“Tina?” Laura said firmly.
The maid grimaced. “’Twas merely disappointment he expressed, as did your daughter. Certes, they both wished your accompaniment.”
More likely, they believed she lazed abed regardless of the promise made her daughter who had seemed pleased by Laura’s interest in Lexeter’s wool. When the two returned later this afternoon—or this eve—they would learn of the physician’s diagnosis and she would be redeemed.
Though the time it took Martin to tend Lady Raisa felt like half a day, Laura did not believe it exaggeration that one hour passed before the man arrived.
He knocked sharply and entered. Halting at the center of the chamber, he jutted his chin. “Show me, my lady.”
He so soon offended Laura nearly had to swallow her tongue to keep anger from it.
Dragging her hands from beneath her, she whimpered when the relief provided by the pressure was repaid with pain all the sharper for its suppression. There were more blisters, now spreading down her wrists. She thrust her hands forward.
Maintaining his distance, Martin considered them.
“Surely you ought to draw nearer for a proper diagnosis,” Laura snipped.
He grimaced. “I would, but unlike many, I believe close proximity passes affliction to the innocent.”
“But you are a physician—or so you claim to be.”
His brow lowered. “I am a man of medicine, but not a fool. My first concern is for Lady Raisa, as it should be and as her son requires. ’Twould be unforgivably negligent did I risk her delicate health by passing your sickness to her.”
A grunt drew Laura’s regard to the hearth where Tina stood flushed and stiff. She did not like the man any more than her lady liked him.
“I cannot say I think highly of your competence as a physician,” Laura bit. “Pray, persuade me otherwise by identifying what this is.”
His upper lip curled, but whatever ill he wished to speak, he did not. At last he asked, “Have you been in the garden?”
“On the day past.”
“Then possibly foxglove, the plant whose stalks drip bell-shaped flowers.” He nodded. “Methinks you touched what you should not.”
Laura knew the plant and that even if one did not ingest its poison, brief contact could cause a rash. Hence, Lady Maude had removed foxgloves from her garden when Clarice began to walk.
“I saw none there, Martin.”
“Did you pick flowers?”
“Roses only.” And she had thorn pricks to prove it, remembrance of which made her skin itch more.
Another nod. “Once Lady Raisa’s children were of an age to obey, she planted foxglove between the rosebushes. Though the plants did not take well, from time to time one struggles up through the earth as I have noted whilst gathering herbs. ’Tis rare one blooms, which is surely why you did not recognize it as such.”
It made sense, and Laura wished it to since the diagnosis could be worse. “You are certain ’tis not the pox?”
“Not the usual pox, but…”
“But?”
He cleared his throat. “’Tis a delicate matter, and I would not wish to offend my lord’s betrothed.”
“How might you offend?”
He pursed his lips, swung them side to side. “To be certain, a closer examination is required.”
“Then draw nearer.”
With obvious reluctance, he closed the distance between them and leaned forward. “I am fair certain ’tis foxglove, my lady.”
“Then not the usual nor unusual pox.”
“That last cannot be excluded without a thorough examination—one I would require my lord’s permission to perform.”
“I do not understand.”
“As told, my lady, it is a delicate matter.”
Laura thrust up out of the chair, causing him to spring back on his short legs. “Speak!”
He looked to Tina as if she might offer aid, but the maid said, “Lest ye forget, Physician, soon ye shall answer to milady the same as ye answer to yer lord.”
He tossed up his hands. “If Baron Soames is angered by what I tell, ’tis of your doing, Lady Laura.”
Suppressing the longing to scratch at her hands, she said, “I take responsibility.”
“Very well. When I name that other pox unusual, I do so in reference to those of the nobility who are far less susceptible than common folk.”
Laura ground her teeth at the insult to Tina.
He sighed. “But since you have engaged in behavior displeasing to the Lord, embracing the sins of the flesh and making yourself a Daughter of Eve rather than a sister of Mary, it is quite possible you are afflicted with that best known to those whose profession it is to provide favors of the flesh.”
Laura was so shocked she could only stare, then struggle to control the urge to slap him as she had been unable to do with Lady Raisa.
“Ye dare!” Tina recovered before her mistress.
“Your lady insisted!”
The maid gave a cry, hastened forward, and struck his arm. “Out with ye, foul being!” As if a broom to the debris he had become to her lady, she pushed and swept him over the threshold.
But before she could slam the door, he turned. “I shall send salve. Whether your lady’s skin is afflicted by foxglove or that other pox, ’twill provide relief and aid with healing.”
“Be quick about it!” Tina slammed the door and hastened back. “Put from yer mind what he said, milady, hear?” She reached for Laura’s hands, but her lady snatched them away.
“I should have known of which pox he spoke,” Laura said. “He tried to warn me—”
“I think it more likely he baited ye, milady.” The maid wiped her palms on her skirts as if she were more fouled by touching him than she would be had she caught up Laura’s hands.
“As it is likely foxglove, it matters not,” Laura said. “And as easy as it would be to wallow in anger toward him, my time is better spent thanking the Lord ’tis but a skin irritation. So that I shall do. I only hope Martin does not tell my betrothed he suspects it could be the unusual sort of pox.” She raked her teeth over her lower lip, considered her wedding gown. “Four days, then I wed, providing I am sufficiently healed.”
“Ye shall be, milady. I will tend yer hands and take good care of ye.”
“I thank you.” Laura nodded at the gown. “I thought I might spend some of the day removing more pearls and beads, but my hands hurt, and if these blisters weep, the cloth might be ruined.”
“Worry not, milady. I shall pluck out the rest.”
“Nay, I shall do it. Mayhap in a few days I will be well enough healed.”
“As you wish, milady.”
Lothaire was a mess, and would be more so if he yielded to the impulse to bloody his knuckles against the man’s scowl. “You said that to her?” he barked.