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I did on Fernando.” She poured the mixture on a fresh napkin and applied it to the wound.
    Once the area was fully saturated, she ran the tip of the needle through the fire as she had the dagger and pulled thread through the eye. Then she held the edges of the wound together with one hand while stitching with the other. The same as she’d do when repairing a rip in fabric rather than a child’s skin.
    The mother covered her face.
    Maria moaned several times but never awakened fully.
    He’d never seen anything to match Sancha’s actions and knowledge. She’d performed similar healing with Fernando but Enrique hadn’t witnessed the actual methods. After snipping the thread with her scissors, Sancha washed the wound with more wine and vinegar, then wrapped several napkins around it. “You must keep the area clean.” She gestured to the dressings. “In my experiments—”
    “Your what?”
    She ignored him. “During those times when I was faced with a similar problem as Maria’s, if the wound became dirty, the infection returned.” She handed the remainder of the napkins and the brass bottle to the woman. “You can care for her during the next days using these.”
    “What if she grows worse?”
    “Send for me.” Sancha pulled several loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese, and a container of roasted pork from her bag and put each on a shelf to the side. “Make certain your daughter eats as much as she can during the healing period and drinks plenty of water to prevent a fever.”
    She put out her hand to Enrique. “Give me any ducats or reals you have.”
    Sensing she wasn’t in the mood for questions, he handed his money over.
    She gave the coins to the mother, dug into her bag once more and produced even more gold and silver. “Use the coins to purchase whatever food you need for Maria and others in the village. If you eat well, you are less likely to fall ill.”
    “I could never accept so much.”
    “You can and you will. Señor Don Enrique insists.” She glanced over. “Do you not?”
    He lifted his hands. “Of course.”
    She fought a smile. The mother wept.
    “Do you leave now?” Enrique asked Sancha.
    She regarded Maria. “In time. I want to wait and watch. You may go, of course.”
    He would stay.
     
     

Chapter 3
     
    Sancha tried to concentrate solely on Maria, as she should, but kept failing to do so. With the child quiet for the moment, Enrique’s presence was too potent for her to deny. Each time she glanced over, he regarded her, his gaze thoughtful rather than possessive or filled with disdain.
    She bathed Maria’s face to keep her cool. He drew near, watching the child, then her. The moment Sancha sank to her knees and gathered the soiled napkins, Enrique joined her, seeing to the task.
    Turned to Maria’s mother, he lifted his hands filled with filthy linen most nobles would have been loath to touch. “Where should I put these?”
    The woman was far too concerned about her daughter to answer him. Maria’s uncles sat on the floor, backs against the walls. Their heads repeatedly fell forward. They flinched each time and tried to stay awake.
    Seeing no receptacle for rubbish, Sancha held out the sack she’d brought. “Use this.”
    After dropping the napkins inside and washing his hands in the pot, he pulled a chair over and gestured to Maria’s mother. “You should rest.”
    She regarded him gratefully, tears in her eyes.
    Enrique placed his hand on the woman’s arm, guiding her to sit. “Maria will be fine.”
    He brought the other chairs over and offered Sancha one. “You should also relax while you can. Maria may need you later.”
    Sancha didn’t argue. Her shoulders and legs ached with tension even as weariness washed over her. After tending the ill, she always experienced crushing fatigue driven by her intense concentration over their maladies, coupled with worry that she wouldn’t succeed in keeping her charges alive and whole.
    The moment she sank to the chair,