Part 24 (1/2)

He slid a hand inside his jack, touching his shoulder. The linen was damp. He pulled his hand away and inspected his fingers. Blood. Perhaps he'd only pulled the st.i.tches loose. And perhaps there was seepage mixed with the blood. Corruption.

He bit down on his lip, willing away a sickening wave of dizziness. He must not succ.u.mb to the fever, to the delirium. He was stronger than Fayth, and she needed him, or she would die. He pushed away from the horse and scanned the area around the cave. He knew this place. There was a burn not far, if he could only remember which direction. Fog obscured everything. The raw edge of panic gripped him. He knew the west march, could find his way in the thickest fog, the deepest night. This disorientation frightened him.

Alex closed his eyes, envisioning this patch of forest in the daylight. There was a faint trail, to his right, left by animals. He opened his eyes and started forward. He couldn't discern a trail, but kept moving. Soon he heard the faint gurgle of water and he ran, relieved. He slipped down an embankment, lost his footing, and splashed into the water.

The freezing water stole his breath. He gasped, crawling from the stream. He s.h.i.+vered on the bank, trying to catch his breath. The water had braced him, cleared his head. Fayth. Alone in the cave. He quickly filled the skin and picked his way back through the forest.

Bear was at the cave entrance, his head inside, brown tail swis.h.i.+ng anxiously. Alex pushed the horse aside, ducking to enter. The ceiling was low; he couldn't stand straight. But he'd placed her near the entrance. Wolf was there, sitting by Fayth's side. She stood when Alex entered, wagging her tail joyfully.

”Biddy?” Fayth said, her hand on the dog's side. Then her eyes found Alex, fever bright and fearful. He was undone by her wobbly smile, the relief in her face at his return. He sank to his knees beside her.

”Here, drink.” He slid his hand beneath her neck, tilting her head to take the water. She drank deeply, some of it running down her neck. Several strips of linen secured Fayth's arm to her side. Alex removed one of the linens and soaked it in water, wiping the cloth over her face and neck. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes red.

”Stay,” she said.

He stretched out beside her. She lay her head on his wounded shoulder. He gritted his teeth until the pain subsided. He stared at the ceiling as Wolf-or Biddy, as Fayth called the dog-settled down beside him, and prayed Davie would not be long.

Alex didn't know how long he'd been sleeping. His entire shoulder throbbed with a dull sickening pulse, in time with the pounding of his head. He groaned, trying to roll over, but something pinned him to the ground. He raised his head, squinting. Sunlight streamed through the cave's opening. A cloud of red-brown curls rested on his shoulder.

Alex dropped his head back down. His saddle was beneath his head. He didn't remember doing that. That wasn't good. But he knew why he was here. He'd come here because Fayth could not be moved. She was mindless with the fever from her wound. He was waiting for Davie.

His eyes burned and he knew she wasn't the only one boiling with fever, but his wits were still intact and that was a good sign. He needed to tend her. Feed her, give her water, dress her wound.

With great effort he eased himself to sitting, moving her gently off his shoulder and resting her head on a rolled-up blanket. His stomach roiled and the pounding in his skull nearly blinded him. When his head cleared, he leaned over her, checking her color. She'd been so pale, before. Now she was flushed, her lips dry and cracked. He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek and drew back at the heat. She moaned softly, fidgeting, her brow creasing.

He reached for the water skin, pleased to find it full. He must've filled it last night. He slid a hand beneath her neck.

”Wake, la.s.s,” he said, holding the mouth of the water skin to her lips. She tried to turn her head away until he tipped it. Water spilled over her lips, running down her chin. Her eyes came open and then she was drinking, greedy, gasping for breath.

”Slow it down,” he murmured, pulling the skin away.

She swallowed and grimaced. ”More.” Her voice was raspy, raw, her fevered gaze fixed on his. He gave her a bit more, then set it aside. He laid her head back on the blanket.

”Let me change your dressings, then we'll eat something, aye?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face.

The sleeve had been ripped off her s.h.i.+rt, so it didn't impede efforts to monitor the wound. The dressing was stained with fresh blood. He kept his face impa.s.sive as he gently unwound the linen. She gasped, her breath shuddering in and out, but never cried out, or told him to stop. He saw, when the wound was exposed, that the bleeding had stopped and the st.i.tches held. It was merely seeping. It was swollen and red, but the seepage was clear and didn't smell. That was good. Of course, it was early, the wound could still corrupt. He didn't know if or when it should be amputated and wished fervently for Davie.

He had no wine so he poured water over it and dried it with a clean cloth. As he rewrapped it, she said, ”Why are you doing this?”

”Doing what?”

”Taking care of me. Dressing my wound.”

”Someone has to.” He tied it off and met her gaze. ”And I'm afraid I'm all you've got right now.”

”Red Alex is all I've got.” She shook her head slowly, her eyes drifting shut.

Obviously she'd regained her mind, if she knew who he was. He supposed there was little chance now of coaxing another kiss from her. Ah well... He hoped she wouldn't become uncooperative-not that there was much she could do, other than be unpleasant.