The Winter Promise by Jenny Jacobs Page A

never cross her mind.
    “What about the wise woman?” Imma suggested. Sometimes the healers who passed knowledge from mother to daughter knew treatments that the traditionally educated physicians did not. Imma had met Hunydd, the Welsh healer who lived in the loft above the weaving workshop, when Jacob had hurt his hand attending to the horses.
    “I trust the physician,” Elizabeth said.
    “Sometimes men don’t pay as much attention to women’s concerns as they should,” Imma pointed out tartly. Something might be done if only Elizabeth could be convinced to try. “May I summon the wise woman?”
    “I do not trust the Welsh,” Elizabeth said, then seemed to remember to whom she was speaking and added, “Except you, Imma.”
    “I will supervise her.”
    Elizabeth didn’t answer at first. Imma knew she was struggling to reconcile her distrust of the Welsh in general with her knowledge that many people in the household relied on Hunydd to heal them.
    “My lady?” Imma knew a gentle push was all it would take now.
    “Very well.”
    At Elizabeth’s grudging acceptance, Imma summoned the servant and gave directions. A few minutes later, an older dark-haired woman came into the room, face lined with her years but serene for all that. A servant accompanied her with a tray filled with a pitcher and several parcels.
    “Good day,” the healer said, giving Imma a brief nod of acknowledgment. Then she turned to Elizabeth. “My lady. Your arthritis pains you?”
    Elizabeth inclined her head, her lips pursed.
    “Heat the water,” Hunydd instructed the servant, who busied herself with a pot over the fire.
    As she did so, Hunydd opened a small leather bag and emptied a portion of its contents into a wooden cup.
    “Will you send to Lord Robert for a block of his wax?” Hunydd asked Elizabeth, who was watching the preparations suspiciously. “I will be able to return most of it to him.”
    “Very well,” Elizabeth said and gave instructions to the servant, who bowed and left the room.
    Then Hunydd dipped hot water into the cup and stirred. She handed the cup to Elizabeth, but Imma stepped forward and took the steaming cup instead. She sipped from it. Hunydd slanted her a glance but said nothing as she handed the cup to Elizabeth.
    “It’s a tea that will ease the pain and stiffness,” the healer told Elizabeth, who sniffed the cup with a wrinkled nose. Despite her obvious misgivings, Elizabeth drank the liquid down, not bothering to conceal her shiver of distaste.
    “The herbs are bitter,” Hunydd remarked with a slight smile. “Ah!” she said, turning toward the door as the servant came in with the wax. “Put it in the bowl — that one there. And then put the bowl in the hot water. Yes, like that.”
    When the wax had melted, Hunydd put the bowl on a table, then drew the table nearer to where Elizabeth sat. Imma dipped her finger in the bowl. The wax was warm but not uncomfortably so. She rubbed the cooling material from her finger and nodded at Elizabeth, who made no move to touch the bowl.
    “Put your hands in the wax,” Hunydd encouraged her. “It helps.”
    Hesitantly, Elizabeth dipped her hands in the bowl. A surprised look crossed her face and a small sigh escaped her lips as the warmth of the wax soothed the pain and stiffness in her hands.
    “Make sure your hands are coated,” Hunydd instructed. “Good. Now hold them above the bowl and let them drip. The wax will dry soon.”
    Elizabeth did as instructed. “And then?”
    “Then we will wait a few minutes and peel the wax off. Your hands will feel better. The relief is only temporary, which is why I gave you the infusion. That will help the swelling and stiffness, but it takes a while for it to work.”
    She fumbled in a pouch on her belt, and withdrew a parchment cachet. “Have your servant brew the herb as a tea before you go to bed tonight. I will return on the morrow to see how you feel. If the draught is helping, we will continue it. If