Page 32 of When the Sky Breaks

“What are you doing?” I tried to ask, but before I’d even gotten the words out, Ansel took Sorcha’s ear between his fingers and twisted. She stirred, grimaced harder, tried to pull away. But still her eyes stayed closed.

“What are you doing?” I snapped, batting Ansel’s hand away.

“Waking her up,” he replied. “Like the healer said.”

“You don’t have to hurt her,” I insisted.

“I’m sorry. But I do, son,” Ansel snapped. “You want her to live? Or you want to head back to Scotland to tell your dad and the Courts you let the new High Lady—not to mention your own damn wife—die on your watch? Eh? Unborn heir gone right along with her?”

I took a deep, shuddering breath. The medic watched us both from the edge of camp.

“Hurry,” was all he said.

I stepped back, sat down, clasped my hands tight in front of me.

“Go ahead.”

Ansel tried again with her fingers and then with her ear. It hurt her. That much I could see. But she wasn’t waking up.

“Stubborn girl,” Ansel huffed. “Even half dead she’s not making this easy on me. I’m surprised she hasn’t summoned a bear to come chase me away for hurting her.”

I tried to take solace in Ansel’s levity. I failed. And settled instead for digging my nails into my palms to try and steady myself.

“Do you have to be so rough?” I finally bit out.

“Rough gets results, son,” Ansel said. “Speaking of—this one might make her yelp. But it’ll work.”

Ansel didn’t wait for a response before he dug his knuckles into Sorcha’s sternum. She arched her back, whimpered, and, blessedly, opened her eyes. I leapt from my seat and cradled her head on my knees, letting Ansel’s steadier hands coax her to drink the tea. She wasn’t focusing, wasn’t really with us, but as Ansel tipped the liquid into her mouth then ran gentle fingers along the side of her neck, she swallowed. Once. Again. A third time. I looked up to the medic, whose face had relaxed just a fraction.

“Keep giving her the tea every hour. A full cup of it each time,” the young man said as he gathered his things and started back out into the desert night. “She’ll sweat it out. If it’s from the tick bite she’ll relapse. Do all this again if she does. The rest is up to her. Some people just aren’t built for this desert.”

And finally I felt the knot in my chest relax. She’d pull through. Baby would be fine. I’d make sure of it.

“Stay awake for me now, Sorcha,” Ansel prompted, pressing, gentler this time, on her fingernail. Her eyes fluttered open again and Ansel managed to get her to finish the tea. She was still conscious, if only barely, as I tucked her into my arms and leaned back against my saddle. Ansel handed me a blanket, and I realized, as the adrenaline wore thin, that we were both still dripping wet and I was both freezing cold and achingly fatigued.

“We’ll get you both a change of clothes later,” Ansel said, wiping his hands and grabbing the kettle. “I’m going to get more water. She’ll need the tea again soon.”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off Sorcha’s face. I cradled her close against my chest and bent to kiss her forehead. She was starting to sweat now, even if her skin was still far too hot.

“Oh my love,” I murmured as Ansel started back toward the river, “you had me worried.”

I cradled her and kissed her face, murmuring quiet reassurances and deeply regretting the weeks when I’d told myself I wasn’t supposed to feel like this, told myself that our relationship was a job, not a love affair. I knew better. She wasn’t a responsibility. She was my very lifeblood. Holding her in that river, feeling her life seem to drain with the water’s current, feeling our baby move in some kind of divine reassurance, I knew it wasn’t duty anymore. It wasn’t a job.

I hadn’t moved and was still holding Sorcha, rocking her gently, when Ansel got back from the water. I watched as his gaze lingered while doing his work around camp, too long to be simple coincidence, too long even to just be assessing Sorcha’s condition.

“You have something to say, Ansel?”

Ansel shrugged, tossed his bundle of kindling into the fire, and settled on a stump before replying.

“Didn’t expect you to hold her like that is all,” Ansel said. “Didn’t expect her to let you. Especially for so long. I mean, you slept together tonight but . . .”

I scowled, tucking the blanket tighter around Sorcha’s shoulders and hugging her in closer.

“She’s my wife.”

“Right.” Ansel leaned back and took a sip from his waterskin. “Don’t feel bad, boy. You’re looking at her like she’s spun gold. It’s good.”

Ansel chuckled and I felt myself relax just a bit.