Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [157]
My father woke and coughed.
Raphael pushed harder, his brow beaded with sweat, damp hair hanging in his eyes. I poured the last of myself I had to give into him.
My father coughed again, wet and rattling. He rolled onto one side and the woodcutter's daughter was there holding a bowl to his lips, catching the endless flow of thick, ropy greenish yellow sputum that he coughed from his lungs, dispelling the vile infection. On and on it went until at last there was no more. With an effort, he opened his eyes. "Moirin?"
I smiled at him. "Aye."
And then I slid sideways into darkness.
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I lived and so did my father, although we were some days recovering. The woodcutter and his wife and daughter were more gracious hosts than anyone could have asked for. They made up a second cot for me near the stove, all three of them retreating to make their bed in the cabin's loft. Later, I learned that the hamlet came together to give lodging to Raphael and his manservant, Brother Ramiel, and the members of the King's Guard who escorted us.
Mostly, I slept.
When I awoke, I was glad. My father was alive.
He was thin and pale, but he had no fever and his lungs were clear, only a dry, hoarse cough remaining. Raphael came twice a day to examine him.
"Eat and sleep," he advised. "Regain your strength." His gaze settled on me, rueful and compassionate. "Both of you."
Slowly, slowly, the dry streambed refilled to a trickle.
The first day I was able to take to my feet, Raphael came to bid us farewell. "Your father's healing well," he said. "There's nothing more I can do for him. I reckon he'll be strong enough to travel in a few days. Your guards have procured a carriage. Just see that he doesn't exert himself and he's kept warm."
"I will," I promised. "Thank you."
Raphael hesitated. "Will you come outside a moment?" I followed him. It felt good to breathe the damp, fertile air. "Moirin…" He took my hand. "I'm sorry things went so badly awry between us."
"So am I," I said softly. "I never meant—"
"I know. I know you didn't. As for your oath…"
Hope flared inside me. "Aye?"
He squeezed my hand. "Take as much time as you need to recover. I won't press you and I'll say naught to the Circle until you're ready. I'll await your word. All right?"
And hope guttered and died. "All right," I said with regret. "I'll send word when I'm ready."
He gave a brisk nod. "My thanks." With that Raphael de Mereliot took his leave. I watched him swing himself astride his horse, weak sunlight picking out the strands of gold in his hair, his long limbs moving with easy grace. He gave me a parting wave, then kneed his mount.
I went back inside, where I found my father awake. "De Mereliot's gone?" he asked.
"Aye," I murmured.
He reached out to pat the adjacent cot. "Come, sit. You're not steady on your feet." His green eyes regarded me, large and vivid in his pale, gaunt face. "Moirin, unless I'm mistaken, I've heard you referred to as the Queen's companion in the last few days. Or are my wits more fever-addled than I know?"
I sighed. "Nooo…"
My father raised his brows. "We are speaking of Jehanne and not some other member of House Courcel?" I nodded. He laughed, then stifled a cough. "Well, that explains the coolness on de Mereliot's part. How in Blessed Elua's name did that come about? When I left, you were fretting over having bedded the Dauphin."
I glanced at the woodcutter's daughter, whose name was Sophie. She was scrubbing dishes in a tub on the other side of the stove, listening with avid fascination. I was reluctant to divulge the whole truth before her and I didn't want to lie. "Ohh… 'tis a long story. I'll tell you on the journey home."
"Is it true her majesty done had a magic bower built for you, my lady?" Sophie wanted to know. "Where it's always summer?"
I smiled at her eagerness. "True enough."
My father regarded me and shook his head in disbelief. "You're an unpredictable one to be sure, my strange child."
Several days later, we bade farewell to the woodcutter and