Huffing, she strode to the door behind him and snapped the lock into place with a frown.
The heat really was starting to affect her mood. She loosened the bodice in hopes that it would help before heading back to change out the poultices that were starting to dry out. It was going to be a long, exhausting process. But it was better to have a task to set her mind to.
Two poultices later, and the man’s breathing was almost normal, a slight color slowly showing in his cheeks. His eyes were rolling under their lids, movement picking up and a pang of excitement coursed through her. She settled on her stool, scooting closer as he started to blink up toward the ceiling of her hut, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he started to realize that he had no idea where he was.
“Shh, careful now.” Freya started in a soothing voice.
His chest started to heave, and she didn’t know if it was pain, or just the fact that he was somewhere strange, or perhaps he was still stuck in the storm as far as his mind was concerned. Freya had seen that before in sailors who had been adrift for too long, the sea staying with them for far longer than it ought to have.
“Ye’re safe,” Freya continued softly. “Here, water…”
Slowly, she shuffled closer, sliding one hand under the back of his head and lifted gently as she slipped a cup of water to his lips, easing it against them.
“Go slow, ye dinnae want to throw it back up.”
It took a few moments for the man to react, but slowly he started to drink the water in small sips. He had the most stunning green eyes; she couldn’t stop staring at them as he looked around the room, clearly still foggy, as if he was trying to place himself.
“Ye’re safe, I promise ye that. But ye’re in very bad shape so please dinnae try to move at all.” Freya warned. How he wasn’t screaming in pain was absolutely beyond her. Even with all of the work she had been doing, it had to be excruciating. “Dae ye have a name, stranger?”
Only then did his eyes slide to her slowly, and something in her stomach clenched.
“Nay? Ye dinnae ken who ye are? Where ye are?”
The man licked at his dry, cracked lips as he tried to speak. He struggled, his throat producing a rasping sound as he tried to speak and failed.
“I’ll take that as a nay,” Freya smiled. “I’ll keep ye safe, dinnae fash.”
The mossy green eyes lingered on her for a long moment before they seemed too heavy to stay open, and his breathing started to turn ragged. She helped him take another drink and lowered his head back down to the pillow.
“Rest, ye poor soul, I’ll stay with ye.”
That seemed to reassure him, and he was asleep again before she knew it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Two weeks later and Freya was starting to feel like she was forgetting what the sky looked like. Holed up in her hut with the stranger was consuming all of her time and she was starting to run low on supplies. But there was no denying the progress she had made. No longer was his skin peeling and cracking from dehydration and sea salt.
She wanted to see his eyes again.
But, apart from that first day, he hadn’t woken up at all. Not even for a moment. She hoped it meant something good, that he was healing and on his way to recovery. Perhaps he would wake up properly soon. She didn’t need to keep changing out his poultices anymore, and soon the stitches she had put in would be removed.
That morning she was looking at the wounds again, checking the progress of his healing while going through her usual morning routine of cleaning him with a cloth. The bowl of water on her lap was infused with a softly fragrant oil and milk. She couldn’tseem to stop herself from tracing the outlines of the tattoos that ran down the right side of his body.
Where had he come from? He had to be Scottish. That much she was rather certain of. But she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to know more about him, where he came from… what his smile might look like.
“Oh, now ye are being a right fool.” Freya muttered to herself, dropping the rag back into the bowl, hissing in irritation as the water sloshed over the sides and onto the top layer of her skirt. Carefully, she rose and moved to place the bowl on the counter. Grabbing another bit of cloth, she dipped it into the water and then placed the cool cloth on the back of her neck, closing her eyes as she focused on the cooling sensation. She needed to get out of this hut if she was starting to wonder such silly things about a man who might have had his brains scrambled right inside of his head.
Against the sounds of wood burning in the hearth, she had been hearing the man mumbling sounds for the better part of the morning, his lips barely moving and no other outward signs of life in him at all. They weren’t even words, at least not that she could tell. It was a good indication that his throat was working, and the saltwater hadn’t sanded it away. But he was losing weight, and she needed him to wake up soon or else she was going to have to figure something else out. Broths were only getting him so far. He needed to eat, if he could.
Pulling the cloth from the back of her neck, Freya silently counted to four in her mind before lifting her head and settingabout taking inventory of her supplies. She would perhaps be able to run out quickly tonight, after everybody else in the village was asleep. She knew that their talking and gossip was getting bolder by the day. Nothing else exciting ever seemed to happen out there, so all they spoke about was her mystery man.
If they saw her leaving him unattended, they were very likely to go poking around. It was best not to give them that opportunity.
Making notes on a small piece of paper as she went, she must have been puttering about for a solid half an hour before she realized that she was being watched. Silent, mossy green eyes tracking her every movement around the small space. But unlike last time, his eyes were clear and bright—attentive and focused.
Freya’s gut twisted.
It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant feeling, but she hadn’t ever felt anything like it before.
