Tristan reappeared with a bottle of pills and a glass of water in his hands, only to find Pippa gone and the wretched chamber pot still in its room, spreading a repugnant odor that the open window couldn't quite counter.

Surely he was being punished by some higher power for exposing his maid to drink.

He pulled a face and went upstairs, where he found the young woman lying on her bed. "This should help with the sickness," he said. He stood beside her bed and handed her the glass. Then he opened the bottle and shook out two pills, handing those to her as well.

"I didn't want to lie in your bed," she mumbled without really thinking about it overly much. "Thank you." She took the pills and the water, sat up and downed the pills, then sipped the water gingerly. "I will get to the chamber pot in a few moments, I just needed to lie back..."

Wow. As if all of this was not uncomfortable enough yet. Tristan felt flustered. "You're in your own bed." It seemed that she was really sick. "Don't mind it. Lie back. I'll take it out." Not because he wanted to, but because he really wanted it out of his bedroom.

"No, please, I... ah..." she was at once afraid that she had vexed the man by being ill. She rolled out of bed, wincing at the throbbing in her head as she did so. "I'll do it now, sir." She stumbled toward the door.

Tristan wanted to push her back, but she had already rolled onto the floor and was stumbling away. "Oh no," he said, while he made his way over. He stood in front of her and grabbed her shoulders to stop her. "You go back to bed. I don't need you dropping the pot."

"I won't drop the pot, I'll be very careful. It's just a throbbing in my head, that's all. It will go away." Her voice was coming out in panicked gulps almost, she was looking at him wide-eyed like she had gotten herself into the world's most trouble. She seemed to be afraid to get fired.

Reluctantly, Tristan let go. "Fine. But be careful." He went downstairs ahead of her and made his way to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. Pippa would need to pass the kitchen to empty the pot in the privy outside.

She would have muttered a thank you, but who wanted to thank a person for letting one take care of their own puke? She sighed and shook her head at herself when he left her, then she took care of her mess.

When she returned, she said nothing as she passed him by again on her way to replacing the empty pot.

Tristan was cleaning and preparing the stove. "Pippa," he halted her on her way back. "Will you take breakfast, or are you too sick?" He turned for a moment to look at her.

"I should be doing that..." she mumbled tiredly. But this time, she didn't argue. She was improving as a cook a little at a time, but she still had a way to go before she could be considered a chef. Besides, she just took care of the nasties and wanted to wash up. "I'll take breakfast, thank you," she said eventually; he didn't have to twist her arm.