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Isbeil shook her head. “He speaks strange things I dinna understand. But he’s convinced they’re true.”

“That makes him a madman,” Marjorie said.

“Or someone who’s here by chance,” Isbeil said. “I dinna see any signs of madness.”

“I’m not crazy,” Konnor said.

“Aye. Ye’re nae crazy.” Isbeil clasped her hands and removed the linen that covered the basket. An aromatic mixture of herbs tickled Konnor’s nostrils.

“Let me see yer ankle,” Isbeil said.

Konnor moved his leg to give her better access. His ankle was swollen, and red and blue bruises shone through the skin. He also had a cut that was still bleeding a little.

“The cut is nae deep,” she said, “but there’s dirt in it, and it needs to be washed. I’ll put honey on it to keep rot-wound away. As for yer ankle…”

Isbeil took his foot and rolled it in a circle. Sharp pain shot through his leg, and he clenched his teeth.

“I can feel yer joint is unstable,” she said. “’Tis a sprain, stranger, but ‘tisna serious. Ye shouldna walk on it for a day or two. I can give ye willow bark for yer pain. And I’ll put splints and bandage them. After two days, ye can start walking on it, but carefully. Mostly, what ye need is rest. Aye?”

The pain wasn’t unbearable. He’d had worse.

“Okay, a sprain. Don’t worry then. Just give me a crutch or something and send me on my way.”

She shrugged. “I wouldna advise ye to try to leave, lad. Rest is what ye need.”

“I’ll rest in a hotel or something.”

“It wilna take long. Marjorie, will ye give me that large bowl with water?”

Marjorie brought it over to the bed.

“Can ye wash his wound while I prepare the splint?”

“Aye,” Marjorie said and sat on the bed.

She glanced at him, and there was curiosity and anger in her eyes, but also compassion. Isbeil walked to the chest, placed some jars and pouches with powder on the lid and started mixing things. Marjorie wet a clean linen cloth and looked him in the eye. Their gazes locked, and instantly, his mouth went dry.

Christ, she’s pretty.

“This will hurt, Konnor,” she said softly.

“It’s fine. I’m not a stranger to pain.”

Her eyes widened, and long, dark eyelashes trembled. He’d been wounded twice before while in service, but he’d been beaten countless times by his stepfather while he was a child. Pain was not foreign to him.

“Neither am I,” she said as she put the cloth against the cut.

He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, and ask what had happened to her, but she put the cloth against his wound and pressed out the water, letting it wash dirt out. There was something soothing about her touch, and despite the pain, he lay back on the pillows and watched her face as she worked.

“‘Tis clean, Isbeil,” she said way too early and stood with the bowl in her hands. Isbeil came to inspect the wound and gave a satisfied grunt. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him.

“I’m going to put a healing poultice on it and dress it. Then I’ll put on the splint.”

Konnor gave a curt nod. “I appreciate ye treating me.”

She didn’t respond and spread the aromatic mixture on his cut and then bandaged it. Surprisingly, the mixture was cool and soothing, and his leg felt better. Then she took out two small planks from the basket and a linen bandage that looked clean. While Isbeil was setting the splints, Konnor looked at Marjorie’s pretty face. Their eyes were locked across the room, and he didn’t want to look away.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Isbeil said she was done.