have my knife, and I am not quite helpless. The little witch stays with me. You sent her here to heal me; so let her heal me. For she seems to believe the impossible can happen, if we do not.”
“You forget that she is just a child,” said Father Brien.
“Child? Huh!” Simon gave a mirthless chuckle. “Outwardly, perhaps. But she’s like no child I’ve ever known. What child knows the properties of herbs, and a thousand stories each stranger than the last, and how to…” His voice faltered. Finbar glanced at Father Brien, who gazed back at him reflectively. My arm was starting to hurt a lot, where Simon’s fingers clutched it.
“It’s not up to you to decide,” I said as firmly as I could. I looked at each of them in turn—Finbar with his ashen face and clear gray eyes, the mild, penetrating gaze of Father Brien. Simon’s touch communicated his pain and despair. “I have a job to do here, and it’s not finished. Between you, you’ve already undone most of my good work this afternoon. Finbar, you must go home, and leave me to my proper task. Believe that I am safe here, and best left alone. I will call you when I am ready.”
He needs me, Finbar .
I won’t leave you here . He tried to keep me out of his thoughts, but he could not quite conceal his guilt and confusion. This worried me. Wasn’t Finbar the brother who was always so certain, who always knew what to do?
You must leave me. This is my choice .
And so he did, eventually. It was fortunate that Father Brien trusted me and believed in what I was doing, for it was he who persuaded my brother to move back into the cottage and leave me alone awhile with my patient. Simon let them go, silent. It was only after they were out of sight, and the cottage door closed with a thud, that the restraining grip on my arm changed to a clutch for support, and he let out his breath in a long shuddering gasp. Between us, the dog and I got him back into the cave and lying down, and I broke all my rules and made up draft that would give him a reasonable sleep.
“You’d best drink this,” I said, holding out the cup.
Simon sniffed at it suspiciously. I had given him nothing but the infusion of goldenwood, since the day I came.
“What’s in it? It smells different. I suppose you’re trying to poison me now? Finish me off?”
“Isn’t that what you said you wanted?” It was beyond me to keep this retort back, for I was annoyed with his refusal to help himself.
Simon raised his brows at me. “It smells bad. I won’t drink it.”
I put the cup into his hand and curled his fingers around it. “You have a short memory,” I told him. “Didn’t you promise to do as I told you, as long as I agreed to look after you? I’ve kept my side of it. I’m staying here until you’re well again. Now drink this and stop talking. You’re not the only one who’s tired and out of sorts.”
He drank, scowling up at me the while, and lay back again, his eyes fever-bright. Then I sat by him, talking of nothing much, watching him grapple with the pain and fight to keep silent. After a while, the effects of the herbal infusion stole over him and his features began to relax, his eyes clouding. My arm was hurting quite a lot, and I went quietly over to Father Brien’s shelves to seek an ointment, perhaps mallow root or elderflower. I found what I wanted in a shallow lidded bowl, and returned to my stool to anoint my bruises. There was a ring of reddened flesh right around my upper arm. Massaging with the salve relieved the pain a little.
Something made me glance up as I placed the lid back on the bowl. Simon was still awake, just, heavy lids not quite masking the startling blue of his eyes. “You bruise too easily,” he said indistinctly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Then his lids dropped and he was asleep. The dog moved in closer, wedging herself alongside him on the narrow pallet.
There was a short spell, then, for explanations and decisions. I went to the
“You forget that she is just a child,” said Father Brien.
“Child? Huh!” Simon gave a mirthless chuckle. “Outwardly, perhaps. But she’s like no child I’ve ever known. What child knows the properties of herbs, and a thousand stories each stranger than the last, and how to…” His voice faltered. Finbar glanced at Father Brien, who gazed back at him reflectively. My arm was starting to hurt a lot, where Simon’s fingers clutched it.
“It’s not up to you to decide,” I said as firmly as I could. I looked at each of them in turn—Finbar with his ashen face and clear gray eyes, the mild, penetrating gaze of Father Brien. Simon’s touch communicated his pain and despair. “I have a job to do here, and it’s not finished. Between you, you’ve already undone most of my good work this afternoon. Finbar, you must go home, and leave me to my proper task. Believe that I am safe here, and best left alone. I will call you when I am ready.”
He needs me, Finbar .
I won’t leave you here . He tried to keep me out of his thoughts, but he could not quite conceal his guilt and confusion. This worried me. Wasn’t Finbar the brother who was always so certain, who always knew what to do?
You must leave me. This is my choice .
And so he did, eventually. It was fortunate that Father Brien trusted me and believed in what I was doing, for it was he who persuaded my brother to move back into the cottage and leave me alone awhile with my patient. Simon let them go, silent. It was only after they were out of sight, and the cottage door closed with a thud, that the restraining grip on my arm changed to a clutch for support, and he let out his breath in a long shuddering gasp. Between us, the dog and I got him back into the cave and lying down, and I broke all my rules and made up draft that would give him a reasonable sleep.
“You’d best drink this,” I said, holding out the cup.
Simon sniffed at it suspiciously. I had given him nothing but the infusion of goldenwood, since the day I came.
“What’s in it? It smells different. I suppose you’re trying to poison me now? Finish me off?”
“Isn’t that what you said you wanted?” It was beyond me to keep this retort back, for I was annoyed with his refusal to help himself.
Simon raised his brows at me. “It smells bad. I won’t drink it.”
I put the cup into his hand and curled his fingers around it. “You have a short memory,” I told him. “Didn’t you promise to do as I told you, as long as I agreed to look after you? I’ve kept my side of it. I’m staying here until you’re well again. Now drink this and stop talking. You’re not the only one who’s tired and out of sorts.”
He drank, scowling up at me the while, and lay back again, his eyes fever-bright. Then I sat by him, talking of nothing much, watching him grapple with the pain and fight to keep silent. After a while, the effects of the herbal infusion stole over him and his features began to relax, his eyes clouding. My arm was hurting quite a lot, and I went quietly over to Father Brien’s shelves to seek an ointment, perhaps mallow root or elderflower. I found what I wanted in a shallow lidded bowl, and returned to my stool to anoint my bruises. There was a ring of reddened flesh right around my upper arm. Massaging with the salve relieved the pain a little.
Something made me glance up as I placed the lid back on the bowl. Simon was still awake, just, heavy lids not quite masking the startling blue of his eyes. “You bruise too easily,” he said indistinctly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Then his lids dropped and he was asleep. The dog moved in closer, wedging herself alongside him on the narrow pallet.
There was a short spell, then, for explanations and decisions. I went to the
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