She’d been so focused on escaping others’ notice that she didn’t realize Nick had hardly said a word since greeting their hosts until Father Miguel accepted a steaming teacup from one of the maids and urged Nick to drink the contents.
“A tisane of my own recipe,” Father Miguel explained. “It will ease your headache, meu senhor.”
Nick accepted the cup, not bothering to deny having a headache. The light coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows was making his head pound. He’d tried to ignore the throbbing since regaining consciousness on the side of the road, but it was reaching the point where he was in danger of losing what little lunch he’d managed to choke down. The tisane was spicy and warming, with ginger and other notes he couldn’t identify.
The meal ended and people returned to
