Page 87 of Stay with Me

He forced himself to avert his gaze. “There is yet a chance of saving you.”

“And there’s still a chance of saving you.” She tugged free of his hold and leveled a glare at him.

“Lord in heaven above be praised,” came Father Fritz’s call. The priest had stepped out of his house and was carrying a vial of medicine in each hand. He was staring at Sybil as if she’d been resurrected from the dead. “The men said yer wife was dead and gone. But blimey. I’ve never seen a woman more alive than she.”

Though weariness hung over Father Fritz, causing his shoulders to droop, he beamed at them. “She be a fitting sight of the bride described in Song of Songs: ‘How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights! This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts—’”

“Father Fritz!” Nicholas hastened to silence the priest’s commentary. He didn’t even want to think about why the priest had a section of Song of Songs committed to memory.

Sybil had covered her mouth and was coughing. Or was she trying not to laugh?

“No need to be embarrassed by marital love, my dear son,” Father Fritz continued without a blink of an eye. “Now that yer back, I’ll be giving ye the house again so that ye can—”

“We shall make camp here in the woodland.”

“I insist. Ye cannot deprive me of the great honor of having the fruit of yer loins conceived in my bed.”

Great honor?

Sybil’s eyes had rounded even more at Father Fritz’s brazenness.

At the sparkle in her eyes, Nicholas fought back his own mirth and cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t contain any laughter. “We intend to help you tend those with the plague.”

“Oh no ye don’t.” The priest shook his head almost furiously, the morning sun glistening on the bald spot at the top. “Either ye’ll leave the village with the rest of those who haven’t been afflicted, that ye will, or ye’ll stay in my humble abode and keep away from those who be sick.”

Nicholas breathed out a sigh to know that some of the villagers hadn’t yet been struck by the plague and had left. Hopefully they would remain safe.

“How is Ralph?” Sybil asked. “And Beatrice?”

“Ralph still lives, praise be. And Beatrice be resting, praise be.” The priest touched the wooden cross hanging around his neck from a long chain. Even as he did, he closed his eyes, his head lolling while a snore slipped out.

“Father?” Nicholas called.

Father Fritz startled, and his eyes flew open. “Yes, I’ll weed the garden, Yer Grace.” He glanced around, his face reddening. “What I meant to say is that I’ll be on my way tofeedthe sick from the garden.” Without waiting for a response, Father Fritz scurried toward the closest door and disappeared inside.

“He’s exhausted.” Sybil’s delicate brows drew together in concern.

A wave of weariness hit Nicholas, and he fought to stave it off. He hadn’t slept well or oft in days. What he wouldn’t give to fall upon a bed—for a few hours to ease the ache in his head.

The throbbing had multiplied since he’d dismounted, and now it was radiating against his temples, so much so that a chill slithered up his backbone.

Sybil’s fingers closed in around his arm. “When’s the last time you slept?”

After giving Sybil the holy water last night, he’d moved her to a guest chamber, and his mother had offered to bathe and change her. He’d allowed himself an hour of sleep then. But it hadn’t been enough.

He swayed.

Sybil grabbed on to him. “You need to rest, Nicholas.”

As she steered him toward the priest’s cottage, he hesitated. “The horse...” The poor creature needed food and water.

“I’ll tend to it after I put you to bed.” She didn’t allow him to stop.

He stumbled along, his muscles aching, his body suddenly as cold as if a winter frost had settled over him. All he wanted to do was lie down.

When they entered Father Fritz’s cottage, the pungent odor of a dozen herbal remedies clouded the air. The priest’s table was littered with bottles—some open, others toppled. Several pestles and mortars were filled with crushed dried herbs that spilled out of scattered leather pouches. The hearth fire at the center of the cottage had a low flame, and several pots bubbled with what appeared to be additional tonics.

Nicholas wasn’t sure how well Father Fritz could doctor. The kindly man never seemed to know exactly what he was doing any time he attempted to assist with the ailments around thevillage. From the looks of things this morn, he appeared to be trying everything and anything to bring relief to those who were suffering. Although Nicholas guessed the priest’s efforts would fall short as always, ’twas better than doing nothing at all.

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