Rosehaven by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page A

to give him the cure for it if he will speak the truth.”
    “I don’t believe you,” Severin said. “What would you give him to cease the vomiting?”
    “Columbine and just a bit of gentian. I grind up the flowers and mix the powder into sour beer. The gentian seems to add calm to the mind and thus to the belly. Aye, you just had a bit of gentian to calm your belly.”
    “Ah,” Graelam said, “you mean bitterwort. My Kassia uses that. She was complaining when Harry had a bellyache that her recipe wasn’t effective enough.”
    She smiled at him. “I will send her mine. I learned it from the Healer last year.”
    Severin cursed. Both turned to him, Graelam’s eyebrow arched. “Calm yourself, Severin. Because Hastings is seeing to you, you will be well much sooner than you deserve to be. Now, Hastings, would you like to mix up your belly poison for our prisoner?”
    “Gladly. I must do some grinding and boiling. It will take me a while.”
    “No! I forbid that you do this. I wish to see him and—”
    “And what? Pull out his fingernails? Lash him until he bleeds? Mayhap kill him without finding out anything?”
    “It is none of your affair, damn you. I am lord here. I will do just as I deem right. I will have nothing more out of your mouth and—”
    Suddenly, Trist inched up Severin’s chest, rubbed his chin on Severin’s chin, then laid himself over Severin’s mouth, his long tail curling around Severin’s ear.
    “Drink this,” Hastings said to him. “It is more gentian to calm you.” But it was Graelam who gently moved Trist and held the goblet to his mouth, not moving it until Severin had drunk it all down. “The witch will poison me,” he said, then closed his eyes.
    “No, I shan’t poison you. I would rather hit your head with the trowel.”
    His eyes closed. His breathing deepened.
    Hastings said, as she stared down at him, “He’s a very big man, Graelam. That first bit of gentian I gave him wasn’t enough.”
    “Aye,” Graelam said slowly.
     
    The man retched violently for five minutes before he begged for her to cure him. He lay on his side in pools of his own vomit, clutching his belly, whimpering. “Please, lady, please save me. I will tell you what you wish. Please.”
    Hastings smiled at Graelam and Severin. She motioned to the pathetic man and rose.
    She prepared the gentian flowers, smashing them into a fine powder, then mixing them slowly with warm ale that had sat in the sun. She swished it about in the goblet as she watched Severin stand over the man, careful not to step in his vomit. There were at least another dozen men forming a circle around them. The sun shone hot overhead. The stench was bad.
    It had been Graelam’s suggestion that they haul the man outside. Why befoul the dungeon?
    “You are no villager as you’ve claimed. Tell me where your master is and what his intentions are.”
    The man paled. His eyes flew around the circle of men. He started to shake his head. His belly cramped viciously and he vomited, dry heaves for there was nothing left to come up. When he caught his breath, he whispered, “My lord Richard is just beyond with two dozen men in the Pevensey Forest. The three of us disguised ourselves as villagers. Since it is market day, it wasn’t difficult to come into the castle gates. We saw her and took our chance.” He turned miserable eyes toward Hastings. “Give me the cure, my lady, I beg of you.”
    Hastings looked to Severin. He looked thoughtful. If she didn’t know of the deep wound in his shoulder she wouldn’t guess there was anything wrong with him at all. She waited, swirling the liquid about in the goblet. It smelled foul but tasted sweet, the flower mixed with the ale. The man was staring at that goblet. She didn’t blame him. Still, she just waited. It was Severin’s decision. She wondered if he would simply slip his dagger into the man’s chest.
    Severin said, “Give him the potion, Hastings.”
    She came down on her knees