He snored again, this time even louder.
“Stop!” she said. “You sound like a choking tiger. And it probably hurts your throat.”
It did. “I won’t stop until you show me.”
She sighed. “Such a commotion over something I do to pass the time.”
He snored again, and she abruptly flipped the paper around. He lifted up to see better, and he wished that the light was not coming from behind the paper. Or perhaps that added to the design because what he saw was layer upon layer of jagged marks radiating out from two heavy dots. It wasn’t a painting in the typical sense, but it intrigued him. He saw very light gray strokes around the two, evenly spaced black dots, shaping the central image as if they were eyes. And then the jagged strokes radiated outward like lightning or, as she said, snores made into brush strokes.
“Bring it closer,” he said as he dropped back onto the mattress.
“I will not,” she said as she set the painting aside. “You need more broth and perhaps to—”
“I can use the privy myself, thank you.” At least, he hoped he could. Gathering his resources, he pushed himself upright on the bed. He went slow and was grateful that his head did not swim with the motion. She got everything ready, then stood by. At his dark look, she backed out of his bedroom, but she did not close the door.
“I am here if you need help. Do not be ashamed. You have been very ill.”
He wasn’t ashamed. He was embarrassed by his uselessness. “I haven’t needed help with this since I was four.”
“Four?” she asked, her voice light. “By the way the people here speak of you, I expected you were born walking and talking.”
Good lord, what had people been saying? “I think they were speaking of my brother. Peder was the darling of Cornwall.”
“English may not be my first language, but I do know the difference between Peder and Daniel.”
So did he, and it was not a favorite topic.
He accomplished his goal and eventually managed to return to his bed. It hadn’t been easy, but at least he had not humiliated himself.
“Very good, my lord,” Li-Na said from outside the room. “I’ll be right back with more broth.”
“I’m hungry,” he said. “Get me a meat pie.”
She returned with broth. “Tomorrow you may have gruel.”
“Gruel? Is that what that damned doctor told you? Supercilious ass, I wouldn’t trust him with a half-dead cow.”
She grinned at him. A full, stunningly beautiful grin. “I am happy to hear you say that. Mrs. Hocking and I believed that the doctor should not be in charge of your care. We convinced the countess.”
He looked up in surprise. That asinine man had been physicking his family since he’d been a boy. He wondered how they’d gotten rid of him. “I’m glad I got better on my own.”
“You took teas prescribed by the Woman in the Woods.”
“What? The witch?”
“The Woman in the Woods,” she repeated, her tone more stringent. “The countess said she treats the poor and the superstitious in the area.”
“Of which I am neither.”
“And yet you are better.”
He frowned at her. “You really called the…the…” He couldn’t say the word anymore.
“She made sense. Your doctor did not.”
Well, he could hardly argue the results, though most likely the illness had simply run its course. Either way, he was more interested in Li-Na than any witch.
“How long was I asleep?”