Arran put the fleam and lint into the medicine chest, all while applying pressure to her cut. The chest was one of the items Arran had insisted on taking from the governor’s house, and since there were several others in the fort, Grant had allowed it.
“We are doing everything we can to make sure you both live.” He sat on the floor beside her cot and took one of her hands into his. He brought it to his lips. “We’ve lost so much already, my love. I canna lose you, too.”
She tried to smile, but a tear slipped past her eyelid instead.
“Dinna cry, lass.” He wiped the tear away. “You’ll be well again. Here.” He took the canteen and helped her sit up enough to take a sip.
Her throat felt as if she was swallowing broken glass, but she forced herself to drink the water. She had to push the canteen away when it became too painful.
“You should rest.” He put the canteen down and then checked the lint on her arm. “I will wake you again to take another sip of water in a couple hours.”
“When will it be morning?” she asked, conscious of each word and how much it cost her to speak.
“In a few hours.”
“And will we . . . break . . . camp?”
“We will stay here until you and Miriam are better.”
She shook her head, frowning. “But the Fort . . . William men.”
“We will take our chances. I canna let you travel until you are better.”
“They’ll over—take us.”
“Shh.” He caressed her cheek. “Dinna worry about the Fort William men, or anything else. Just get better.”
Her eyelids grew heavy again and she began to drift off into sleep. But all she could think about was the danger she was placing everyone in. She was the one who was supposed to be helpful when there was a need. And, right now, the need was great.
Eleanor blinked. Bright sunshine blinded her, forcing her to turn her face away from the light. Her eyesight was blurry, but it soon cleared and she was able to survey her surroundings.
The canvas tent was musty and warm. Nicolette and Miriam were no longer on the next cot, and Arran was nowhere to be seen. The medicine chest was still between the cots, but there was no other sign of anyone.
Outside the tent, the sounds of the camp came to her awareness. Fires popped and sizzled, people spoke in low tones, children ran and played, happily oblivious to their current situation.
Eleanor was covered in sweat, but she no longer shivered. Placing a hand to her forehead, she was relieved to feel it was much cooler than it had been. Hopefully her fever had broken.
Slowly, she sat up, but the world spun and she had to take her time. She couldn’t ever remember being this weak before. Herhead still hurt, but the pounding was now a dull ache. And her throat didn’t hurt nearly as much.
“Thank God,” she breathed. They could continue with their journey to Jack River House. She would insist upon it.
“You’re awake.” Arran appeared at the open flap, a steaming tin bowl in one hand and a cup in the other. “I was hoping you could sit up and eat something.”
“Where is Miriam?” It was the only thing she needed to know.
“She’s with Nicolette. Her fever broke and she’s finally eating and drinking again.”
Eleanor briefly closed her eyes, tears stinging the backs. But she wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. She needed to be strong. There had been enough tears. It was time to focus on recovering.
“I brought you hominy and tea.” He entered the tent and took a seat on the opposite cot. The space was small and he sat close.
She was suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. She must look—and smell—
dreadful. Her hair was stiff from dried sweat, her mouth tasted awful and felt like she’d been chewing on wool, and she was wearing the same gown she’d been wearing since the day of the massacre. It was covered in mud, sweat, and tears.
Eleanor ran a hand over her disheveled hair. “I look awful.”
“Nay.” His eyes shone. “I’ve never seen a bonnier sight than you, sitting up on your own.”
