The ground floor of the clinic was unusually quiet when Max pushed the timber doors open.
Commander Caleb was standing near the herb counter, organizing bundles of dried lavender with a tense expression. At the sound of the door, Caleb turned, shaking his head slightly.
"She went up to the loft an hour ago, My Lord," Caleb whispered. "She refused her midday broth. When Master Thomas brought the invoices for the timber roofing, she swayed on her feet before dismissing him."
Max set Jaxon down near the communal table. "Stay here with Caleb, Jaxon. Have your stew."
"Tell Mommy to drink the honey water," Jaxon insisted, his little hands gripping the edge of the table tightly.
"I will," Max promised.
Max climbed the timber stairs two at a time, his boots making no sound on the cedar plank
