children?"
"I...I...," Gwen moaned, pressing her hand to her pounding head. Her body was on fire, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. "I feel sick," she whispered.
Rebecca clenched her hands together, a look of absolute fear on her face. "Oh, my God, no!" She headed for the door, calling behind her, "I'll send Daniel to get Christian."
Christian's already been here, Gwen wanted to say, but fell asleep again before she could open her mouth.
* * *
Semi-darkness covered the room, a stillness in the air. Caressing fingers brushed wet hair from Gwen's damp forehead as strong yet gentle hands sponged her face and neck. A man spoke soothingly, as one would speak to a child, then held a cup to her mouth. In feverish recognition, she looked up to see Christian in her room. She gave him a grateful glance, so happy to see him, to have him with her.
"I made you willow bark tea, the same brew that helped make Bryony well. Try to drink it, if only a small amount."
Christian sat on the bed and eased a strong arm behind her to raise her head. Her temples throbbed more than ever, a relentless pounding that forced her to stop and catch her breath while she rested against his arm.
"We'll go slowly," Christian said, "so take as long as you need. But I do want you to have some tea."
"Can't," she croaked. "Throat hurts."
"This will make your throat feel better, I promise. You must drink something, and this tea will help bring your fever down."
She took a few sips, then sank back against his arm. "That's all I can take," she whispered, wishing she could keep him with her.
After easing her back on the bed, he set the cup on the bedside table and rose to his feet. "'Tis a start, anyway," he said with an encouraging smile. "I shall leave you alone now to sleep, which will do you much good." He tapped the cup. "I want you to drink as much as you're able. Tomorrow, when the light is better, I intend to draw a few ounces of blood to reduce your fever."
She frowned. "But--"
He spoke quickly. "Gwen, I don't understand your objection to bloodletting, but we shall wait until tomorrow. I hope I can convince you then that it will bring your fever down." He smiled. "Be back later."
She heard his quiet footsteps on the wooden floor, then a feverish sleep claimed her again....
Hours later, when Gwen awoke, complete darkness shrouded the bedroom. Straining to change position, she heard voices from downtairs. Within a few minutes, Christian entered the room, carrying a tray.
He set the tray on her bedside table. She heard the strike of flint on iron, and her lamp came to life, giving off a dull glow that cast shadows on the opposite wall. A chair scraped, and he sat down beside her, a bowl and spoon in his hand.
"Rebecca made you broth," he said. "I'd like you to take at least a few spoonfuls, then drink another cup of tea which I brought. Both will help you feel better."
"Don't know if I can," she whispered, swallowing past the congestion in her throat. A fit of coughing shook her, leaving her weak.
"Aye, you can," he murmured after her coughing had subsided. "Here, permit me to sit on the bed. 'Twill make it easier for both of us, I doubt not." He settled onto the bed, his weight pressing the mattress down. Just like in my dream, she thought through a feverish haze. Or had it been a dream?
* * *
After raising her slightly, Christian spoon-fed Gwen the broth and coaxed her to take a few sips of tea. She swallowed the brew, and her furrowed brow, her gasping breath, revealed the extent of her suffering. How he wished he could alleviate her distress and bring back the woman he remembered, with her quick smile and easy laugh, the woman he could never drive from his thoughts.
He gently lowered her onto the bed, her pained grimace knotting his stomach with worry. Afraid to question the depth of his feeling, he suffered with her. He thought of all his other patients, more than he could count. Why should this one
"I...I...," Gwen moaned, pressing her hand to her pounding head. Her body was on fire, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. "I feel sick," she whispered.
Rebecca clenched her hands together, a look of absolute fear on her face. "Oh, my God, no!" She headed for the door, calling behind her, "I'll send Daniel to get Christian."
Christian's already been here, Gwen wanted to say, but fell asleep again before she could open her mouth.
* * *
Semi-darkness covered the room, a stillness in the air. Caressing fingers brushed wet hair from Gwen's damp forehead as strong yet gentle hands sponged her face and neck. A man spoke soothingly, as one would speak to a child, then held a cup to her mouth. In feverish recognition, she looked up to see Christian in her room. She gave him a grateful glance, so happy to see him, to have him with her.
"I made you willow bark tea, the same brew that helped make Bryony well. Try to drink it, if only a small amount."
Christian sat on the bed and eased a strong arm behind her to raise her head. Her temples throbbed more than ever, a relentless pounding that forced her to stop and catch her breath while she rested against his arm.
"We'll go slowly," Christian said, "so take as long as you need. But I do want you to have some tea."
"Can't," she croaked. "Throat hurts."
"This will make your throat feel better, I promise. You must drink something, and this tea will help bring your fever down."
She took a few sips, then sank back against his arm. "That's all I can take," she whispered, wishing she could keep him with her.
After easing her back on the bed, he set the cup on the bedside table and rose to his feet. "'Tis a start, anyway," he said with an encouraging smile. "I shall leave you alone now to sleep, which will do you much good." He tapped the cup. "I want you to drink as much as you're able. Tomorrow, when the light is better, I intend to draw a few ounces of blood to reduce your fever."
She frowned. "But--"
He spoke quickly. "Gwen, I don't understand your objection to bloodletting, but we shall wait until tomorrow. I hope I can convince you then that it will bring your fever down." He smiled. "Be back later."
She heard his quiet footsteps on the wooden floor, then a feverish sleep claimed her again....
Hours later, when Gwen awoke, complete darkness shrouded the bedroom. Straining to change position, she heard voices from downtairs. Within a few minutes, Christian entered the room, carrying a tray.
He set the tray on her bedside table. She heard the strike of flint on iron, and her lamp came to life, giving off a dull glow that cast shadows on the opposite wall. A chair scraped, and he sat down beside her, a bowl and spoon in his hand.
"Rebecca made you broth," he said. "I'd like you to take at least a few spoonfuls, then drink another cup of tea which I brought. Both will help you feel better."
"Don't know if I can," she whispered, swallowing past the congestion in her throat. A fit of coughing shook her, leaving her weak.
"Aye, you can," he murmured after her coughing had subsided. "Here, permit me to sit on the bed. 'Twill make it easier for both of us, I doubt not." He settled onto the bed, his weight pressing the mattress down. Just like in my dream, she thought through a feverish haze. Or had it been a dream?
* * *
After raising her slightly, Christian spoon-fed Gwen the broth and coaxed her to take a few sips of tea. She swallowed the brew, and her furrowed brow, her gasping breath, revealed the extent of her suffering. How he wished he could alleviate her distress and bring back the woman he remembered, with her quick smile and easy laugh, the woman he could never drive from his thoughts.
He gently lowered her onto the bed, her pained grimace knotting his stomach with worry. Afraid to question the depth of his feeling, he suffered with her. He thought of all his other patients, more than he could count. Why should this one
Similar Books
