All thoughts of spending a few more minutes alone with Daphne fled as he heard Liam's cries. They weren't cries of pain, but more of terror.
With a towel wrapped firmly around his waist, he rushed back to the bed, picking up the screaming boy and holding him tight. He let a wet hand brush through the boy's hair, trying not to disturb the pox marks on his skin. They looked red and inflamed, and he knew what would happen to them next after seeing Daphne's.
At the boy's words, he knew Liam must have had a dream. "No, she's perfectly fine," he said with a tiny hint of mirth. "She's just in the shower. How are you feeling?" Miles brushed a hand over the boy's brow, feeling the fever that didn't seem unchanged. Surely having a fever this long wasn't good, and he felt the guilt begin to creep back into his conscience.