Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Ye’re too reckless,” Helena whispered, watching Alexander’s peaceful face.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing against Alexander’s hand, now clammy but still strong. His face, pale and drawn, was turned slightly toward her, his dark lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks.
The room was quiet, save for the steady crackling of the fire Alice had stoked, the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air.
The servants had come and gone, leaving supplies Alice deemed essential: honey, herbs, fresh water, bandages, and a steaming bowl of stew. Helena had thanked them softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as though raising it would disturb the fragile balance holding Alexander’s life steady.
Alice remained seated across from her, her sharp eyes scanning Alexander’s form. Michael, still armored, leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.
“How are the others who fought with him?” Helena asked, her voice tentative but steady.
Michael sighed. “Injured, but none poisoned like him. They’ll recover.”
Helena’s gaze drifted back to Alexander’s still form. “Then it wasnae random. Someone kenned he’d be there. Kenned to target him.”
Alice nodded grimly, adjusting her shawl. “It’s likely. Poison’s nae common in battle, lass. It takes time to prepare. Whoever did this meant to make him suffer.”
Helena’s chest tightened as she looked at her husband’s face, so fierce and proud even in rest. “Will he make it through the night?”
Alice hesitated, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve done all I can. His breathin’ is steadier now, but I cannae make promises. The poison’s slow-actin’. Fortunately, the arrow only cracked his rib and missed his vitals, or we’d be havin’ a very different conversation.”
Helena’s fingers tightened around Alexander’s hand. “And if it poisoned his marrow?”
“Then his body temperature will rise,” Alice said plainly, though her voice softened. “That’s why I needed the honey and herbs. The fever’s our enemy now, but we’ve got what we need to fight it.”
Michael pushed off the wall, straightening. “I’ll go check on Frync and the men. They need to ken that he’s stable, for now. I’ll nae be long.”
Helena nodded. “Thank ye, Michael.”
As he left, the door creaked faintly and closed behind him with a soft click.
Alice turned her attention to the supplies. “Let’s get him sorted before the fever comes. The stitches are holdin’, but I want to redress the wound.”
Helena nodded, assisting Alice as she unwrapped the bandage.
The wound was angry and red, but not as swollen as Helena had feared.
Alice applied honey to it, her hands deft and sure, then layered the herbs over it.
Helena winced as she held Alexander’s arm still, imagining the pain he’d feel if he were awake.
“Ye’re doin’ well, lass,” Alice said gently, her tone lacking its usual sharpness. “He’s lucky to have ye watchin’ over him.”
Helena smiled faintly. “I dinnae feel very lucky right now.”
Alice finished wrapping the wound with clean linen and patted Helena’s arm. “Let’s eat. Ye’ll be nay good to him if ye keel over from hunger.”
Helena hesitated but allowed herself to be guided to the small table near the fire. Alice poured two glasses of whisky and handed one to Helena. They sat together, their plates piled with smoked fish, vegetables, and brown bread. The stew was hot and savory, a small comfort in the heavy silence.
Alice raised her glass. “To his recovery,” she said simply.
Helena clinked her glass against Alice’s and took a sip, the whisky burning her throat but warming her chest. “Aye, to his recovery.”
As they ate, Helena poked at her fish lazily. She found herself voicing thoughts she’d been holding in.
“I want to help care for him,” she said firmly, setting her glass down. “Nae just tonight. I want to be the one to look after him while he recovers.”
Alice tilted her head, studying her. “It’s nae an easy thing, lass. He’ll be weak, restless, and likely a bit of a bear to handle.”
Helena smirked faintly. “Then it sounds like he’ll be himself.”
Alice giggled, taking another sip of whisky. “Fair enough. Ye’ve got the spirit for it. He’s lucky to have a wife like ye.”
The words sent a faint warmth through Helena’s chest, though she pushed the feeling aside. She wasn’t ready to consider what it meant to care for Alexander beyond duty or necessity.
As the evening deepened into night, the servants returned briefly to clear the table and leave more supplies.
Alice checked the wound once more, adding a fresh layer of honey and herbs before securing the bandage.
Helena assisted, her hands steadier now, though the sight of blood still made her stomach churn.
Alice rose, stretching. “I’ll leave ye with him. Ye ken what to do if the fever worsens?”
Helena nodded. “Cool his brow, keep him comfortable, and call for ye if it gets worse.”
“Good lass.” Alice squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be nearby if ye need me. He’s strong. He’ll pull through.”
When Alice left, the room felt impossibly quiet.
Helena stoked the fire, adding another log, then returned to Alexander’s bedside. She dipped a cloth into cold water, wrung it out, and then pressed it to his forehead. His skin felt warm but not feverish, though she knew the fever could come quickly.
Sitting by his side, she spoke softly, though she wasn’t sure why. “Ye had better nae give up, Alexander Gordon. Ye have a whole clan to lead, a whole castle to command. And…” Her voice faltered. “And I dinnae think I could bear to lose ye.”
She wasn’t sure what had compelled her to say that, but the words lingered in the air, unspoken truths finding life in the dim light.
Hours passed, or perhaps only minutes—it was hard to tell. Helena’s head felt heavy, her eyelids drooping. The whisky had warmed her, though it did little to calm her nerves.
The weight of the day pressed down on her, and her eyes burned with exhaustion. She kept cooling his brow, and after a while, she folded the cloth and set it aside, hesitating before climbing into the bed beside him. Her hands shook as she adjusted the blankets, careful not to disturb his injury.
Lying on her side, she watched his face, her heart clenching at the sight of his pale complexion.
“I’ll keep ye safe,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. “Just… dinnae leave me.”
The rhythm of Alexander’s breathing was steady, a soothing cadence that eventually lulled her into a restless sleep. She didn’t realize she’d drifted off until a gentle touch stirred her awake.
Her eyes flew open, her heart leaping into her throat. A strong, calloused hand brushed her cheek, and she blinked, her eyes locking onto hazel ones that glimmered despite the dark circles around them.
“Ye stayed,” Alexander rasped, but a faint smile played on his lips. His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her brow. “I kenned ye would.”
Tears welled up in Helena’s eyes as relief washed over her like a tide. “Ye stubborn fool,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “I thought ye would never wake up.”
His smile widened, weak but genuine. “It’ll take more than an arrow to keep me down.”
Helena laughed softly, the sound mingling with her tears. She placed her hand over his, pressing it to her cheek. “Welcome back, Alexander.”
For the first time in hours, the tension in her chest eased, replaced by a glimmer of hope.
“Ye’ve been here the whole time?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Aye. I wanted to stay here to take care of ye,” she explained as she climbed out of bed. There was a lot to be done.
The dim light in the chamber flickered as Helena adjusted the blanket over Alexander’s chest. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, his hazel eyes sharp and unyielding despite the discomfort in his expression.
His stubbornness was a trait she had grown accustomed to in their short time together, though it still tested her patience.
His bare chest, which was heaving, was alluring, irresistible.
Even as he lay in bed, recovering, she wanted to feel his strong arms around her more than anything.
She ached to press her cheek to the patch of hair on his pectorals.
Unconsciously, she reached for it, running her fingers slowly over the muscle.
She blushed when she realized what she was doing, pulling away again and ignoring the ache inside her.
“I’m goin’ to fetch yer breakfast,” she declared, smoothing her hands down her skirt. “And nay, ye’re nae gettin’ up. Stay put.”
Alexander glared at her, shifting slightly on the bed as if testing her resolve. “Helena, I’m nae an invalid. I can pour me own whisky and dress me own wound.”
“Ye cannae even sit up without wincin’,” she countered, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow. “Ye’ll do as ye’re told, or else ye’ll risk tearin’ yerself open again.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might argue further. Instead, he sighed heavily, sinking back against the pillows. “Fine. But only because I’d rather nae have Alice fussin’ over me like I’m a bairn.”
Helena smirked in triumph but quickly schooled her expression into one of mild concern.
She fetched a glass of whisky from the table and handed it to him. “Drink this, then. It’ll help while I clean yer wound.”
He accepted the glass begrudgingly, his gaze never leaving hers. “If I’m drinkin’, so should ye,” he muttered, before taking a long sip.
Ignoring his remark, Helena dipped a linen cloth into a basin of warm water. She unwrapped the bandage carefully, her fingers gentle but firm as she worked. The wound near his ribs was still red and angry, though the swelling had gone down slightly.
“This will sting,” she warned softly.
Alexander merely grunted in response, gripping the glass tighter as she pressed the damp cloth to the wound.