“You found what?”
“It’s a type of healing bird. From Cirancia. Is there any change?”
“No,” Niel said stiffly. He set down the water and accepted the cup from Larkin. The tonic inside looked thick, shimmering gold and scented with a tangy smell. He pressed the cup to Ayla’s lips and carefully tipped a little of the fluid into her mouth.
“She’s been drinking water?” Larkin wanted to know.
“Some. Half the cup. Here, my lady, I need you to drink again.” He tilted another bit of tonic into her mouth.
“Good. I’ve set up a bed in the infirmary. Let’s get her down there.”
“No.”
“My lord…”
Niel's hand was around Ayla’s shoulders, her head resting on his collar. Despite the fact that it was more physical contact than Niel had allowed for years, she felt oddly natural there. He did not want to stop holding her.
“No. I’ll care for her. You may go.”
“If you’re certain.” Larkin frowned, but he left.
Niel reluctantly lay her back on the furs when she’d finished the tonic, and started the process of warming the bed, where she’d be further from the fire but more comfortable otherwise. With tongs he pulled embers from the fire into the metal warming pan, then stuck it beneath the blankets to heat the space where she’d lay. When he at last judged the bed warm enough for her, he removed the pan, and the knife he kept beneath his pillow. He picked Ayla up in his arms, then deposited her beneath the blankets and tucked them tight around her.
“I’ll be right here,” Niel informed her. “There’s water beside you.”
She made a small noise again, and turned her head flat against the pillow. His breath caught, and he waited for her to make some other sign of life, but she went on sleeping. Tentatively, certain it was wrong of him to take such liberties, he reached forward and tucked back a lock of her hair. Then Niel took a seat on the room’s chair and braced his hands on his knees. He tried to convince himself it would be well. That it was only a little sickness, and she’d be fine now that he had her.
It was only early evening, but he was still exhausted himself. Some fifteen minutes after he’d laid her in the bed he got up to check on her, pressing a palm to her forehead. She felt hot, but not blisteringly so, and she wasn’t sweating.
“Could you drink more?” he asked.
Her eyes flickered slowly open and met his, her gaze glassy and distant. It was the first time she’d opened her eyes since he’d found her, and he felt a surge of protective joy. Her eyes fell back shut.
“I hope that’s a yes. I’m going to take it as one,” he warned her. “Hold on. Let me get you sitting up again.”
He didn’t brace her against him again, much as he wanted to climb onto the bed and pull her body tight to his. Instead he piled the bed’s pillows up against the headboard, then lifted her up to sit against them. Holding her steady, he sat on the inch of bed beside her and held the cup to her lips, coaxing her through another few sips of water. When she turned her head subtly away from the ceramic lip of the cup, he set it down and helped her lie flat again.
The bed was wide, and he was exhausted. But he settled into the chair beside her, crossed his arms, let his eyes drift slowly shut. As Ayla fell back to sleep, Niel listened, and marked every shallow breath she drew.
Marriage Cloak
He woke to a sharp gasp from Ayla, and wrenched himself upright.
“Lady Blackfell?” Niel asked groggily. He was in the chair beside her; had fallen asleep leaning his head against the wall. It was dark, the fire weak and the hour late. The room smelled like smoke and sweat. “What is it?”
“This room,” she whispered. Her voice was distant, trembling again. “I hate this damned room.”
It was like the quiet shiver of her voice had bludgeoned him off a galloping horse, flipping him over so for one startling moment, the sky was the ground and the ground the sky, before he slammed breathlessly back to terra.
The room he’d taken over was the lord’s chamber. Which made it her husband’s, because Blackfell did not sleep where his wife slept. And the room he’d brought her to eat each meal was her husband’s, too. And the bed she was sleeping in, the bed where she’d spent the last days tendinghim… he felt nauseated.
What had he been putting her through? Why hadn’t he realized? He, of all people…
“Mercy.” He slid from the chair, his knees smacking down onto the floor as he knelt, in apology and penance. “I will take you back to your room. Let me build a fire there, and warm the bed…”
The hearth crackled, a spent log splitting down the middle and shifting over the embers.
“No.” Ayla stared up at the ceiling, her eyes gleaming wet in the fading firelight. “I’m far too tired for that. So are you.”
