But he didn’t hit her or grab her, like she’d thought for a moment he might. He just hadn’t wanted to be touched. She huffed in annoyance, even though her heart pounded.
“You need to change.” Her voice came out shaking.
“No. I will not be stripped.” He stared at her, but his eyes were distant, his lips twisted in an ugly snarl that chilled her deeply to the bone. Still, she wasn't worried for her own sake—what could he possibly do, when he could barely sit up straight—but frightenedforhim; frightened of the wild, wounded savagery in his eyes.
“Lord Niel…”
“Get out.”
She stared at him, her brow furrowed. He was hunched forward, breathing hard, glaring at her, or past her, like a cornered wolf that was about to bite.
“Can you do it yourself, or should I call one of your men?” she asked stiffly.
“Myself. Don't touch me.”
“Good. Fine.” She folded her arms and stared at him, not sure what to do with this overgrown man who belonged in an infirmary and refused to be helped. “I’ll check on you later. Drink your tea. It’s good for fever.”
“Poison,” Niel said.
“Oh, Mercy.” Ayla picked up the mug and took a sip as he watched. Setting it down hard, she picked up the porridge and took a bite. “There. I’m not going to poison you. Now change, drink, and sleep.”
“Again. You’re not going to poison meagain,” he said.
“The fever’s made you delirious,” she informed him airily, and left.
The Grippe
He spun in and out of fever. His body ached, sweat, flushed, shivered. His throat burned; the cough woke him in the middle of the night. Then the middle of the day. Then a hand on his forehead woke him, a damp cloth dragging across his burning skin. He woke drenched in sweat and found a clean change of clothes within reach of his hands. Woke and found a mug of cooled willowbark tea. Woke and found a pitcher of water. A bowl of broth. Woke and heard Ayla’s voice, humming a northern song he’d known his whole life. Reached for her, like he was swimming through thick honey and could barely move, and she was the surface, the light, the air. Touched nothing. Let his hand fall back down to the bed and tumbled down into the dark, fevered abyss of his nightmares, where every face was Sir Hannes of Ashbrin's and every fist was his brother’s.
Every time he woke his cup was full, his fire burning hot. The blankets on top of him changed, but not the sheet beneath him. He migrated to the other side of the bed, shivering, andwondered if it was poison after all, for his head felt like it was wrapped in layers of wool, and he was starving, but he did not want to eat.
Mercy. She could have killed him. Easily. A hundred times. Or even simply left his body to its own devices. And yet she did not.
And then it became a little easier, his sleep less restless, his waking hours more lucid. It had been two days, Niel thought, or maybe three, but they had been brutal. The only reason he knew Corin had not taken the castle was that Niel was still alive and sleeping in the lord’s bedchamber.
She came once more. He wasn’t in bed this time, but standing, though tentatively, his legs still weak, one hand on the wall. He wasn’t sure where he was going yet, only that if hecouldstand, he was going to. Before this he’d had to crawl if he wanted the latrine. Standing on two legs was a revelation.
“You lived,” she said, pausing in the doorway with a mug in her hands and a soft smile on her pink lips.
“In large part, I expect, due to you.”
“Not at all. I only checked on you a few times.”
“Ah.”
He didn't believe that. She colored every memory he had of his illness. Hadn’t he even seen her, sitting in the corner chair and reading a book? Hadn’t she been there every time he woke? He’d heard Kerr and Larkin’s voices, at one point, distantly, and Ayla answering them, firm, guarding his door as he’d asked her to do.
“Do you feel much better?”
“I feel as though I’m alive,” he told her, suddenly oddly shy, as if she’d seen inside him. “But still as weak as a foal. It would still be a good time to poison me, if you were planning on it.”
“Don’t sound hopeful,” she said, but she didn’t flinch at the suggestion. In fact, she looked less frightened of him than she ever had. “Well, if you can stay out of bed for a time, I’ll change the sheets.”
“I cannot ask you to do that.”
“Someone has to. A little work won’t kill me. I wasn’t born noble, Lord Niel.”
He wetted his lips, and found himself leaning against the wall, his legs trembling with a weakness he hoped she did not notice. It was the oddest thing. Normally, he didn’t want his weakness seen because he knew it would make him a target again; knew what it meant to be preyed upon. But for some reason, with Ayla, it was faint embarrassment that made him wonder how pitiful he’d looked in bed, and whether she still saw him as a man now that she’d seen him fevered and shuddering.
