Lowering skies throughout the day had intermittently burst forth with cold soaking showers, rendering the roads treacherously muddy and dampening the spirits of the travelers. The twins had long since forsaken their hacks, tying them to the back of the coach, and joining the others in the relative dryness inside. The cramped quarters, the Evil Erskyn's relapse into icy introspection, his brother's fussing about his damp clothes, the incessant bickering between Miss Atwell and Mr. Cave, had all combined to give Rosemary the headache.

Why, oh why had she set off on this mad journey, and without Primat? She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the squabs. The voices receded into the distance as her thoughts fixed on Anne, and she was very nearly asleep when a cold hand was laid upon her forehead, startling her into bolting upright and vigorously thrusting the hand from her. Wide-eyed, she stared accusatorily at the trespasser.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am... Mrs. Carlyle," Alistair said softly. "I did not mean to give you a fright. It is only that you are not looking well."

Rosemary stiffened in umbrage, but Alex interjected dryly, "Forgive him, please, ma'am. While he was ever wont to be brutally blunt, I believe he is still enough of a gentleman not to intend any insult to a lady."

A crimson stain touched Alistair's cheekbones, and he was thankful for the gloomy light that hid his embarrassment.

"Your pardon, ma'am. I only meant that you look as if you do not feel well. Indeed, you seem a trifle feverish."

Still irritated by the implied slur and the headache making her short-tempered, Rosemary retorted crossly, "Pray tell, when did you become a physician, sir?"

An immediate and awkward silence fell over the occupants of the coach, and Rosemary felt without quite knowing why, that she had touched on a topic disconcerting to them all.

Alistair's jaw went rigid, and then his voice so cold that she pulled her cloak more tightly about her, he replied, "Five years ago."

"I see," she murmured, heartily wishing she might crawl under the seat and hide her chagrin. These were really very kind and congenial people, but the deliberate omission of a polite honorific from Dr. Erskyn, as she must now think of him, as well as the suddenly remote demeanour of her traveling companions, told her she had strayed across some invisible boundary. She sighed and turned her gaze out the window. Her head still ached abominably and that wretched man was probably right about a fever. Of all times to take a chill!

Alistair noted the paleness of her countenance, and the two red spots of fever on her cheeks were discernible even in the half-light. Pain dominated those dark eyes - remarkable eyes really, he thought - when she dared open them and look around. Not that he cared, no, it was just a habit physicians got themselves into, that's all, caring about those who suffered. This Mrs. Carlyle would just have to see to herself, fine eyes or no. He felt Alex's eyes on him, and met the mirror image of his own gaze with some defiance. As if Alex could read his thoughts, he raised one sardonic eyebrow and gave a slight snort of amusement before turning his attention to Miss Nesper, who was once again wondering aloud when they meant to stop and dine.

"I believe there is an inn two or three miles farther on," Alex assured her, adding mildly, "If only I had thought, we might have sent word ahead to prepare the host for your culinary depredations."

"Depredations?" Miss Nesper queried absently from her place on Alex's knee, deciding she really disliked that waistcoat Alex sported; it was enough to spoil one's appetite. "I do not believe I have ever eaten any. You know I must not eat shellfish."

A slight moan escaped Rosemary, while the tension that had gripped the other occupants was lost in shouts of laughter, making her head ring.

When the coach at last slid into the muddy inn-yard at the Fife and Drum, another coach was there ahead of them, the lone hostler moving carefully so as not to lose his footing in the mire as he hitched up the team of horses.

Assisting the ladies to alight, Alex shot his brother a look of cool remonstrance for pointedly ignoring Mrs. Carlyle's obvious distress and giving his arm instead to Miss Nesper, while the others went ahead into the inn.

"Really, ma'am," Alex supported Rosemary as she struggled to remain upright and walk through the doorway of the inn under her own power, "I cannot believe you are well enough to continue this journey. You must consider spending the night here, I think. Is there anyone we might send word to, some friend or family who could come here to you?"

"No," she whispered through a haze of fever, clinging to the support of his arm. "You are very kind. But I must find my sister. I know she will help me if I can only find her."

Alex decided she was just the sort of lost, needful creature who would ordinarily draw Alistair like a magnet. If only the great gaby would stop fighting it and be his usual noble self, how much better it would be for him. And for Mrs. Carlyle, too, of course. Even Alex could see the lady was unwell and unhappy. Just the sort to pull Alistair up and out of the well of his own woes. Well, the lad was fighting his own nature, and if he were in company with this fragile creature much longer, Alex would wager that not even the newly calloused and hardened heart of the Archfiend Alistair would be able to resist playing the gallant knight to her maiden - madam - in distress. Stepping through the doorway, Alex spared a moment of pity for Mrs. Carlyle's condition even as he hoped she might somehow manage to swoon in his brother's arms again.

"I'm that sorry, Sir," mine host was wringing a less-than-pristine apron and regretfully informing Lord Dunnet, "but my parlour is already taken up by a gentleman. If you'll not mind stepping into the taproom..."

"I think not," Alistair said brusquely, as he could see that clunch Kenneth was about to agree while the mysterious Mrs. Carlyle was wilting on Alex's arm and looking very much the worse for the journey. "This lady," he gestured toward her, "is ill and requires a private room on the instant. Furthermore, be so good as to arrange for some broth and some thin wine to be sent up to her. Also a maid to assist her in... ah... um... assist her."

The door to the parlor suddenly opened and a tall, thin gentleman stood there. In appearance, his age might be anywhere from five-and-thirty to five-and forty. His bearing bespoke military training and his attire, although civilian was exquisitely cut and tailored, fitting his slim figure as if to military specifications. From under thick dark eyebrows, a pair of penetrating brown eyes took in the scene before him and came to rest with fixed intensity on Alistair. What might have been a flicker of satisfaction danced in those eyes and then was gone as he spoke in a cultured accent.

"I beg your pardon. Did I hear someone say that one of the ladies is ill? I have the use of this excuse for a parlour but naturally the lady must have it. Should we call for a physician?"

The tone and manner of this urbane stranger reassured Alex, who realized Mrs. Carlyle was fading fast, while Alistair found the hair on the back of his neck rising ever so slightly as he met the direct gaze of those piercing eyes, studying him as if - Oh, God! Perhaps this man knew who he was, had heard the tale behind the cashiering of one Doctor Alistair Erskyn. Devil take him! Must he stare so? It put him forcefully in mind of old Dr. Basingwell just before he would cut into a cadaver for dissection.

"Will you stand there staring like a mooncalf, brother mine, or will you lend a hand here?" asked his exasperated twin. "Mrs. Carlyle needs your assistance."

Startled back to attention, Alistair turned to his brother just in time to step forward and catch Mrs. Carlyle in his arms for the second time that day as she lost consciousness and collapsed. Balancing her slight weight to his chest, he moved toward the parlour, registering in the back of his mind the inappropriately smug delight on his brother's face, as well as a look of peculiar satisfaction that flashed across the countenance of the thin man as he now turned his dark stare on the limp figure of Mrs. Carlyle being carried in his direction.

"I am Ralph Verten, and am honoured to offer any assistance I may."

" Well, very kind of you, I am certain, Sir," Miss Nesper replied, as she bustled ahead of everyone into the rather shabby room. "I believe it is past time we had some food! Please, Alex, ask the landlord for a light meal, some mutton, a cold chicken, perhaps a meat pie, a..."

"Enough, Martha! An you think of anything but your stomach it would be a wonder. First, look to our invalid," Alex shook his head at Miss Nesper, as Alistair carried Rosemary to the largest, but, alas, lumpiest couch in the room.

"How is she Alistair?" inquired Miss Atwell, peering at Rosemary from across the room, where she ensconced herself on a rather hard loveseat next to Cave. The thought crossed her mind that anything less likely to lead to lovemaking would be difficult to find.

"She has taken a chill, as of course she is not used to our weather." Alistair looked around from bending over Rosemary and caught Alex's eye. "She will require nursing care, and will not be able to travel for a day or two"

"Well, do not look to me to provide that care, you know I am useless in a sickroom."

"What about your... friend?"

"Martha? Are you trying to be funny, Alistair? She has many talents in the bedroom, but they do not include soothing a fevered brow. You are the doctor, you will have to play nursemaid to Mrs. Carlyle."

Alex turned his face away from Alistair so as to hide the smirk of satisfaction on it. Just then, Mr. Verten returned from ordering supper for the group. "How is the young lady? I have brought some broth from the landlord's wife. I hope that will be satisfactory?"

"Yes, yes, that will be fine. Mrs. Carlyle is feverish, possibly from a chill," replied Alistair. "We will need to bring her temperature down. Mayhap you could ask for a bowl of water and some cloths?"

"Mrs... Carlyle?"

"Why, yes, Mr.Verten, Mrs.Rosemary Carlyle. Are you acquainted with her?"

"No, the name sounded familiar 'tis all. Despite her greenish cast, her complexion appears quite dark, almost as if she is from foreign lands."

"From some of her conversations, she is fresh off the boat from India. That must have contributed to her condition now. England is much colder than India."

"Sooo, Mrs. Rosemary Carlyle from India," muttered Rafe Green, sotto voce, "why are you not with Cecily?"

Meanwhile, Cave, Dunnet, Miss Atwell, and Alex held a quick conversation, the result of which was, "Alistair, we have decided that while you attend Mrs. Carlyle, we shall continue on our journey."

"You have decided? Do I not have any say in the matter? And who shall lend consequence to my remaining in this inn with Mrs. Carlyle? She is unattended by a maid or companion. I would prefer not to compound my problems with a forced marriage to an unknown female!"

"I have thought of that. We shall send someone for Tibby. She will protect your reputation, Alistair."

"Too late, I fear, for that, " snarled Alistair, as he turned away, and bellowed for the innkeeper to find a bedchamber for Mrs. Carlyle.

"Odd, is it not, that she should be travelling without a maid," commented Dunnet, "Is that commonly done in India?"

"What does that matter? We are not in India now," snapped Cave, "Don't be doltish."

"I am not being doltish, I was just pointing out that it was odd she is unaccompanied by a companion. I wonder how that occurred."

"She has what?" screeched Cecily

"Gone, Mum," quavered the maid

"Gone? Gone? What... How... Gone?

"Yessum, Mum, gone, Mum."

"How could this have happened, you incompetent, imbecilic, idiot?" raged Cecily, as she started to pace around the conservatory, stripping leaves and petals off every plant to have the misfortune to be in her path.

"Oi dunno, Mum. Oi was keepin' me heyes on er loiks yer said. She starts talkin to me 'bout that fereign place she's from, an lookin' in me heyes all deep loik, an next thing Oi knows, Oi's here in the flower room an' you is home. Mum."

"Of all the useless, stupid, creatures. Do you expect me to believe that silly tale? How much did she pay you, huh? How much?" screamed Cecily, her face contorted with rage, her hands ripping three red roses to shreds, regardless of the thorns.

"Nuttin' mum, Oi swear!" cried the maid.

"Well, I hope she paid you enough, because I want you from the house within the hour. Get out, get out, get out!" as Cecily threw the petals at the quickly retreating maid.

"Oh, good servants are so hard to find," moaned Cecily, "All she had to do was watch the wretched woman. She could not even do that properly."

Cecily gave a scream of rage, threw herself onto the small couch in the conservatory, and beat her fists on the cushions. Unfortunately, the couch was not up to snuff, or to such rough treatment, and collapsed beneath her.

"Oh, Oh, Oh," sputtered Cecily, "Someone help me, NOW! I am going to kill that woman. I am going to find her sari-clad foreign Indian body and quarter it. If I can find her. Someone help me now, or you are all turned off," she yelled.

"Seaforth," muttered Primat, marching down the darkened London street, "I must get to Seaforth."

Rosemary awakened to see sunlight streaming through the window. It seemed the clouds and showers had disbursed, revealing a bright cerulean sky. She sat up with a start, only to fall back against the sheets as the sudden movement caused the dull ache in her head to explode into acute pain. Raising herself again more slowly, she looked around at the strange room. The furnishings were few, but clean. Nothing was familiar. A bowl containing a small amount of water and a cloth sat on the stand beside the bed. She was still dressed in the clothes she'd worn the day before. Was it the really the day before? What day was it, anyway?

Her confused musings were interrupted by an almost soundless scratch on the door, followed immediately by the entrance of a tiny white-haired woman.

"Awake are ye? Gave Master Alistair quite a start, ye did, by swooning away like that. 'Tis to be expected when you go gallivanting off to strange parts, instead of stayin' put on good ol' British soil."

"Who are you, and where am I?" Rosemary asked the little woman, now completely mystified. She sank back onto the mattress as the pain in her head overcame her once more.

"Bless you, child, I'm Tibby. I nursed Master Alistair and Master Alex through many a hurt and sickbed, and will do the same for you." She bustled over to the bed and placed her hand on Rosemary's forehead. "A bit of the fever is still with ye, though yer not burnin' up as ye were last night. More cold cloths for yer head I be needin', as well as some good broth to feed yer body. I'll just find the landlord and see to that for ye, so shut yer eyes again and rest." Before Rosemary could say a word, the diminutive woman had picked up the bowl and was through the door and off down the corridor.

Though it seemed like only a matter of minutes, the strength of the light coming through the window indicated that the day had passed from morning to late afternoon. This time when Rosemary sat up, her head was miraculously free of pain, and she wasn't nearly as tired. She swung her legs to the floor and tried to stand. Taking a few steps about the room, she returned quickly to the bed when she realized she was much weaker than she'd thought. As she sat down, someone knocked on the door, this time much louder than Tibby's scratching.

"Come in," she said, surprised by the faint tremor in her voice. The door opened a little, and Mr. Erskine's - or should she rephrase that to Dr. Erskine's - face appeared.

"I came to see how you are doing. May I come in for a few moments?" he asked.

"Only if you promise to tell me where I am, what day it is, what new disaster I've managed to put myself in the middle of, and when I can have some real food to eat," replied Rosemary, suddenly aware of a growling emptiness from somewhere in the region of her stomach.

"If I am to give you answers, then I also require answers from you," said the Archfiend Alistair. "Do you suppose we could work out some sort of an exchange?"

"Only if you come in," snapped Rosemary, who for some reason was feeling quite discomposed by his handsome presence.

Alistair stepped into the room, carefully leaving the door open. He seated himself in the hard backed chair near the window, the only option other than the bed. His reputation might be ruined, but Mrs. Carlyle's, too, must be thought of.

"We are still at the Fife and Drum, where we have been since late yesterday afternoon. You were overcome by a fever, so circumstances forced me to procure a room for you. Luckily the inn was not full, and though it is not frequented by members of the ton, it is clean and the food is acceptable. Tibby has managed to bring down your fever and the night's rest has done you considerable good."

Rosemary was still somewhat confused. "Who is Tibby and how did she get here?"

"Tibby was our nurse when we were small, and in her mind will always be our nurse, even though we haven't needed nursing since we were out of short coats. When we knew you needed someone to care for you, I asked the innkeeper to send a messenger to fetch her."

A hint of scorn appeared in Rosemary's eyes. "Aren't you a doctor? Didn't you feel capable of taking care of me? Or is a wayward stranger beneath the notice of such a notorious villain?"

The sudden flash of pain in the blue eyes took her aback. "That was another life. I'm a different man now. You needed to be in hands more capable than mine." He rose and, turning his back to her, looked out the window.

"What happened to all your friends?"

"They've gone on to search out James Havershaw. Does that name mean anything to you?" Rosemary shook her head. "They seem to think he might be able to lead you to your sister. They've promised to send word as soon as they learn something useful."

Alastair resumed his seat. Once again she felt that strange mixture of discomfort and excitement as his gaze returned to her face. "My turn now," he said. "What is to happen to you now? Surely you didn't travel from India by yourself. Someone must have been expecting you." Again he rose and paced the room. Running his fingers through his hair, the exasperation in his voice painfully clear, he cried, "What in God's name am I going to do with you!"