WindLegends Saga 9: WindRetriever (6 page)

"Of course, Your Grace," she answered and motioned the other woman to help her.

"Do you want the covers?" Sajin asked his friend.

"Stop fussing over me, nomad," was the growl.

There was a light tap at the door and Sajin turned to see Balizar standing there. "What is it?" he asked.

"I hate to bother you, Your Grace," Balizar admitted, "but the old one, Mistress Meghan?

She wants to see you." He glanced at the Serenian. "Another one of them headaches?"

Sajin nodded. "Did she say what she wanted?"

Balizar shrugged. "Something about the two Princes she's got in the donjon. Gehdren and his cousin, I guess."

"Go," Conar told Sajin. "I'll be all right."

"Rupine should be here in a few minutes," Sajin said. "And don't give him any of your mouth, McGregor." He put his hand on the headboard and leaned over his friend. "Do you hear me?"

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"Go away," came the mumbled reply as Conar turned his back to the man.

Sajin straightened and motioned the others from the room. As he, too, left, he quietly closed the door and ordered the two women not to admit anyone other than Rupine, himself, or the Serenian's lady.

Conar buried his face in the pillow, wanting to cry with the pain inside his head, wishing he could. His temples felt as though they would explode any moment and the nausea had returned full force. Drawing up his knees, he began to shiver, a sure sign the pain was going to get even worse.

He heard the door open, but at the moment he did, bile leapt up his throat and he arched over the bed, knowing he was about to vomit. He gagged, making the agony inside his head worse, but nothing came out. Gripping the edge of the bed, he felt another wave of sickness coming and tasted the hot sting of bile in his mouth. Just as the bitter fluid filled his mouth, he felt the cold rim of a chamber pot against his chin and he spewed the hot liquid from him in a burst of force.

Whoever was holding the chamber pot for him was also holding his forehead as he retched.

The coolness of the person's hand felt good against his fevered flesh and he was thankful for their assistance. He knew had it not been for that assistance, he would have soiled the floor by his bed for he was in too much agony to get up to get the chamber pot.

The noxious fluid poured from him in wave after wave. It got up his nose, made his eyes water with the pain the vomiting was eliciting in his temples, and made the shivering worse. His belly was cramping with the force of his retching and the pain in his right eye was an agony all its own. Looking down into the chamber pot, he could see it was almost filled with his vomit.

"I....can't..." he gasped, interrupted by another spurt of hot fluid. "Please...don't...let...me..."

"Don't worry about it, milord," he heard Catherine say. Her voice was soft and gentle as she strained to hold onto the weight of the chamber pot. "

"Catherine?" he questioned. His voice was hoarse, ragged, and plaintively embarrassed.

"I've got you, milord," she told him. "I've got you."

Footsteps hurried across the carpet and Catherine looked up to see Rupine. The physician took the chamber pot from her trembling hold. "Let me empty this," he said, hurrying away.

"NO!" Conar gasped. He leaned further out over the bed, trying to push Catherine away as another trickle of vomitus gushed from his lips. The vile fluid landed on the carpet, just missing Catherine's slipper.

She cradled his head as he retched again, gagging, but nothing came out. His dry heaves were even worse and she could feel his body quivering violently as he strained against her.

"Here," Rupine said, handing her a wet cloth.

Conar felt the chill of the cloth on his forehead and cheeks, then across his lips. He felt like a mewling infant, unable to look after himself. He was shivering and in so much pain he thought his head would burst.

"Help me get him back on the bed, Your Grace," he heard Rupine saying and felt gentle hands moving him back, pushing him down. "As much as he dislikes it, I have no choice but to give him a potion for this."

"No," he said weakly, but even as he denied the physician, he felt Catherine lifting his head and the rim of a cup against his mouth. "Catherine, no," he repeated.

"Drink, milord," she told him and the bitter lap of the laudanum touched his mouth. She would not let him argue with her and tipped the fluid into his mouth.

"Shit," he hissed, gagging as the godawful liquid slid down his throat, despising the taste of the laudanum and the fact that he hadn't been given a choice in whether to take it or not.

"You have to sleep," Rupine told him.

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Almost instantly, the numbing began and the pain began to lessen in his right eye. Rupine made him drink some watered-down tenerse, as well, for the nausea, and he felt even more like a helpless child. As the headache began to recede, he turned his face into the pillow and pulled the edges over his ears.

"He'll sleep for at least four hours," Rupine told Catherine. He pointed to the door. "May I speak with you a moment, Your Grace?"

Catherine nodded absently. She followed the physician out into the hall, barely noticing the women warriors who kept a silent vigil at her husband's door.

"I would like your permission to give him a preventative drug, Your Grace," Rupine began as he took Catherine's arm and walked her beyond the hearing of the two sentinels. "I know he would never consent to taking such a thing if he knew of it, but I believe it is important."

Catherine frowned. "He doesn't like to take any kind of medicine."

Rupine nodded. "I know that, Your Grace, but these headaches are so debilitating and, frankly, I am at a loss to explain their sudden occurrence in such a violent form."

"He's had them since childhood," she told the man.

"Yes, so I've been told." He glanced at the door, then lowered his voice. "Your Grace, I don't wish to alarm you, but I am worried about Khamsin."

Conar's wife's brows drew together. "You don't think these headaches are a sign of something more serious, do you?"

Rupine chewed on his lip for a moment, trying to decided if he should say what was on his mind. Seeing the concern in the Tzarevna's face, he thought it might be best if he did not mention his own worries.

"Please," Catherine begged him, "if there is something you think I should know, tell me."

"It's just that I...." Rupine sighed. "Well, I had a patient several years ago with symptoms such as the ones Khamsin is suffering. The only difference was that man developed the headaches when he was in his forties after never having experienced them before."

"What was the cause?" she asked, fearing the physician's answer.

"I can't say," Rupine answered. "I gave him a complete examination, as I have given Khamsin, but I could never determine why the pain started."

"What happened to him? This patient of yours?"

Rupine looked away. "After several weeks of such pain, an artery burst inside his brain."

He looked back at her. "As best as I could determine, it was the pressure on the artery that caused it to collapse. The man died."

Catherine's face turned pale. "And you think that will happen to Conar?"

"I can't say for sure, Your Grace. Certainly these headaches are nothing like what he has come to expect. From what he told me, he only had three or four a year up until a few months ago and now they come nearly every month. He tells me the pain is getting worse and lasting longer, as well." He spread his hands. "I don't know what to think. That is why I would like your permission to try treating him with a drug I give my female patients who have such headaches during their monthlies."

"Is it addictive?" she asked.

"Not in the least," Rupine assured her, "but even knowing so, I doubt Khamsin would agree to take it."

Catherine slumped against the wall. "Then how will you administer it to him?"

"In his food. In what he drinks. Someone he trusts will have to be the one to give it to him so he will not suspect anything." Rupine put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I would never do Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 28

anything to harm him, Your Grace. If I did not feel this was necessary, I would not have mentioned it to you."

She nodded. "I believe you, Rupine," she answered. Looking up at him, she searched his face. "You swear this medicine will not enslave him to it?"

"I swear on my mother's grace it will not."

Catherine sighed heavily. "Then fetch it and I'll speak to Sajin. Between the two of us, we'll see that he takes it."

Rupine knew the pain had to be excruciating. He watched the Outlander curl up into a defensive, fetal position on the bed, drawing in on himself as though the placement of his body would ease the extremeness of his pain. This episode, having lasted for two days, despite the laudanum and the prophylactic given to prevent the reoccurrence of the headache, showed no sign of lessening. The hurt, puzzled look on the strained face of Conar McGregor gave evidence that this was no ordinary migraine and that he knew it was not.

"Is the pain no better at all?" Rupine quietly inquired.

"No," came the ragged, panting reply. "It's worse."

"Khamsin," Rupine stated, coming to sit on the bed with his patient. "I must insist that you let me give you something to put you to sleep." As Conar began to voice his denial of the request, Rupine spoke louder, overriding the objection. "You can not take much more of this pain without going mad, milord. Two days of this agony is more than enough."

"You've no guarantee sleep will make it stop," Conar answered.

"No," Rupine admitted, "but at least you will have a surcease from the pain for a few hours.

The laudanum has done little good and it has not made you drowsy enough to fall asleep. That in itself concerns me for I fear you've developed a tolerance to the drug."

Conar had no idea just how much about his past Rupine was privy to and he certainly had no intention of admitting to the man that there had been a time when he had been severely addicted to drugs that kept him in an almost constant stupor. Or that he had undergone a wicked, brutal withdrawal from those drugs that had nearly driven him insane. That he didn't want a repeat of that horrible time in his life was uppermost in his mind at all times and was the reason he did not want to be given anything that would take away his ability to function properly.

"Khamsin, please!" Rupine pleaded with him. "You have had no sleep in two days and you are as pale as a ghost. I really must insist you allow me to treat you as I see fit."

"Get the medicine and stop arguing with him," Sajin said from the door. "If we have to, we'll hold him down for you to administer it."

Conar raised his head and looked at Sajin. "Bastard," he mumbled before lowering his head gingerly to the pillow.

"Stubborn fool," Sajin shot back. He came to sit down in the place Rupine had vacated at his arrival. "Don't you know we are trying to help you, McGregor?"

Conar fused his gaze with Sajin's, asking something of the man he knew the nomad would understand. At Sajin's gentle smile and soft caress of his cheek, Conar relaxed. "You won't let him give me something to …."

"No," Sajin said. "I will monitor very closely what he does, what he gives you, and how often he does. There is no need for you to endure this kind of pain when Rupine can help." He glanced back at Rupine as the physician informed him he was going after the sedative. "I'll stay with him until you get back."

When the door closed behind Rupine, Sajin reached out to cup Conar's chin. "Do you think Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 29

I'd allow them to addict you, again, my friend?"

"It was a nomad to whom I sold my soul in the first place," Conar grumbled.

"Not this time," Sajin assured him. He leaned over to re-wet a cloth lying on Conar's bedside table. Soaking it with cool water, he wrung it out, then wiped the sweat from Conar's face.

"Is it still bad?"

"I don't know what's happening to me, Sajin," Conar told him. "It's never been like this before."

"I've had a few that were much worse than the others and lasted for several days at the time," Sajin replied.

"Truly?" Conar asked. At Sajin's nod, he put up a hand to rub at the pain in his temple.

"Maybe I'm not dying, then."

Sajin chuckled. "You're too mean and arrogant to die, McGregor." He folded his arms across his chest and crossed his ankles. "Would you like some good news? The Daughters executed Gehdrin and his cousin this morning and I've sent word to his sister, Jasmine, to come get the bodies."

Conar looked up at him. "They didn't waste any time, did they?"

Sajin shook his head. "Gehdrin had a lot to account for, my friend. Not only what he helped do to you, but for atrocities he committed of which I wasn't aware."

"I've got to get rid of this headache," Conar mumbled. "My friends are lying in the catacombs, ready for burial and here I am lying here ...."

"My ship is at your disposal whenever you are ready to go, but until that headache is thoroughly gone, my friend, you aren't going anywhere," Sajin reminded him. "I'm going to keep your Serenian ass in bed."

Conar's head hurt too badly to argue. The way he felt at that moment, Ben-Alkazar could do whatever he liked with him. Thankfully, the nausea had lessened to a great degree with the tenerse Rupine insisted he take every few hours, but the throbbing in his temples was becoming worse and worse.

"Would you get me some water?" Conar asked, wetting his dry lips.

"Sure." Sajin got up and went to a table across the room where a sweating jug of cool water sat. He was pouring a cup of the chilled brew when he heard Conar's loud gasp. The Kensetti turned, dropping the tumbler as he saw the horrible expression stamped on his friend's face.