In the end, they'd talked long into the night, and the longer they spoke, the more amenable to Jocelynn's ideas he'd seemed. His defenses against her suggestions evaporated entirely, and she felt more genuine affection from him in that one evening dinner than she had in months of verbally sparring with the keen-witted Marquis.

And now, as she sat next to his bed, dining on the same roasted hen's breast and beef cheeks that the cooks had prepared for him, she felt a genuine warmth in her chest as she teased him about making a mess of himself if he tried to use a knife and fork to eat in bed rather than letting her cut up his food for him.

"I'll make a mess of you," Bors said, pointing at Jocelynn with a forkful of beet salad. "But not tonight," he said as he broke off in a fit of light coughs. "Tonight, I'm not fit company for anyone," he said once he recovered from the coughing fit.

The coughs had faded in intensity once the Marquis's personal physician began preparing medicinal concoctions for him. It was the opinion of the physician that Bors suffered from an extreme winter cough, one that was inflamed by the secretions of his nose draining down his throat when he slept.

Bors had taken more than a few hits to the face and nose in his youth, as had most knights, and breathing problems from a cracked or injured nose that didn't manifest until the later years were a common ailment among men who had trained for and fought in wars. Since there was no rash on his neck or back, the physician was certain that it wasn't the dreaded Red Cough, but only a seasonal ailment exacerbated by old injuries and age.

Not that hearing any of those pronouncements made Bors any happier. To prevent the drainage from his nose from causing more problems, he'd been ordered to sleep sitting up in bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows and covered by heaps of blankets to sweat out the bad humors plaguing his body.

Combined with the bland food and the foul-tasting medicine, his temper had grown even worse whenever his aids called on him for important business of the march. A man's pride could sustain many blows, but there were limits to what someone who had once strode proudly across the battlefield with a mighty ax, felling demons like timber, could endure, especially when his body seemed to betray him in such confusing ways.

His hands remained steady, his color was good, and his mind was as sharp as ever, yet the slightest activity would send a ripple of icy cold, stabbing pains through the old wound in his side and provoke the wracking coughs that left him gasping and confined to bed like an invalid. He'd never in his life retreated so much from pain, but given the choice between resting all day or clouding his mind with Essence of Poppy, he chose to grit his teeth and suffer the humiliation of being bedbound.

It wasn't all suffering, though. Meals, at least, came with their own pleasure, one that he'd been deprived of for far too long.

"You deserve so much better than this," Bors said as he looked affectionately at the beautiful woman sitting beside him, eating the same bland food that he'd been inflicted with and acting like it was one of the best dishes she'd ever been served.

But then, she'd always put on a kind face for him, even when life was cruel and they mourned the passing of yet another old friend or wise mentor. She always had that same bright smile for him and the same gentle, reassuring touch.

"Cooped up in here for your meals, feeding me when you should be dining with the ladies of the court on dishes far better than this. I've made you suffer," he said as he placed a hand gently on top of one of her slender, delicate hands.

"If it wasn't me, then who else would it be?" Jocelynn said warmly. "Loman will be away until the full Court convenes. Owain is," Jocelynn started, trailing off slightly as she carefully selected her words. "Owain is busy attending his duties and training his men, just as you commanded," she said. "So, if your own sons can't be here to tend to you, who else could?"

Things were still very tense between Owain and his father. But for some reason, whenever Jocelynn approached Owain about using the opportunity presented by Loman's absence to reconcile with Bors, Owain only laughed at the idea. He said that he had things well in hand with his father and that she should focus her energy on preparing for their wedding when the day came because he intended to claim her and the throne together.

He sounded confident, but, sitting next to Bors for the past several days, while he seemed weak and needed the attention of a physician, he was still very much in control of what was happening in Lothian Manor and the March beyond its walls.

"Sons shouldn't have to watch their father when he's frail and weak," Bors protested fiercely enough to provoke another coughing fit. "They should be away earning glory on the battlefield. But Owain is covered in too much glory and Loman, not enough," he said with a heavy sigh.

"You don't mind, do you, my darling Isla?" Bors said as he reached out to cup Jocelynn's cheek. "I know you had high hopes for Owain, but his blood runs too hot for battle and not hot enough for his people. Our youngest still has a tender heart, just like you, my love," he said as he stared deep into Jocelynn's eyes, seeing the face of a woman long dead.

The moment he said the name, Jocelynn froze, and her heart trembled in her chest. Isla had been Bors' wife, Owain and Loman's mother, but she had passed on to the Heavenly Shores more than seven years ago…

"But even though his heart is tender," Bors said as he used a thumb to caress Jocelynn's soft cheek, oblivious to the turmoil his gentle touch had unleashed within her heart. "It's filled with care and concern for the family and the march. He'll make a better Marquis than Owain will, and that's because of the things he learned from you that a father can never teach," he rambled.

"But, before I announce it to the Court, I'd like to hear your blessing on it, Isla," he said as he withdrew his hand. "Before I snatch the throne away from Owain, I'd like to know that your soul would be at peace with my decision…"