Seventh Son
CHAPTER 5
It must have been an hour or two later when Cat was startled awake. The man on the bed was muttering and moving around. Restlessly he tossed his head from side to side, his breathing ragged and uneven. Cat sprang to her feet. What to do? If only she’d gone into nursing, not library work, she wouldn’t be so helpless now. Then again, how was she supposed to have known that she would end up in a quasi-medieval strange magical place, left to look after an injured man with not even a first-aid kit to help her out? Come to think of it, twenty-first-century medical training wouldn’t have helped much here, either—the lack of a first-aid kit was one of the clues.
She stepped over to the bed and looked down at the restless man. He had tossed half his covers off, his chest was partly exposed, and his feet were tangled in the blanket. It looked quite uncomfortable. Gingerly she reached out a hand (oh, this was embarrassing!) and laid it on his bare shoulder, then quickly snatched it back. He was burning hot! No wonder he was tossing around so. He must have developed a fever from his injury. Where was the bossy woman when you needed her?
Cat desperately tried to look out into the darkness beyond the windows over the bed, willing Ouska to come back. The night was unresponsive; all Cat could see was the reflection of the candles on the mantelpiece, now more than halfway burned down. The man moaned. Nothing else for it; Cat would have to try to do something for him on her own. People used to sponge feverish patients with cool water, didn’t they? Cat had read lots of Victorian novels. She was fairly certain that in those, sponging was one of the treatment options for sick people. Along with calf’s foot jelly and strengthening broths—not that she had any of those on hand, nor a sponge, for that matter. The best she could do right now would be to untangle his covers and hope it would make him a bit easier.
She gently pulled the blanket free, afraid of accidentally touching the leg on the side where his injury was, and straightened it out over his feet. He was twisting his head from one side to the other, his hands snatching at the blanket, at his arms, at nothing. She reached for the top edge of the blanket to pull it up over his chest, but suddenly found her wrist clamped in an iron grip.
Startled, her eyes flew to his face. His eyes were wide open, staring. Turquoise again, of course—even in the dim candlelight Cat could make that out. He looked at her with a glassy gaze that told Cat he was not really seeing her, but his grasp on her wrist was hard and unyielding.
“It’s okay, you’re safe,” she murmured at him, “don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” The soothing noises came out almost automatically; it was not as if she had any idea if he was, in fact, safe, and would be fine. She tried to pry his fingers off her arm, not breaking the eye contact. After a long minute, his glassy stare wavered. He blinked, and his grip loosened just a little. Cat managed to unclasp the hot fingers from around her wrist, but when she tried to pull free he grasped again, this time catching her hand and holding it tight.
“Karana!” His voice was rough, raspy. “Karana—marry me!”
What?!? Now this was getting ridiculous. No, she was not going to agree to marry a total stranger, in a strange land, who wasn’t even conscious of what he was saying—wait, he wasn’t conscious of what he was saying. He didn’t even know who she was; he thought she was this Karana person, whoever that was. Maybe agreeing with him would calm him enough to settle down again for a little while.
“Karana!” he insisted, rough, pleading. His eyes were deeply worried, the brows contracted with pain and the emotion he was gripped in.
Very well. You had to humour sick people, didn’t you?
“Karana…”
“Yes,” Cat said, gently laying her free hand over the fingers which held onto her. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He heaved a deep sigh, and the worry seemed to drain from his turquoise eyes. Suddenly there came a soft whimper from the corner of the room. Bibby! The whimper grew louder, and became a full-blown cry.
“I’ll get her,” said Cat, and this time he let go of her. She laid his hand gently down on the covers, quickly pulled the blanket up over his chest, and stood up to deal with the baby.
Bibby, too, had kicked off most of her blanket, and her little legs were cold to the touch.
“There, there!” Cat said, and scooped the little girl up in her arms (oh, thank goodness, the baby hadn’t wet her pants. A soggy bottom would have been more than Cat could have dealt with at that moment). She carried her back to the rocking chair, fished with her foot for the blanket she had dropped on the floor, managed to hook it with her toes, and balance on one foot long enough so she could grab a corner of the blanket. She wrapped it around herself and Bibby to keep out the chill that had settled on the cottage, then sank back into the chair and began rocking again.
A glance at the man on the bed showed that his eyes were closed again, and he was lying still, but his posture was tense, and his forehead still furrowed in pain.
Bibby had stopped crying when Cat picked her up but was still giving short, sobbing breaths and making little whimpery noises. Cat hugged the little body to herself, trying to infuse it with her own warmth. Bibby snuggled close and sniffled.
“Shh, baby, shhh,” murmured Cat (sway back, and forth, back, and forth), “shh, baby…”
The man on the bed was stirring again, twisting his head left and right with a jerky motion Cat had not seen before.
“Shh, baby…” Cat hummed (sway back, and forth, back, and forth…). Her hum turned into a melody, slow, gentle, one note up, one note down. “Hmm, huuhh, hmm, huuuh…”
The sick man’s hand clutched at his blanket; the baby drew sobbing breaths.
Cat’s hum became a lullaby. “Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop, when the wind blows the cradle will rock…” (sway back, and forth, back, and forth…)
The whimpering in Cat’s arms grew quieter; the twisting on the bed slowed.
“Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee” (back, and forth, back, and forth)
“All through the night” (back, and forth)
“Guardian angels God will lend thee, all through the night” (back, and forth, back, and forth)
“Soft the drowsy hours are creeping; hill and dale in slumber steeping…”
The baby gave a deep sigh, put her thumb into her mouth, and snuggled her soft little body deeper into Cat’s arms. The man’s body relaxed, and he drew slow, quiet breaths.
Cat leaned back her head; the rocking chair cradled her and the baby (softly, gently swaying back, and forth). Her song became a hum, then a whisper.
One of the candles on the mantle guttered and went out; the other burned on with a steady yellow glow into the night.