Page 69 of The Widow Wore Plaid

He chuckled and closed his eyes. “I will be waiting, my love. Don’t be late.”

When they were gone, Jane’s friends gathered around her, their faces drawn and sober.

“You should go to him now, Jane.” Fanny hugged her and patted her back. “I will preside at dinner and send your supper up to you.”

“Thank you, Fanny.” She looked from one to the other of her friends, thinking about each one’s wedding she’d attended, each a joyous occasion. Who would have thought her own wedding would be so different, so somber. “Thank you all, my dear friends, for your help today. Gareth and I both cannot thank you enough for making it a day to remember.” Her voice broke, but she fought back the tears. “I will let you know how he fares through the night.”

“We love you, Jane.” Charlotte hugged her close.

The rest of them hovered close, each wanted to embrace her, comfort her, but she could not bear it. She must go to Gareth, spend as many hours as she could with him. Breaking away from Charlotte, Jane picked up her skirts and ran from the room before her tears began to flow.

By the time she reached Gareth’s chamber, she’d gotten herself under control. She wiped her eyes, breathed deeply, and set her mouth into a smile, steeling herself for what was to come before opening the door and entering.

“Good evening, wife.” Gareth lay smiling at her.

She shut the door and leaned back against it, gathering her strength. “You’ve waited a very long time to be able to say that, haven’t you, love?”

“I have.” One of his hands stirred feebly, beckoning her closer. “I love the sound of it.”

“I do too, husband.” Heart aching, Jane went to sit beside him, and took his hand. “Is there anything you need, Gareth?”

“Only you, my love.”

“And that you have”—she gripped his hand—“and always will.” She searched his face for signs of recovery, hoping their wedding might have stirred him to rally. Instead, the shadows beneath his eyes were more pronounced, his hands dry, and his face even paler if that were possible.

He stirred and winced. “It’s hard to lie still, but if I move at all my shoulder burns and aches.”

“Did Mr. Robbins change the dressing this morning?”

“He did. It felt better afterward, too.”

Jane rose and unbuttoned his nightshirt.

“I realize this is our wedding night, Jane, but I don’t think I’m quite up to the occasion.” His droll voice made her smile.

“My disappointment knows no bounds, my dear. However, I actually had something else in mind.” She slipped the shirt over his head and examined the bandage on his shoulder. “I’m going to change this dressing to see if it will make you more comfortable.” Briskly, she untied the knot and unwound the cloth securing the bandages. When she tried to remove them, they had stuck to his skin and she had to peel them off revealing an angry-looking wound.

The torn flesh had scabbed over, but red streaks radiated out from the jagged edges of the injury. That redness was hot to the touch and sensitive, for he grunted when she lay her fingers on it. This she could tend to, however. “I’m going to ring for some willow bark tea and bathe the wound in it like I did before. Then I’ll use some of the doctor’s salve and simply lay a clean cloth over it. I think the tightness of the bandage pulls at it and that makes it uncomfortable.” She rose and tugged on the bellpull. “I’ll get Cook to send up some broth and enough tea that you can drink some as well. That’ll help with your fever.”

“You are the best medicine for me, love.” His gaze followed her whenever she moved.

“But not as effective as the tea and salve, I’ll warrant. Raise up and let me see the back of your shoulder.” That wound proved to be the same. She’d have her work cut out for her tonight.

Once the tea and broth arrived, Jane set to work washing the wounds, applying the honied salve liberally to both, and spoon-feeding him sips of tea and broth.

Gareth was terribly patient with her, never complaining when she poked the spoon into his mouth or accidentally scraped his skin while washing it. As the evening wore on he spoke less and less, finally falling into a fitful sleep from which she found it difficult to arouse him.

Very well, rest would help him heal as well. She missed the feeling of his gaze on her though. It had been a comforting presence whose absence now made her feel bereft. As she would soon be in earnest. He was part of her life now, part of herself. She couldn’t let him die. Frantically, she bathed and salved him every hour, until her hands chapped and cracked. Footmen stood by, constantly fetching the willow bark tea from the kitchen, and honey, garlic, and onion when the doctor’s supply of salve ran out.

As the darkest night gave way to the wee hours of the morning, exhaustion set in. Bleary-eyed, Jane lay her head on the edge of the bed, for just a moment’s respite, closed her eyes, and knew no more.

* * *

“Jane.” An insistent hand shook her shoulder.

Opening her eyes, Jane couldn’t understand what she was lying on until she sat up blinking. She still sat beside Gareth’s bed, and her head had been pillowed on her arm, which now tingled with tiny pinpricks of pain. Confused, she looked up at Fanny’s worried face.

“When you didn’t come down to breakfast we became worried.” Her friend’s gaze shifted from Jane to the figure in the bed.