Helena’s chest tightened as she looked at her husband’s face, so fierce and proud even in rest. “Will he make it through the night?”
Alice hesitated, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve done all I can. His breathin’ is steadier now, but I cannae make promises. The poison’s slow-actin’. Fortunately, the arrow only cracked his rib and missed his vitals, or we’d be havin’ a very different conversation.”
Helena’s fingers tightened around Alexander’s hand. “And if it poisoned his marrow?”
“Then his body temperature will rise,” Alice said plainly, though her voice softened. “That’s why I needed the honey and herbs. The fever’s our enemy now, but we’ve got what we need to fight it.”
Michael pushed off the wall, straightening. “I’ll go check on Frync and the men. They need to ken that he’s stable, for now. I’ll nae be long.”
Helena nodded. “Thank ye, Michael.”
As he left, the door creaked faintly and closed behind him with a soft click.
Alice turned her attention to the supplies. “Let’s get him sorted before the fever comes. The stitches are holdin’, but I want to redress the wound.”
Helena nodded, assisting Alice as she unwrapped the bandage. The wound was angry and red, but not as swollen as Helena had feared. Alice applied honey to it, her hands deft and sure, then layered the herbs over it. Helena winced as she held Alexander’s arm still, imagining the pain he’d feel if he were awake.
“Ye’re doin’ well, lass,” Alice said gently, her tone lacking its usual sharpness. “He’s lucky to have ye watchin’ over him.”
Helena smiled faintly. “I dinnae feel very lucky right now.”
Alice finished wrapping the wound with clean linen and patted Helena’s arm. “Let’s eat. Ye’ll be nay good to him if ye keel over from hunger.”
Helena hesitated but allowed herself to be guided to the small table near the fire. Alice poured two glasses of whisky and handed one to Helena. They sat together, their plates piled with smoked fish, vegetables, and brown bread. The stew was hot and savory, a small comfort in the heavy silence.
Alice raised her glass. “To his recovery,” she said simply.
Helena clinked her glass against Alice’s and took a sip, the whisky burning her throat but warming her chest. “Aye, to his recovery.”
As they ate, Helena poked at her fish lazily. She found herself voicing thoughts she’d been holding in.
“I want to help care for him,” she said firmly, setting her glass down. “Nae just tonight. I want to be the one to look after him while he recovers.”
Alice tilted her head, studying her. “It’s nae an easy thing, lass. He’ll be weak, restless, and likely a bit of a bear to handle.”
Helena smirked faintly. “Then it sounds like he’ll be himself.”
Alice giggled, taking another sip of whisky. “Fair enough. Ye’ve got the spirit for it. He’s lucky to have a wife like ye.”
The words sent a faint warmth through Helena’s chest, though she pushed the feeling aside. She wasn’t ready to consider what it meant to care for Alexander beyond duty or necessity.
As the evening deepened into night, the servants returned briefly to clear the table and leave more supplies. Alice checked the wound once more, adding a fresh layer of honey and herbs before securing the bandage. Helena assisted, her hands steadier now, though the sight of blood still made her stomach churn.
Alice rose, stretching. “I’ll leave ye with him. Ye ken what to do if the fever worsens?”
Helena nodded. “Cool his brow, keep him comfortable, and call for ye if it gets worse.”
“Good lass.” Alice squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be nearby if ye need me. He’s strong. He’ll pull through.”
When Alice left, the room felt impossibly quiet.
Helena stoked the fire, adding another log, then returned to Alexander’s bedside. She dipped a cloth into cold water, wrung it out, and then pressed it to his forehead. His skin felt warm but not feverish, though she knew the fever could come quickly.
Sitting by his side, she spoke softly, though she wasn’t sure why. “Ye had better nae give up, Alexander Gordon. Ye have a whole clan to lead, a whole castle to command. And…” Her voice faltered. “And I dinnae think I could bear to lose ye.”
She wasn’t sure what had compelled her to say that, but the words lingered in the air, unspoken truths finding life in the dim light.
Hours passed, or perhaps only minutes—it was hard to tell. Helena’s head felt heavy, her eyelids drooping. The whisky had warmed her, though it did little to calm her nerves.
