It occurred to Sarah as she climbed the wooden stairs that she’d swept into The Swan like Boudicca marshaling her forces against the Romans. Small wonder the gaping innkeeper had hurried to unlock the room. Luke clutched the tumbler the landlord’s wife fetched from the kitchens.

Sarah took the candle lantern from the landlord and held it high, dismayed by what she saw. Munro lay curled up amid disheveled sheets, his brow fevered, his beautiful hair plastered to his head. His eyes were open but he seemed to have little idea that people had entered his room.

“Help me sit him up,” she told the harried landlord.

They each hooked an arm under Munro’s and dragged him to a sitting position. The heat of his body alarmed her. He was on fire.

Giles had the foresight to plump up the pillows and they settled Munro against them.

She and the landlord were both sweating and he looked very nervous. It was understandable. Illness tended to clear an establishment quickly. More than two hundred years had passed since the Black Death, but the terrifying tales of its horror were handed down from one generation to the next. “Thank you for your help. I suggest you get Luke to bed.”

There was no argument. The yawning boy handed the cape back to Giles and left with his master.

She kissed Munro’s brow, struggling to keep the tears at bay when he smiled weakly and rasped, “Sarah.”

She willed herself to think…think…he sounded hoarse…his throat…

“This first?” Giles asked, holding out the oregano oil.

She accepted it, grateful one of them was of sound mind. “This will taste bitter,” she told Munro. “Stick out your tongue. You must keep the oil under it for a while.”

He obeyed, grimacing as she administered two drops.

“Don’t swallow yet,” she commanded, relieved when he seemed to understand.

“Peppermint,” he rasped.

Another good sign. He’d detected the peppermint oil mixed in with the oregano.

“Pour some of the onion tea into the tumbler,” she told Giles, scraping a spoonful of honey from the cake. “Then we need water from the ewer and a wet flannel.”

Hoping he was awake enough to hold the tumbler, she put it in his hands, then cupped her own around his. The flagon had kept the liquid warm enough to be effective. “Drink this now. Down in one.”

She helped him lift the tea to his lips. He took a sip then grimaced again. She forced him to take more. “I know it tastes awful, but if you drink it all, I’ll give you honey.”

Giles chuckled. “You remind me of my mother, Mrs. North, coaxing me with the promise of a treat.”

She shrugged. “Men are little boys at heart. He’s delirious. He won’t remember.”

Munro slurped the last of the tea. “Now, I want my honey,” he wheezed.

Smiling, she held the spoon to his lips.

“I’ve longed to taste your honey,” he said hoarsely, a lustful glint in his eyes.

As Munro licked the honey from the spoon, she risked a glance at Giles, but he didn’t seem to be aware of their patient’s intent. “I’ll sit up with him first,” she said. “Get some sleep.”

The boy huddled under his cape in the chair.

Munro lifted the sheets. “Come to bed, my lovely Sarah.”

Tempted to giggle, she dabbed his forehead with the damp cloth. “You won’t remember any of this on the morrow.”

He took hold of her hand and held it to his nose. “Ye smell of onions.”

“Behave and try to get well.”

“Come to bed and I’ll be well.”

She leaned close to his ear. “Giles is here with me, but I’ll do my best to soothe you.”

He grinned like a drunkard and pushed the sheets down around his hips.

She yanked them back over his nakedness. “Not like that, silly man. Lie down and keep still.”

She straightened the pillows under his head, then reached for the wintergreen oil.

Even in his fevered state, Munro was aroused by the delicate touch of Sarah’s warm hands rubbing his chest with fragrant oil. “This smells better. What is it?”

“Wintergreen. Take deep breaths and it will help.”

He inhaled, noticing her nostrils flare when he expanded his chest. “Reminds me of something.”

“Well, some people make tea with the leaves, or chew them to perfume their breath. The oil is often used to clean and lubricate muskets and pistols.”

The mention of lubrication sent his mind off on another tack, but she’d said something about Giles. He narrowed his eyes, disappointed to see the lad asleep in the armchair. “I love to feel yer hands on me,” he whispered. “I dinna suppose…”

A yawn interrupted his train of thought and sleep claimed him.

Sarah knew Munro had fallen asleep, but her hands seemed to have taken on a life of their own. She carried on gently massaging him, admiring the rise and fall of his chest, the tight male nipples, the line of soft, black hair that wandered down his belly to…

Her errant hands accidentally brushed the linens lower to expose his manhood curled up in its nest of dark curls. Even in repose he was impressive.

She pecked a kiss on that most intimate part, praying she’d done enough to heal him.

Giles occupied the only chair, so she covered her beloved with the sheet and curled up around his legs, listening to his labored breathing.