LITMIR.BIZ

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      “But there is nothing poisonous or sinister in those ingredients. We use them all the time for one thing or another,” Serine mused aloud. “Was it in the way she prepared them?”

      “The herbs are placed in a container half-filled with fruit spirits and set out in the warmth of the sun. You are right. There is nothing sinister or magical about it. As she did with all her herbs, when she worked she recited her ingredients in a singsong voice. Some of the other healers felt they could improve on her concoction and tried adding herbs and berries. The additives did more harm than good and people became ill rather than being cured. A woman died after taking what was said to be the exact duplication of the recipe. They went after the healer who had made the original brew. They accused her of being a witch and burned her. It was believed her recipe was lost with her, and an edict was handed down that no one was to experiment with her concoction on pain of death. That edict has never been lifted.”

      “But surely it was only in the land where you lived,” Serine argued, sensing that her only hope of saving the Celt’s life was slipping away.

      “The edict was accepted by pagan and Christian alike, and the punishment ultimately the same regardless of the name of the god they worshiped.”

      “Ethyl, for the love of that God, please help me to save this man and find my son.” There were tears in Serine’s eyes. “I know how greatly this request must disturb you. Still, I must ask it.”

      Ethyl’s hands shook. “You cannot know unless you could have heard the woman’s dying screams. You cannot know the fear I have felt each time I did more than make tea from the herbs I gathered. Yet I know that herbs are capable of doing more good than harm and I could not allow the knowledge she bequeathed to me to be lost in the flames that took her life.”

      Serine went to her, placing her hands on Ethyl’s arms. “Do not let the knowledge be lost. Let it be used to save lives, as it was meant to do. I will take full responsibility and swear that I made the potion myself.”

      “There is no need for you to do that, although it would be true. For the herbal remedy we make that is bitter to the tongue is the same brew that cost my mother her life.”

      Serine gave a little gasp, but before she could express her horror at Ethyl’s revelation, the older woman added, “Use your skill to keep him alive, and I will return with the elixir that will, with God’s help, make him well.” Old Ethyl started toward the door. “I will be back to help you remove him from the water. In the meantime, you can deal with his beard in your own way.”

      Old Ethyl glanced at her mistress. There was something about Serine that seemed to indicate curiosity rather than concern. Was the younger woman interested in the man’s appearance? Surely not! This was a Celt. An enemy! One of the men who had stolen Serine’s son. Yet the features above the beard were strong and even. The man might be handsome, for all that he was a Celt.

      With hope beating in her heart Serine turned back to the Celt and, to her horror, saw that he was watching her with eyes as black and deep as the depths of hell. She could not help but wonder how much he had understood and how much he would be able to remember when his fever had passed. She listened closely as his jumbled words became discernible.

      “The name of the village,” she whispered. “What is the name of your village? Why do you want to steal children? Have you none of your own?”

      “Dead!” The Celt choked on the word. “All dead from plague.” His voice broke and his breath came in ragged gasps.

      “Tell me the name of your village and I will go there and cure them, just as I will cure you of your fever and heal your wound,” Serine soothed.

      “We must save the village,” he panted. “Without children, we will be lost. We must break the curse!”

      Serine crossed herself. “Curse?”

      “No children born since the plague...women barren. Must take children...” Exhaustion overcame him and he fell silent.

      * * *

      The sky darkened and the fire crackled against the chill of night. The pungent odor of herbs permeated the room, clearing the air of the scent of sickness, leaving the fresh smell of cleanliness with a hint of marigold ointment as Serine sat back and inspected her work.

      She had not expected the Celt’s skin to be so fair beneath his growth of beard. She had not expected his lips to be so full and well formed, hinting of smiling sensuousness even in his pain. She had not expected the structure of his face to be so strong, and the line of his jaw so firm. Nor had she expected the cleft set deep in his chin.

      His cheeks and forehead carried a much richer color than did the area that had been concealed by his facial hair. It must have been many months since he had taken the time to shave, she mused as she pressed another herb-soaked cloth against the swelling in his neck and was rewarded by a sigh of comfort.

      Twice she had added warm water as she waited for Old Ethyl to appear. And while she was alert for sounds of the woman’s presence, Serine was not anxious for her return. Her tired mind focused on the man before her. What was he like? What position did he hold in his village? Had he a wife and children? If his wife were here would she snatch him from the healing waters and insist that he lie in the bed burning with fever? Or would she approve of Serine’s treatment and help sponge the heated body? Would a wife watch the rivulets of water as they slithered down his shoulders and across his chest? Might she take her finger to trace the watery trail as it wended its way over the muscles of his upper body and disappeared into the pool of bathwater that covered his lower extremities?

      Without conscious reflection Serine’s eyes followed the pattern of her thoughts, relishing the taut muscles of his diaphragm and the flat ridges of his belly. How different he was from the jiggling bulk of the man Serine called husband. So different they might be of a different species. She cupped the water in her hand and allowed it to drizzle over his body, imagining the culmination of its journey within the depths of the cask. Imagining how it might trace his manhood, urging it to a glorious awakening. Such an act between husband and wife would, no doubt, in happier times, culminate in an act of love laced with passion as well as abandonment.

      How different such a coming together would be compared to her dutiful coupling with her elderly husband. How uniquely different, and how wonderful!

      She sighed and squeezed the water from the cloth as Old Ethyl entered the room. The older woman stopped short when she saw the expression on Serine’s face.

      “I thought to apologize for being gone longer than planned,” she said. “But from the look on your face perhaps I weren’t gone long enough. We’d best move him back to the bed. With the night coming on he’s apt to catch a chill.”

      “Yes, yes, of course,” Serine agreed. “I was about to send for someone to help me do just that.” She tried to laugh away the woman’s suspicions, but the color that rushed to her face belied her efforts of denial. It was amazing how much that old woman could see with just one eye.

      “I learned why the Celts took our children,” Serine told her. “It seems their women are barren and the village faces extinction.”

      “That is good,” Old Ethyl said as she placed a container of rich dark liquid on the table. “The children will be treated kindly until we can bring them back.”

      Serine shook her head. “It is bad,” she argued. “They want children to populate their village. They will not easily give them up.”

      “Did he say where the village might be?” Old Ethyl asked.

      “He said little that made sense.”

      Old Ethyl handed Serine a cup of horsetail tea laced with the bitter brew. “Wet his lips with the tea. Some of the liquid will slip down his throat and he will begin to heal, God willing.”

      Serine hesitated before administering the brew. She could only pray that Old Ethyl had been able to duplicate the recipe exactly. If the woman had inadvertently deleted one of the ingredients,

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