Free Still Star-Crossed by Melinda Taub

few Montagues and Capulets knew the truth about the betrothal the prince was trying to force on her—her uncle and the prince had not announced it publicly. In this, at least, they were wise. If Verona society knew a Capulet maid had spurned a Montague suitor, House Montague’s humiliation would know no bounds.
    “That’s dull,” Livia’s voice floated back from the corridor.
    Shortly Rosaline heard the scrape of wood from the front hall as Livia hauled the front doors open. Her sister’s voice rose and fell in polite tones, though from her bedroom Rosaline could not make out the words. Then another voice answered. A woman’s, but not the genteel, courtly accent of a Capulet lady. This voice was loud, and common. Rosaline frowned. It almost sounded like—
    Rosaline threw her sewing behind a chair, pulled her hair out of its pins, and had just enough time to toss the covers aside and jump into bed before the door flew open and Juliet’s nurse burst in.
    “Good morrow, Rosaline dear,” she said. “I heard you were sick.”
    Livia, trailing in after her, shot Rosaline an apologetic glance over the nurse’s shoulder. “Dear nurse, I told thee, the doctor has said Rosaline is to receive no one—”
    “And quite right he is too.” The nurse plumped her prodigious bulk down on Rosaline’s bedside and began searching around inside a large sack that smelled strongly of cabbage. “Ah, my dears, I pray you never know the torture of my corns. A stream of bothersome visitors? ’Twill do naught for your health. ’Tis just what I always told your mother when you two were small. I’d say, dear lady, you go and attend the princess, leave the pretty wretches with the old nurse when they’ve caught fever. I’ll soon make a physic so hot ’twill burn the fever out of them.”
    Rosaline could see Livia trying not to laugh. Indeed, the nurse’s homemade medicines had been the terror of theiryoung lives. As children they’d rarely been at home; they were either with their mother at the palace or playing with Juliet at House Capulet. They’d spent so much time with their cousin as children that the nurse had come to consider them nearly as much her charges as her beloved Juliet, and she was especially fierce when any of them fell sick. Her medicines tasted so vile they required immediate recuperation.
    “Your color’s good,” she said, taking Rosaline’s chin in a critical hand and turning it side to side. “Of course, so they say ladies in a consumption look just before they die.”
    Rosaline sighed. “I am not in a consumption, nurse.”
    “No? Good. We’ll soon have you right, then. I cured every fever and cough dear Jule had from the day I weaned her. Dost thou mind when I weaned her? I laid the bitter wormwood on my dug”—the nurse gave her breast an affectionate squeeze—“and she did scream! Thou wast then a little puling thing of six, Rosaline.”
    Rosaline’s eyes narrowed. The nurse’s lethargy of the night at House Capulet had given way to a frantic energy. What had caused so great a change in mood? Her contemplation was interrupted by the glug of the medicine bottle as the nurse poured out a dose. “Truly, there is no need—” Rosaline’s words dissolved into sputtering as a spoonful of horror was shoved into her mouth. She sat up, the burning from the brew racking her with coughs.
    “There, you see? You’ve more spirit already.” The nurse brandished a jar of murky liquid. “Just you drink a dram of this every hour and you’ll soon be on your feet.”
    “Worry not,” Livia said with a wicked gleam in her eye. “I’ll see she takes it.” Rosaline shot her a glare.
    “Good,” said the nurse. “I’d stay here and attend to her myself, but my lady has much need of me.”
    “How does my lady aunt?” said Rosaline, in a desperate attempt to distract the nurse from the second spoonful she was pointing Rosaline’s way.
    A strange look crossed the nurse’s face. “She is well,”