Madeline was pale and Rhys was uneasy.
He watched her sleep as the ship took to the open sea, and was unable to keep from touching her. He tucked the fur lining of his cloak more thoroughly about her. He felt the cool of her brow, to assure himself again that the malady was past its worst. He felt for the rhythm of her pulse, though he knew so little of healing that whatsoever he felt meant nothing to him.
He hoped so fervently that she would be well that he did not trust his impressions either way. He watched, taut with concern, and feared for her health.
Though Madeline’s complexion had always been fair, it was lighter now, as pale of hue as a cloud in a summer sky. There were dark marks beneath her eyes, as if the quantity of her sleep was no indication of its quality. Her flesh had
