They both smiled at each other.
“What do you dream about,” she asked him.
“Fightin’. Killin’. Losin’ friends. Losin’ myself.”
Her heart broke for him. Like many soldiers of war, he had been wounded. But his wounds were not visible to the eyes. How could she help him? There were no herbs or roots or anything that she knew of that would take nightmarish thoughts from his head.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
He began to shake his head and then went a little pale. She lifted her fingers to his shoulder and gave him a little pat.
“When we returned from the king’s exile in France,” he began, “he ordered many futile raids into England, which got most of my friends killed. But we had sworn fealty to him and couldna abandon him. He’d been a young boy when his father died. He was forced onto the throne, leader of volatile men who hated the English king. He thought he had somethin’ to prove and kept sendin’ us in. I kept fightin’ fer my life. We were massacred, time after time…and I…I saw things…”
“I’m sorry that you did,” she leaned in and whispered to him.
“As am I,” he dipped his head to hers and whispered back. “When David was captured,” he continued for her ears only, “and taken prisoner, those of us who were left privately rejoiced.”
“Oh, Elias,” she said softly, straightening and trying to ignore that part of her that wanted to stay close to him. “I wish you had peace.”
“I have it now.” He took her hand in both of his and brought it to his chest. He spoke her name and closed his eyes. “From the moment I first saw ye, I knew I would never forget yer face and the way ye smiled at yer patron.” He opened his eyes and stared into hers. “Ye were like healin’ oil to my soul. Since then, ye have come to mean more to me than I intended. I want ye to know that I respect yer husband so much fer all he is doin’ that sometimes my shame overwhelms me.”
“As does mine,” she told him. She watched him hang his head and she was tempted to lift her fingers to his hair. “But…but I will not leave my husband, in body or in soul.”
“I willna ask such a thing of ye,” he promised and they picked up their steps again.
They heard crying when they passed the mill. They looked around at the houses. Lily’s belly sank, along with her heart. She wanted to call out. She heard it again. It was a child. She looked left where Agnes’ cottage was, pulled up her mask, and started running.
Elias got there first. Annabelle was standing outside her door. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her golden curls hung limply around her face. “Mummy is feeling poorly. Will she die like Cecily’s mother and Joan?”
“No, no, Annabelle,” Lily soothed.
“I dinna know,” Elias answered truthfully from under his mask and stepped into the cottage.
“Agnes,” Lily heard him call out and entered the house behind him.
They found her lying in her bed, curled up and groaning in pain. She had small boils on her neck and under her arms. Her face with flush with fever and her body and her eyes looked to be bleeding.
“Agnes!” Lily moved to hurry to her but Agnes held up her hand.
“Stay away, Lily!” Agnes cried out. “Keep Annabelle away from me!”
Lily stopped and turned to the child, but she wasn’t there. Elias had taken her back outside. “Agnes, my dear, please let me tend to you. I have the herbs Bertram has taken and he is better.”
But Agnes shook her head. “No. Leave my house.”
“Come, dearest,” Lily went to her and tried to lift her head, but Agnes smacked her hands away, knocking the herb mixture from Lily’s hands. Everything spilled to the floor.
Lily refused to cry. She hadn’t cried a single day while she was a slave to Bertram, not even when he took her from her father. She had almost lost herself to tears a few times since learning of the pestilence and after her friends died, but she would not do it. If she started, she feared she would never stop.
“Lily.”
She looked up at Elias standing in the doorway with Annabelle in his arms.
“Come, love,” he beckoned calmly. “Bertram is not in the shed.”
She took a step toward him and then stopped and looked back at Agnes. Her friend looked worse somehow than she had looked a few moments ago. It wasn’t possible. No illness that she’d ever heard of progressed this quickly.
“Lily.”