"How many people fell sick after the drought two summers ago?"
Isabell's question was asked gently enough. There wasn't any malice in her voice. As she'd said, she was trying to understand the scale of the problem the Dunns were facing. But to Loghlan, it might as well have been a dagger to the heart.
"Too many," Loghlan said quietly as his hand tightened on the cup of wine. Next to him, Mairwen reached out to touch his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Too many," Loghlan repeated after taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Mostly the elderly or those who were already ill. Some young children," he added, hanging his head low.
"We lost nearly twenty people that summer," he said. "Three of them were children under the age of five. The physicians said it was a stomach sickness brought on by bad water. We begged the Church for help but…" Loghlan's voice trailed off as he thumped the table softly with a fist.
