If only she could find something that hadn't been used for vomit or worse, to bring fresh water back to the hut. She didn't see anything immediately when entering the cottage, but nor had she seen this pail. Maybe there was more under the cot, but first she rolled up her sleeves and dipped her hands in the cool crisp water and washed the dirt from her face.
Willa let out a blissful sigh and then gathered up the bucket and returned to the cottage. Her patient hadn't moved. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his chest moving up and down rhythmically.
Willa put the pail near him. She knelt on the floor and looked under the cot, thankful again that the woodsman or gamekeeper of the cottage liked to keep things neat there too. At the back was a small trunk. She wrestled with her conscience, but these were desperate matters. The trunk scraped along the floor as she pulled it out, but it was not locked.
Willa opened it and exhaled with relief. There was a tin cup, a plate, a knife, a box of matches, and some rags neatly folded. God bless whoever this cottage belonged to. Should they suddenly appear, hopefully they wouldn't be too distraught by their presence, having commandeered their temporary home. That's when she turned, and there on a hook next to the door was a jug. She slapped a hand to her forehead. She could castigate herself, or she could go get fresh water. She chose the latter. It was a quick trip to the creek and back with a jug full of water. She set it on the table and filled the tin cup, drinking greedily.
Willa considered her patient, but he was still sound asleep. He might not want to drink anything at all with an upset stomach. At some point, when he woke next, she would help him sit up and take a sip, if it were possible with that blasted helmet on. She wet a rag and cleaned the edge of the helmet, inside the mouth guard, and was able to wipe his mouth. That was the best she could do, but it seemed to be enough. He didn’t reek of stomach contents.
By the time dusk settled over the cottage, Willa’s stomach was rumbling painfully, and her patient had not yet woken. He still breathed. She knew that much.
She pulled the chair to his side, rubbing her arms as the cottage grew chill. At the foot of the cot was a blanket. She didn't know if her patient was warm or cold, but Willa certainly wished she had her cloak. Those awful brigands have removed it from her, and it had gone up in smoke with their lair. She was glad she wore a warmer dress today, but it wouldn't be enough on a cool spring night with no fire.
Fire!
Willa jumped to her feet. She could make a fire. She'd made plenty of fires when she was at home. Her skills might be a little out of practice over the last two years, having so many people attend her, but that wasn't something one forgot, was it? She decided to let her patient rest a little while longer while she built up a fire. Before the light totally faded, she ought to collect some of those berries across the creek. Not that it would be anything to satisfy her, but it would be something. Willa quickly completed her errands, setting a plate full of berries on the table, a fresh pitcher of water, and building a small stack of wood by the hearth.
She broke off dried bits of leaves, and sure enough, memory aided her in building up a nice cozy fire.
Willa beamed with pride. Her plan might have gone terribly off course, but she was not helpless, not the way her sisters had treated her of late. Willa could still take care of herself and clearly—she looked over her shoulder at her patient—someone else, but that someone else needed far more care than she could give.
He hadn't moved at all, even when she was coming and going, making a racket of noise. She went to his side, setting her hand on the cot, and it dipped from her weight. But still, he did not rouse. She sat on the edge, her hip pressing against his, and she touched his hand.
No response.
“Mr. Knight?” she whispered, not wanting to startle him. She didn’t know what to call him. He deserved something more heroic than assuming he’s a Mr.—perhaps, Sir? No, not enough. She owed her life to this man. Whoever he was, he was a lord in her mind, Lord Knightly. A gallant name for a valiant man. Yes, that would do for now. He'd certainly needed the rest, hadn't he? She hadn't sustained his injuries, and yet she wanted to sleep for a day or more. She shook his shoulder next but still nothing. Her heart thumped fearfully.
Oh no… What if he can't wake?
Willa didn't want to say it aloud. She didn't want her fear to be communicated to him.
“My lord,” she said louder this time. “I think you should wake now and have some water. My lord?” she said firmly, shaking his shoulder once again, rocking him gently in the cot.
Surely if he was just sleeping, he would wake from this. Willa let go of him and folded her arms. She contemplated knocking on the helmet. That would be cruel. She reached under his helmet and pressed her fingers to his neck.
He still had a pulse.
Willa sighed with relief. Perhaps she should just let him sleep. People with fevers could sleep for a day or more. If they're sleeping, they're healing, Luna used to say. What would she say about this? Willa was so out of her depth. She didn't know what to do, but she was afraid if he didn't wake, if he died here on the cot, she'd be alone, not knowing where she was and utterly defenseless with bandits somewhere nearby. Bandits who had horses and must know this area better than she ever could. Not that her injured knight could help her, but just being with him made her feel safer.
She took hold of his hand. “If it is rest you need, rest you shall have. But I beg you to waken, and at least let me know you're all right.”
She let go of his hand and moved to the small table to snack on the berries. Her gaze frequently returned to him.
Please let him wake.
* * *
Willa awoke with a start, crying out as her neck screamed with pain. She was slumped over that small wooden table where she'd slept all night. Willa had woken frequently to check on him. Her fear that he might never wake, growing. She tried shaking him some more. She tried tapping the helmet with her finger over where his ears might be and yet he was so still, his hands so pale, she was half afraid he would be dead by morning. She couldn't help him. She couldn't move him on her own. But how could she leave him alone here? Her thoughts raced, her mind filling with terrible scenarios, each worse than the last.
She stared at him, prone on the bed until her eyes burned with the need to blink. At last, his chest rose and a sob escaped her. Willa stood, her feet tingling as her unsteady knees carried her to his side, and she propped on the edge of the bed. Willa took a deep breath, praying that this time would be different, this time he would wake and be better, stronger, and the cold vice around her heart would disappear.
Willa leaned over him, tucking her hair behind her ear and peering through the eye slits of the helmet. Was he staring back at her, afraid of the crazed woman leering over him? She sat up and reached for the helmet. Perhaps it would move this time. As she gripped it and tried to slide it off, his hand shot up and snatched her wrist away, and he wrenched himself to the side in agony.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I thought…” Her throat closed around the words. He held his hands to the helmet, shaking.
“Still? It won't come off?” she said more to herself than him. They hadn't been able to speak in whole words yet.
“You might take my head with it,” he said, his words muffled, but she understood them.
