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shifted to the bed. Bradshaw had fallen across it. He was also fully dressed but, like his wife, had curled up and looked haggard and drained. He, too, had emptied his stomach, apparently violently, beside the bed, and his skin was the same ghastly shade as his wife’s.
    Unlike her, Bradshaw was awake, but only just; as Thomas looked his way, Bradshaw tried to raise a hand in greeting—in supplication—but couldn’t.
    The action—and the helpless plea in the man’s wretched gaze—sank talons into Thomas’s soul. “Wait.” Rapidly defining what he most needed to know, he asked, “Where’s the healer? Did she reach here?”
    Bradshaw managed a fractional nod.
    Thomas frowned and glanced down the corridor. About to search further, he glanced back to see Bradshaw moisten his cracked lips.
    “She came…last night.” The words were a bare thread of sound. “Forresters were here…got her here.”
    Abandoning the doorway, Thomas strode to the bed. He swiftly surveyed the nightstand, the dresser, but there was no water he could offer Bradshaw. Leaning closer, ignoring the stench, he concentrated on Bradshaw’s lips.
    Bradshaw seemed relieved he was nearer. He summoned the effort and croaked, “Joy came and saw us, then she looked in on the bairns. She put her head in to say…that she was going to make us something…heard her go to the kitchen…talk to Forrester.” Bradshaw closed his eyes. His lips, his features tightened. A soft moan escaped him as pain seemed to wrack his entire body.
    Helpless, Thomas watched.
    As the spasm eased, Bradshaw drew in a shuddering breath and whispered, “Joy never came back.”
    Thomas was no healer; he had only instinct to guide him. Placing a hand on Bradshaw’s meaty shoulder, Thomas gripped. “Rest. I’ll get help.” As he straightened, he murmured, “Hold on.”
    “The bairns…” Bradshaw moaned.
    “I’ll check on them.” Thomas turned and went to do so, not knowing what he might find.
    To his relief, while all five children were in similar straits to their parents, they were all alive.
    All showed signs of having been subject to violent, stomach-cramping pain; all five children lay listless, close to comatose, in their beds. Like their parents, all were dressed.
    The Forresters had found the family ill and had sent for the healer. Thomas couldn’t imagine the Forresters leaving their kin—not unless the healer had arrived and reassured them. Joy Burns must have believed she was capable of caring for the Bradshaws and making them well again. So she had arrived late last night, checked over the Bradshaws, understood what ailed them, and sent the Forresters home. All that had to have happened during the night.
    And Bradshaw hadn’t seen or heard from Joy since.
    It was now late the following day—nearly night again.
    So where was Joy?
    Leaving the room that was occupied by Bradshaw’s two sons, Thomas paused in the doorway to Bradshaw’s room to say, “I’m going to find Joy and sort out what’s going on. I’ll bring help as soon as I can.”
    Bradshaw managed an infinitesimal nod and closed his eyes again.
    Thomas went back into the farmhouse’s large main room—sitting room, dining room, and kitchen all in one, although the kitchen was partially walled off from the dining room. Through an archway, the huge fireplace used for cooking that filled the center of the far wall of the kitchen was visible, but there was no sign of any fire in that hearth, or in the nearer fireplace in the sitting area. There had been a fire burning there, but it had burned to cold ashes.
    A glance out of the open door confirmed dusk was steadily falling. No point opening the curtains. His eyes now adjusted to the dimness within, Thomas looked around and spotted a lamp sitting on the dining table. Skirting the sofa and armchairs, he walked to the table, picked up the lamp—and realized it was empty. By the look of the wick, the lamp had burned until it ran out of