The Duke and the Enchantress

Chapter Nine - The Duke's Bedchamber

Chapter Nine

The Physician shoved his spectacles up his nose.  “Twice in one day!  What is this?  And now you’ve called me away from my dinner too.” He swung his bag beside him as he speed-walked down the halls.  His pace seemed contrary to his narrow, hunched shoulders.  “Where to now?  Is it the child?  I told you there was nothing more I could do--” 

“Not the child,” Mrs. Short snapped, practically jogging behind him, “and he’s taken her to his bedchambers! Can you imagine?” 

“Who?” 

“That witch from the dungeons,” Mrs. Short spat. 

“Oh, yes, I remember, the wet nurse.” 

Outside of the duke’s bedchambers, Justine was sitting.  She sprang to her feet when Mrs. Short approached.  “They were taking dinner,” Mrs. Short supplied, “He allowed her to sit at the table.  She was about half way through the meal when she regorged it all over the floor.  And then she fainted.”  She lifted her fist and knocked on the heavy oak door. 

The duke opened the door himself.  His brows were drawn together in a stormy scowl.  “Thank you for coming,” he said briskly to the physician.  “I’ve had a hell of a time keeping her on the bed.” 

“Eh?” The doctor trailed over to the bedside, where the woman was seated against the headboard, her arms crossed over her breasts, and a contrary look on her pale face.  “I know this woman,” Alan said, taking a step back in surprise.

“You know her?” 

“Sure, she’s a midwife and herbalist in the village, a damn good one at that.”  The doctor peered at her over his spectacles.  “Well  you’ve gotten yourself in quite a spot, haven’t you, Willow?” 

“I said I am fine.” The woman, who now had a name, glared at the old man.  “I do not need your services.” 

“Let me be the judge of that my dear.”  The doctor picked up her wrist and felt her pulse, and then tested the temperature of her forehead with the back of his hand.  “Bring the candle, I want to check her eyes.”  The duke handed him a candle stick from the bedside table, and the old man held it before her eyes, watching the dilation of her pupils. 

“How long was she unconscious?” 

“Ten minutes maybe.” The duke answered. 

“And you say she vomited?” 

“Yes.” 

“Mmmhm,” he turned to the woman, “When was your last meal, dear?” 

She pursed her lips.  “I can’t remember.  Four, five days past.” 

“And what did you take?” 

She turned her head away, so that the men could not see her face.  “Some moldy crusts of bread, and a cup of onion broth.” 

“Yes exactly.” The doctor straightened and pushed his glasses up again.  “Your grace, this is a very simple case of malnutrition.  The woman’s stomach has likely shriveled up like a dried apple.  She is not accustomed to rich meals, and so her body rejected the sudden influx of food.  Additionally, you know she has given birth recently.  Her constitution has been stressed beyond her endurance, and so she fainted.” 

“So, she’s not sick?” 

“I think not,” Alan shook his head, “She has no fever, her heart is strong.  What she requires is rest, a proper diet, and fresh air to clear her lungs.” 

“I told you I was fine!” The woman growled from the bed, now swinging her legs over the side. 

The duke only grunted.  “Thank you for your time,” he said to the doctor, “my steward will settle with you in the morning, if you please.” 

“Of course, of course.  And do remind the man that I charge double when I’m called out after sunset.” Alan grinned, “Well then, I’ll see myself back out.  The missus is keeping my plate warm, and I’d not like to faint from hunger myself.” He bobbed his head at the duke, and then came out much the way he came in, walking so fast he was nearly running. 

Willow smoothed back her hair, “Let me return to my own room, your grace.” 

“No.” he bit out the word. 

“No?” her face, which had regained a bit of color, now blanched again.  He saw the flash of fear in her eyes and gritted his teeth.  He didn't like to see her fear, especially knowing she was afraid of him.  Did she think he was going to tie her to his bed and ravish her, in her present condition?

“Mrs. Short!” 

The housekeeper, who had been waiting near the door, stepped inside.  “Yes, your grace?” 

“Make a soup for this woman, and bring it with some bread and ginger tea.” 

Mrs. Short’s eyes bugged a bit.  “Yes, your grace,” she nearly choked on the words.  Imagine he was going to waste precious and expensive ginger on that witch!  And to bother the cook with making a soup at this hour!  But she did not dare give her opinion to the duke.  His mood was already foul, no doubt because the woman had ruined his own appetite with the mess she left on the floor. 

“Justine!” Liam bellowed again. 

Justine sidled into the room timidly. 

“Bring this woman a clean shift.” 

The duke turned back to the woman who was still perched on the edge of his bed, her arms wrapped around her middle, watching him warily.  “Forgive me, madam.  I did not understand the severity of your condition.” 

She blinked in surprise, and her eyebrows inched up.   

Liam paced the room restlessly, crossing back and forth in front of the great fireplace with the twin carved lions on the hearth.  Everything about this woman was troubling him.  So, she was a midwife, and an herbalist?  No wonder she handled the baby with such expertise.  What exactly had she done to earn the wrath of the Priesthood?  He felt a burden of guilt, as though he himself were responsible, which was, in a way, partly true.  He had no right to force her to stay here to care for his daughter.   

He heaved a sigh and leaned against the mantle.  In the morning he would have to send men out to search the village, and look for another wet nurse.  Once a replacement was found, he would give this woman her freedom.  In the meantime, he would have to deal with the situation in the dungeons, and also investigate the charges against this woman.  They were responsibilities he did not welcome, they scratched at him like burdocks in his trousers.  Silence stretched between them, broken only when Justine returned with clean clothes 

He stepped out of the room to allow her to change in privacy.  He did not return until Justine came out, the soiled garments rolled up in her arms.  He nodded at her and then let himself back in.  She had left his bed and moved to one of the brocade chairs.  She sat, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes staring vacantly at the fire. 

He studied her again, remembering the way her slight body had felt in his arms when he had carried her  to his bedchamber.  He thought about the way her hair had spread across his pillow.  A rogue idea crept up in his imagination.  What would it be like to have this woman in his bed willingly?  What would her body look like naked, spread over his costly silk sheets?  What would those dark eyes look like if they were heated with passion, instead of fear?  What would those full breasts feel like against his hands?  And what would they taste like, if he licked those dusky n*****s? 

His rakish thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Short, who entered unannounced, pushing a tray-cart with the food he had ordered.  He should reprimand her for entering without his permission, but really, there had already been too much drama tonight.  He turned to Willow, “Now eat, and this time, slowly.”