Page 57 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
How much of his symptoms were due to the length of time he’d been weak and run down, rather than to any irreversible damage, she wasn’t yet sure.
Rising, she sat in the second of the pair of straight-backed chairs. Thomas stood at her shoulder, while Edgar took up a similar position behind Manachan’s chair. She fixed her gaze on Manachan’s face. “Right, then—now I need some answers. First, it appears that you suffered a major gastric attack of some sorts, I would say not quite a year ago. Is that correct?”
Manachan grimaced. “Aye.” He nodded. “You’re right. That’s when this”—he waved at himself, indicating his weakened state—“all started.”
“Near to midsummer, it was,” Edgar offered.
She nodded. “Very well. Let’s start from then.” She proceeded to interrogate Manachan as to his symptoms at the time of the attack. Some of her questions made him squirm, but under the combined weight of Thomas’s and Edgar’s gazes, he grumbled and mumbled his way through the answers. As she had hoped, if Manachan attempted to slide past anything, or not mention something, Edgar was close enough, and assured enough of his position and his place in Manachan’s life, to fill in the gap.
By the time her interrogation had advanced to the present day, she had a fairly firm notion of what was ailing the old tyrant.
When he finally rapped out a “Well, what is it? What have I got?” she smiled and rose.
“I’m pleased to say you haven’t anything at the moment. You did catch something fairly serious last year, but after this time I can’t even begin to guess what it was. You appear to have had a relapse or two in the following months, but you’re not ill now, and although you might feel weak and lacking in strength, the only reason for that is that you were, indeed, so dragged down by that recurrent illness that your body simply hasn’t bounced back.” She held his gaze. “You need a tonic to push your body back onto the road to health again, and then keep it moving forward. Rebuilding your strength won’t happen overnight, and I can’t promise that you will ever regain the strength you once had, but in time, if you continue to take the medicine I prescribe, you will be much stronger and more able than you are now.”
Manachan looked at her, and in his eyes, she could see the hope he tried to hide. “If I can manage to walk up the stairs under my own steam again, I’ll be happy.”
She tipped her head. “I think that’s quite possible.”
Manachan grunted. “All right—what do I have to do? No eye of newt, mind.”
She laughed. “I can assure you that nothing I give you comes from anything but plants.”
He waved at her to get on with her prescription.
“I’ll make up what I call a boosting tonic for tonight. You can take it and go to sleep. Tomorrow, when you wake, I expect you will be feeling considerably better.” She looked at Edgar. “Don’t wake him but let him sleep until he wakes of his own accord.”
“And then?” Manachan demanded.
She looked back at him. “Then I’ll examine you again, and depending on how well you’ve responded to the boosting tonic, I’ll make up a restorative to leave with you. That’s a syrup that will last much longer—at least several weeks. You’ll take doses every mealtime, and it should keep you moving forward into improving health, improving strength.”
Manachan studied her for several moments, then he inclined his head. “Thank you.”
She held his gaze. “And you promise to take the restorative as prescribed?”
He humphed. “If you had any idea of how much I want and need my strength back, you wouldn’t even ask.”
Satisfied, she glanced at Thomas; he’d remained all but silent throughout. “I need to get into the still room, but I just realized that Alice has the key.”
Thomas nodded to Manachan and waved her to the door. “Ferguson will fetch it for us.”
Us, because he wasn’t leaving her in the still room alone.
Lucilla looked at Manachan. “I’ll wish you a good night. I’ll bring the boosting tonic—Edgar can help you take it. Then I’ll see you in the morning when you wake. I won’t need to see you immediately. Have Ferguson fetch me once you’re up and ready for the day.”
Manachan nodded. “I will—and if I don’t feel much better, be prepared to hear a lot of complaints.”
Both Thomas and Lucilla were grinning when they left. But once he drew Manachan’s door closed behind them, Thomas sobered. He met Lucilla’s green gaze. “Will he be much better?”
She looked into his eyes, then, lips curving, she shook her head. “Oh, ye of little faith.” She started for the stairs. “I can tell you that he will definitely be better. How much better, just overnight? That’s in the lap of the Lady.”
* * *
Thomas sat on a stool in the still room and watched Lucilla work. The soft lamplight laid a gilt sheen over her flame-colored hair and warmed her alabaster skin, leaving her lips a lush rose.
She was totally focused on what she was doing; he might not have been there at all.
And it was intriguing to realize that she allowed him to see her thus—as she was, without any chance of screen or veil, uncaring of—or was it unbothered by?—what he might see as she concentrated on mixing her tonic.
