She was older, but still… …prim and smug. Seonaid turned tail and closed the door to the bedroom before the woman could see her.
The lady came seeking medical advice for her oldest son who had developed a horrid cough. Eoin listened to her as calmly as possible, then packed up his box methodically and took up a walking stick on the wall. The woman walked out the door quickly, waiting for Eoin to follow her. Fearchar pulled him aside. “That’s Grannd’s wife, Eoin,” he cautioned. Eoin nodded, already aware. She had not aged well. She could have done with a remedy herself.
“Ah am comin’ with ye,” Fearchar exclaimed as he grabbed up his waxed canvas cloak.
“Good! I need a translator f’r this,” she motioned the doctor up and down. “Can’nae ken why’s I’m here. Angus should’a been capable, but na’ he and Lizbet both were useless,” the woman muttered sourly. She appeared exhausted, her face thin and shrunken.
They followed her to the Daleroch estate. The wind had chilled as the season progressed. Fearchar was eager to be in out of the cutting cold, but he could see Eoin hesitate at the door stop. The woman lead them into the house to a stifling back room. Eoin’s mannerisms were stiff and exact as he opened up the windows to let in a sharp breeze and light. The man laying in the bed in the middle of the room had lost most of his color. He coughed wetly, sounding like he was suffocating. His face was beaded with sweat and he had thrown the covers off of himself. It was Grannd’s son, Conner. Eoin immediately looked over the man, having difficulty being gentle with him.
“Will he be a’right?” Conner’s mother asked. Eoin nodded, setting his box down on the small desk in the room. Fearchar saw him gently finger the worn surface. Eoin opened up several of his drawers and motioned his hired hand to find him boiling water. Fear had Conner’s mother fetch a kettle full.