head. The earl had been in an unconscious state for more than a full week. Was it indeed possible he would recover? She had full intentions of questioning the doctor thoroughly when he came in the evening. Maybel sat down by the earl’s bed. Poor man, she thought.
Rosamund lay down in her gown, fully expecting to wake in a few hours’ time. Instead, she did not open her eyes for almost twenty-four hours. When she did, Lucy was in her bedchamber preparing a bath. The tub had been set before the fireplace, and tendrils of steam arose from the scented water.
“What time is it?” Rosamund asked her sleepily.
“Why ’tis just shortly past the noon hour, my lady,” Lucy replied politely.
“How long have I been sleeping?” Rosamund demanded.
“Practically a full day, I believe, my lady. Maybel said to prepare you a bath and wake you now.” Lucy curtsied.
“Where is Philippa?”
“Lord Tom has taken her to the castle, my lady. He said it was past time the lass met the queen.” Lucy was most chatty.
Rosamund arose quickly, crossing the floor to open the door between her chamber and the sick chamber. Maybel was sitting by the earl’s bed, knitting. “Why did you allow me to sleep so long?” Rosamund said half-angrily as she moved into the room. She went to Patrick’s bed and felt his forehead. It was perfectly cool to the touch. “I’ll sit with him now,” she told Maybel.
“Nay. You’ll bathe yourself, Rosamund Bolton, for never have I known you to stink, and you do. Wash your hair, too. When you are clean, put on fresh garments, and then you will eat something. After that, you may come and sit by your beloved, but not until then, my lass.”
For a moment Rosamund considered arguing with Maybel, but then she saw the futility in it. There was no emergency. Patrick was comfortable. He had no fever; nor was he restless. He had already survived a day without her. An hour more would not matter. “Yes, Maybel,” she said meekly.
Maybel barked a sharp laugh. “Well, I am glad to see you still know how to bow to the proper authority,” she teased.
Rosamund returned through the door connecting the chambers. With Lucy’s aid, she divested herself of the clothing she had been wearing for almost ten days. She had never in her life, she realized, taken so little care of herself and her person. She was surprised that Tom had said nothing, for he was the most fastidious person she had ever known in all her life. She climbed into the oak tub, and the sweet water surrounded her, easing aches she hadn’t even realized she had. She sighed.
“Warm the drying sheets by the fire, Lucy,” she instructed the girl, and then she began washing her long auburn hair with the perfumed soap. Lucy rinsed her mistress’ tresses after each washing, and then wrung the water from the hair and pinned it up for her mistress. Rosamund now began a serious cleansing of her person. She was shocked to see how much dirt she had collected, but then she realized that, from the moment she had arrived, there had been no time to remove the dust of her travels. She climbed from the tub at last, Lucy wrapping her in a drying sheet. Then, sitting by the fire, she let the girl wipe the water from her arms, her legs, and her shoulders. “Give me my hairbrush, Lucy.”
“It’s here, my lady,” Lucy answered her, handing the brush to her mistress.
Rosamund unpinned her hair and began to brush her long locks free of the remaining water, her head turned to the fire to aid in the drying process. And when her hair was dry again, with Lucy’s help she dressed in clean garments, almost embarrassed at how she had let herself go. What if Patrick had awakened and seen her looking no better than some dirty slut from the streets? Her fingers smoothed the orange tawny velvet of her gown. She braided her hair up and tucked it beneath a matching cap with a pretty gold trim, then adjusted her tapestried girdle about her waist.
“Mistress Maybel says you are to eat now, my lady,” Lucy said. “I’ve already instructed the kitchen for you. I have but to pull this bell cord, and the meal will be delivered.” She yanked on the cord. “ ’Tis a marvelous invention, my lady, ain’t it?”
“Indeed it is, Lucy,” Rosamund agreed. “Perhaps we should see if we can install such a device at Friarsgate. Then perhaps you wouldn’t linger in the kitchens so long.”
“Oh, my lady!” Lucy blushed.
A servingman knocked upon the chamber door and entered with a tray. After handing it to Lucy, he moved the tub away from before the fire, drawing forth a small table from its place against the wall. Setting it before the chair, he took the tray back from Lucy and put it down upon the table. Then, with a short bow, he exited the room.
Rosamund sat at the table and began to eat. She was not surprised by her good appetite, for she had scarcely eaten since they had arrived in Edinburgh. The cook had sent her up a dish of four fat prawns that had been steamed in white wine. She devoured them before they cooled. On her plate was a thick slice of beef, a slice of rabbit pie with a wonderfully flaky crust, a breast of roasted capon, a slice of ham, an artichoke, and some new peas. Rosamund ate it all, mopping the gravy and juices on her plate with pieces of freshly baked bread that she tore from the small loaf on the tray. She finished the bread, smearing it with butter as she did. Lucy watched wide-eyed, and when her mistress had eaten everything on the tray, she removed it to the sideboard, and refilled her lady’s cup with more wine.
Rosamund sat silently for several minutes, and then she arose. “I am going to the earl now,” she said, and she crossed her chamber to enter his room.
Maybel looked up. “Ah,” she said with a smile. “You do look rested and clean now. He has been restless today, but he seems well otherwise.” She arose. “I will now take a bit of ease for myself. I am not as young as I once was, my child.”
Rosamund put her arms about Maybel and embraced her. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” Maybel demanded. “You are my lady, my child. You needed me, and I came. I will always come, Rosamund.”
“But I know how you dislike travel even as I once did,” Rosamund responded.
Maybel chuckled. “ ’Tis true, lass, but this trip was not as bad as going down to London. And I’ve always wanted to see this city.” Then she patted the younger woman.
Rosamund moved to the earl’s bedside and leaned over to feel his forehead. He had no fever. She caressed his dark hair lovingly, and as she did, his nose began to twitch. He sniffed quite distinctly several times. He had never before done that. Then, suddenly, his eyes opened. They were not at first focused, but they were open. His hand reached up to fasten about her wrist. Rosamund gave a little cry of surprise. Then she said, “Maybel! Get Adam Leslie! The earl is awakening!”
Maybel rushed from the bedchamber calling to Adam as she went. “My lord! My lord! Your father is awakening! Come quickly!”