Chapter Nineteen
My back collides with something hard. It’s Ruth’s workshop bed.
“I tried but—” Will gasps. He sobs. “Mum, I couldn’t— It happened so fast and then—and Bash—and—”
“Willoh, breathe. You’re hyperventilating,” Ruth says, and her careful hands peel off the layers of cotton around my stomach.
“No, I have to help. She can’t die, Mum. Please. I have to— It was my fault and—”
“Willoh. You are no help to Fliss like this. Clean yourself up, take that draft there, and get some sleep first. You can tell me everything when you’ve had some rest.”
“What? No. No. I’m staying. I’m—”
A cry escapes me as Ruth’s magic seeps into my stomach like the relief of soaking in a hot bath. As the twinge of pain retreats, my head lolls to one side. Maybe now I can sleep. Maybe now I can let go.
“I have it under control, Willoh. Clean up. Sleep. Then let me check you over. You’ve got iron poisoning.”
“I’m fine,” he says. But he knows he’s not. His footsteps disappear, and I settle into the softness of Ruth’s healing, hushed to sleep in a safety I can trust.
Gill nuzzles my face.
“Hello, mister.” I yawn. I scratch between his ears, and he purrs.
I’ve woken in a small bedroom, but I know where I am this time.
I know the smell of herbs and tranquility of the cottage, and I’ve woken without any searing pain.
I shuffle up with ease, adjusting the white pillows at my back.
As far as I can tell, I have fresh bandages and clothes that aren’t covered in blood.
A good sign. Gill hops onto my legs and kneads his front paws against me.
“Are you my nurse?” I ask him, and he butts his head against my hand. With a laugh, I comply with his demands and pet his chin.
There’s a gentle knock, and the door to the bedroom opens. Holding a tray, Ruth steps over Mustard, who was apparently sitting right outside with his back to the door. She smiles at me, her eyes a paler white than last time.
“You’re awake. Good. How are you feeling?” she asks, and comes to sit on the bed. She places the tray on my lap. Gill sniffs to see if the soup and water are to his liking.
I think about it—what the truthful answer to her question is.
“I’m not in any pain,” I reply. “I think I’m in shock, mostly.”
Ruth nods in understanding.
“You went through something terrifying; it’s okay to need time,” she says evenly.
“I was able to heal the wound to your stomach. You had an infection and a large amount of internal bleeding, but I’ve knitted everything back up and given you an infusion draft to restore the lost blood.
You’ll be a little sore for a few days, and I’ll give you some more medicine to take, but no lasting damage done. ”
I swallow. I’d been right to put myself in Ruth’s capable hands. If I’d stayed at the castle…I might not be here right now.
I take her hand.
“Thank you.”
I can’t find the words to tell her how deep my gratitude goes, but from her expression, I think she knows.
“Here,” she says, and holds out the spoon for me. “Have something to eat. Don’t worry if you can’t finish it all, just take it easy. Everyone recovers at their own speed, Fliss. You can stay here for as long as you want.”
I stir the soup.
“How long has it been?”
“Since you were injured? A week. You spent five nights in the castle and two here.”
“Oh. Okay. Um…” My cheeks turn hot. “How is Will?”
“He’s fine,” Ruth says. “Do you want me to go and get him?”
“Oh, uh…”
Gill headbutts my elbow, as if reminding me to eat.
Ruth smiles. “I’ll let him know you’re awake. Would you like me to get a message to your mum too?”
I nod. Mum knows Ruth. She’ll know that I’m safe here.
“If you can,” I say, “send a cinquefoil. She’ll know what it means.”
Will never comes to see me. In fact, he never shows up at all.
I spend the next few days resting around the cottage with Gill as my constant companion.
Ruth told me the bedroom I’m using is for her patients and it’s just to the left of the stairs on the ground floor, so if I’m in there napping in the bed or sitting in the corner reading one of Ruth’s books, the white cat is there too, by my feet, on my lap, or snoozing nearby.
If I take a short walk around the garden to remind my legs how to hold my weight, he follows and plays with the butterflies.
If Ruth and I have a meal together at the dinner table, Gill paws at my leg for some of the meat.
Even Mustard keeps his eye on me from a distance, although he’d hate that I noticed.
The only one missing is Will. Every time I seek him out, he’s nowhere to be found.
He circles to the other side of the house or disappears for hours at a time.
It wouldn’t be sensible for him to leave the wards, so he’s definitely still here.
Somewhere. Wherever he is, he seems determined to avoid me.
After lunch on the third day, I bring up Will’s absence to Ruth before she heads out to make some deliveries.
“Don’t tell him I told you,” she says, and points over to the stable that sits on the far side of the field. “He’s been in there since dawn.”
My heart rate shoots up. Finally. Finally I can corner him.
“Good luck,” Ruth says with a smirk so reminiscent of her son that I realize how much I’ve missed him. I’ve wanted to talk about what happened, sure, but I’ve wanted his company too. I want to spend time together. I want him. That hasn’t changed.
Once Ruth leaves, I smooth down the violet dress she found for me and steel myself. He is not evading me this time.
I find Will in the stable surrounded by an immense amount of hay, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.
I linger by the barn door for a while, just watching.
He shovels hay into a stall with an old gray horse in it, who occasionally sniffs and prods Will with his nose.
Neither of them notices I’m here, which is fine by me.
Compared to the last time I saw him, it’s nice to see him with a healthy pink tinge to his cheeks.
And not covered in blood. I’ve never had this much time to take him in without him knowing.
He’s wearing those leather trousers again that do wonders for his slim frame, and without his usual jacket, I very much enjoy watching the strain in his arm muscles as he works.
His eyes are far away, and from the way he stabs the pitchfork to and fro repeatedly, he hasn’t realized that he should have stopped shoveling a while ago.
“Are you stress-haying?” I ask from the doorway.
Straws of hay jump into the air.
“Good gods, Farrow!” Will says, and holds a hand to his chest. “You scared the life out of me.”
I wander over. Gods, I’m nervous. I’d be great if the anxious twist in my stomach wasn’t so similar to being stabbed. That would be wonderful.
“Horsey there has enough hay for a family of five,” I say.
Will leans on the pitchfork and raises an eyebrow at me, a gleam of sweat on his brow. There’s a piece of straw in his hair that makes me smile.
“What did you call it? Stress-haying? What the heck is that?” he asks, with that delightful cynicism.
“It’s what you’re doing,” I say, then hold my hand out to the gray horse. “May I pet you?”
The horse nickers in approval and I pat his neck.
“I’m not stress-haying,” Will says, stretching his shoulders. “Jeremy only deserves the best.”
“Jeremy?”
“Yes.”
“I only know old men called Jeremy. How about Jemmy? Jezza? Jembino?”
When I glance over at Will, he’s staring at me strangely.
“What? You don’t like those nicknames?” I ask. Jeremy snorts happily. “See, he likes them.”
Will walks away without a word and leans the pitchfork against the stable wall. He turns around and opens his mouth, closes it. Takes a step forward. Stops. Flexes his fists. Runs his hand through his hair. I wait for him to go through whatever he’s going through.
“Jemmy, do you want some flowers in your mane?” I ask. “You’d look so pretty.”
“Fliss, stop it,” Will says sharply. He stands there with those wide hazel eyes and ruffled clothes.
“Stop what? Jemmy and I are bonding.”
He starts to speak again but clenches his teeth and looks aside.
“How can you—?” Will starts to ask, then breaks off. There’s a flush of shame on his cheeks, and it occurs to me that he hasn’t been avoiding me because he doesn’t want to see me. Maybe he hasn’t been able to shake the guilt.
I take slow steps to stand right in front of him.
“Will, it’s okay. I’m okay,” I say.
“How can you act like everything is fine?” he growls. “I almost killed you.”
His hands jerk like he was going to reach out for me but thought better of it. Like he doesn’t trust those hands to not hurt me.
“Will, look at me. I’m fine,” I say, and brush sawdust from his shoulders. The movement finally forces him to bring his eyes to mine, and they sweep me away like the wind that brought us here. If only I could rid them of that remorse.
“Fliss, you crawled down three flights of stairs, leaving a river of blood behind you,” Will says. “You almost died trying to break me out of the dungeons.”
“I would have died if I hadn’t.”
“Only because I put you in danger in the first place!”
“I would do it again. If I got you out alive. If it meant you were safe.”
“You shouldn’t have to!”
I almost stamp my foot in frustration. I can’t tell if the buzzing in my veins is from anger or from how close he is. I tilt my head up farther to glare at him.
“You spent five nights in an iron cell and almost killed yourself helping me release the gemstone’s magic,” I remind him.
That pinch between his eyebrows doesn’t ease. “Oh yeah, that’s really comparable to almost bleeding to death.”
“Maybe if you stopped hiding and talked about it—”
“What is there to talk about? I stabbed you!”
“Yes—but— Well, did you even want to stab Bash?”
“No!”
“Then, what were you thinking? Why did you pick up the sword?”
His eyes flicker wildly. “I don’t know, Fliss! I don’t know! I was just—I was so angry, and I saw him glance at it and—I didn’t think—”