The man looked truly miserable, his face pale and tinged with green, and each vomit seemed to leave him lifeless. Watching him brought back memories of the last time she’d been overtaken by a similar ailment. She’d nearly wished for the relief of death. Maybe not quite, but that time had been the most miserable sickness in her recollection. Her sister, Charlotte, had succumbed to the vomiting, too. Brielle had been too weak to help, and Audrey had come to nurse them both. Her tender touch and sweet demeanor had been more healing than the tonic she administered. Thankfully, Audrey hadn’t succumbed to the illness, though she’d stayed with them through the worst of it.
Brielle glanced at Evan. Was his malady catching? Or was this truly an effect of the sleeping potion?Lord, don’t letAudrey take sick because of caring for him.Her kindness shouldn’t be repaid with misery.
Somewhere around midnight, Evan finally dozed off. Audrey’s weary eyes were lined with exhaustion, and her shoulders drooped, so Brielle motioned for her to go on to her family’s apartment.
Audrey stood and gathered a tray of cups and bowls. “Have him drink water anytime he awakes.”
Brielle motioned her on. “I’ll see to him.”
Audrey turned and shuffled out. She rose early each morning, so she’d likely been on her feet for nearly a full day. With the close of the door, silence settled, broken only by Evan’s steady breathing.
Brielle settled against the cool stone wall to make arrows again. She’d have a dozen quivers full by the time they decided what to do with this man.
For a long moment, she allowed herself to pause and study him. He lay curled on his side facing her, a shock of hair lying across his brow. In the torchlight, the strands shone bright amber, but she remembered it as almost black that day she’d watched him approach the entrance to Laurent.
His face appeared earnest in sleep, his brow puckered, as though concerned about something. Did he relive their conversation in his dreams? She’d already replayed the words many times herself.
He wasn’t telling all about his journey, of that she was certain. When Papa went through his packs, he’d found a paper with the letterhead of the United States Army. Was he a soldier? Or a spy?
If he’d come looking for their village, how had he known they were there? The Dinee natives might have spread theword about Laurent’s existence. But what did he want? Merely to find out if the rumor was true? Had his country sent him to spy out her people’s strengths and weaknesses while they planned an attack?
If they let him go, where would he return to? Whom would he tell? Would they send back men with guns? Or were they only curious? So much they needed to know, and she needed to learn answers before the council’s vote.
But even if Evan told all, would she be able to trust that he was speaking the truth?
She had to find a way to make him talk. Torture wasn’t an option, despite the fact he thought they poisoned him for that purpose. Her people were peace-loving. They only wanted to remain completely on their own, invisible to the world except for the natives they traded with.
A moan drifted across the space between them, and the wrinkles in his brow grew deeper, scrunching into a look of pain.
Not the sickness again.
Should she do something to help him? She’d tried to tend her brother and sister during their childhood sickness, but Audrey always seemed to know when to show up to help. And the children always preferred her gentle touch over Brielle’s fumbling.
If this man needed another arrow in his gut, she could do the job well, hitting exactly where she aimed. She could hunt meat, decipher the tracks of every animal in the area. She could distinguish between the calls of all the birds. Could even know a herd of caribou or elk simply by the actions of the birds around them.
But nursing was Audrey’s specialty.
Another groan sounded, this one filling the room and knotting her own insides with its agony.
Evan clutched his belly and rolled, squeezing his eyes shut and tucking his knees up to his middle.
Maybe she should put a damp cloth over his forehead like Audrey had done. Or was that only after the man vomited? He’d cast up his accounts so many times, there couldn’t be anything left inside to spew. Except maybe the few sips of water Audrey had coaxed down him.
She pushed to her feet, but as she started toward him, he fumbled for the bowl and heaved himself upright. With a grunt that echoed through the little stone room, his body convulsed. He pressed his face over the bowl, but despite the spasms, nothing came out.
Brielle hovered two strides away as another surge hit him. This wave seemed to come up from his deepest core and thrust his face down into the bowl. The third time, a moan accompanied the convulsion. The sound ripped through her, drawing her closer to him.
In truth, he sounded as though he might be dying. For a long moment, he sat hunched over the container, drawing in deep rasping breaths. He couldn’t seem to get enough air, and each gulp gurgled, like the breath was half water. What was wrong with him? This must be more than a simple stomach ailment. Was it a delayed reaction to the potion from her arrow? The tip had entered his midsection, so maybe the poison had finally spread into his gut, and his body now tried to rid itself of the toxic substance.
Don’t die, Evan.
She’d never killed a man, but if she’d caused his death in defense of her people, would it be justified? The thought oflosing him, of snuffing out the kindness in his eyes, twisted in her chest like a knife blade.
At last, Evan pushed the bowl aside and turned back to slump down on his pallet. This time he faced away from her, his shoulders still heaving with every breath.
She forced herself to close the final step between them and drop to her knees by his side. He seemed in so much pain; the last thing she wanted was for her efforts to make his suffering worse. But she took up the bowl of cool water and rag, then wrung out some of the liquid and lifted the cloth to his face.
She could only reach his temple the way he’d positioned himself, but as she dabbed the rag on the sweat gathered there, his breathing slowed. His shoulders no longer heaved. Instead, they rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His body slowly relaxed.
