A Warrior’s Heart by Misty M. Beller
8
Brielle hated feeling out of control. But watching Evan cast up his accounts all through the night smothered her with the sensation.
Audrey had stayed with them for a while, soothing his brow with wet cloths after each episode, then coaxing sips of cool water down his throat.
The man looked truly miserable, his face pale and tinged with green, and each vomit seemed to leave him lifeless. Watching him brought back memories of the last time she’d been overtaken by a similar ailment. She’d nearly wished for the relief of death. Maybe not quite, but that time had been the most miserable sickness in her recollection. Her sister, Charlotte, had succumbed to the vomiting, too. Brielle had been too weak to help, and Audrey had come to nurse them both. Her tender touch and sweet demeanor had been more healing than the tonic she administered. Thankfully, Audrey hadn’t succumbed to the illness, though she’d stayed with them through the worst of it.
Brielle glanced at Evan. Was his malady catching? Or was this truly an effect of the sleeping potion? Lord, don’t let Audrey take sick because of caring for him. Her kindness shouldn’t be repaid with misery.
Somewhere around midnight, Evan finally dozed off. Audrey’s weary eyes were lined with exhaustion, and her shoulders drooped, so Brielle motioned for her to go on to her family’s apartment.
Audrey stood and gathered a tray of cups and bowls. “Have him drink water anytime he awakes.”
Brielle motioned her on. “I’ll see to him.”
Audrey turned and shuffled out. She rose early each morning, so she’d likely been on her feet for nearly a full day. With the close of the door, silence settled, broken only by Evan’s steady breathing.
Brielle settled against the cool stone wall to make arrows again. She’d have a dozen quivers full by the time they decided what to do with this man.
For a long moment, she allowed herself to pause and study him. He lay curled on his side facing her, a shock of hair lying across his brow. In the torchlight, the strands shone bright amber, but she remembered it as almost black that day she’d watched him approach the entrance to Laurent.
His face appeared earnest in sleep, his brow puckered, as though concerned about something. Did he relive their conversation in his dreams? She’d already replayed the words many times herself.
He wasn’t telling all about his journey, of that she was certain. When Papa went through his packs, he’d found a paper with the letterhead of the United States Army. Was he a soldier? Or a spy?
If he’d come looking for their village, how had he known they were there? The Dinee natives might have spread the word about Laurent’s existence. But what did he want? Merely to find out if the rumor was true? Had his country sent him to spy out her people’s strengths and weaknesses while they planned an attack?
If they let him go, where would he return to? Whom would he tell? Would they send back men with guns? Or were they only curious? So much they needed to know, and she needed to learn answers before the council’s vote.
But even if Evan told all, would she be able to trust that he was speaking the truth?
She had to find a way to make him talk. Torture wasn’t an option, despite the fact he thought they poisoned him for that purpose. Her people were peace-loving. They only wanted to remain completely on their own, invisible to the world except for the natives they traded with.
A moan drifted across the space between them, and the wrinkles in his brow grew deeper, scrunching into a look of pain.
Not the sickness again.
Should she do something to help him? She’d tried to tend her brother and sister during their childhood sickness, but Audrey always seemed to know when to show up to help. And the children always preferred her gentle touch over Brielle’s fumbling.
If this man needed another arrow in his gut, she could do the job well, hitting exactly where she aimed. She could hunt meat, decipher the tracks of every animal in the area. She could distinguish between the calls of all the birds. Could even know a herd of caribou or elk simply by the actions of the birds around them.
But nursing was Audrey’s specialty.
Another groan sounded, this one filling the room and knotting her own insides with its agony.
Evan clutched his belly and rolled, squeezing his eyes shut and tucking his knees up to his middle.
Maybe she should put a damp cloth over his forehead like Audrey had done. Or was that only after the man vomited? He’d cast up his accounts so many times, there couldn’t be anything left inside to spew. Except maybe the few sips of water Audrey had coaxed down him.
She pushed to her feet, but as she started toward him, he fumbled for the bowl and heaved himself upright. With a grunt that echoed through the little stone room, his body convulsed. He pressed his face over the bowl, but despite the spasms, nothing came out.
Brielle hovered two strides away as another surge hit him. This wave seemed to come up from his deepest core and thrust his face down into the bowl. The third time, a moan accompanied the convulsion. The sound ripped through her, drawing her closer to him.
In truth, he sounded as though he might be dying. For a long moment, he sat hunched over the container, drawing in deep rasping breaths. He couldn’t seem to get enough air, and each gulp gurgled, like the breath was half water. What was wrong with him? This must be more than a simple stomach ailment. Was it a delayed reaction to the potion from her arrow? The tip had entered his midsection, so maybe the poison had finally spread into his gut, and his body now tried to rid itself of the toxic substance.
Don’t die, Evan.
She’d never killed a man, but if she’d caused his death in defense of her people, would it be justified? The thought of losing him, of snuffing out the kindness in his eyes, twisted in her chest like a knife blade.
At last, Evan pushed the bowl aside and turned back to slump down on his pallet. This time he faced away from her, his shoulders still heaving with every breath.
She forced herself to close the final step between them and drop to her knees by his side. He seemed in so much pain; the last thing she wanted was for her efforts to make his suffering worse. But she took up the bowl of cool water and rag, then wrung out some of the liquid and lifted the cloth to his face.
She could only reach his temple the way he’d positioned himself, but as she dabbed the rag on the sweat gathered there, his breathing slowed. His shoulders no longer heaved. Instead, they rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His body slowly relaxed.
She stroked the cloth over his face, every part she could reach. Then drew it back to dip in the water again. He turned his head toward her, his eyes still shut. His lips parted in a single word. “Please.”
The ache inside her pulled so tight that she could barely breathe. She quickly wrung out the cloth and laid it over the part of his brow she hadn’t been able to reach before. “I’m here.”
The words seemed to soothe him as much as the cool cloth, although she wouldn’t have thought he’d want her presence, of all people. Maybe he simply didn’t want to be alone during his misery.
Alone as he died.
The idea of his death pierced her own midsection. Lord, please. I wasonly protecting my people.
She soothed the cloth over his face until the fabric grew warm again, but this time she warned him before drawing away. “I’m going to make it cool again.”
His mouth parted as though he would speak, but then his lips simply worked like he was struggling to moisten them.
Water. Audrey said he needed to drink lots of water.
She reached for the cup. “See if you can take a sip. I’ll lift your head.”
As she slipped her hand into the thick hair at the back of his head, she tried not to let herself dwell on being so near this man. Even ill, he wore a kind of virile manliness like a layer over his skin. The warmth of his body under her fingers stirred her too much. She pressed the thought aside and focused on not spilling the water as she raised the cup to his mouth. When the smooth wood touched his lips, his eyelids raised. He watched the cup as he swallowed once, then lifted his gaze to her while he swallowed a second time.
They were half an arm’s length apart, and she could see every golden fleck scattered through the brown of his eyes. His lips—full lips for a man—were dry and chapped.
His lashes lowered again . . . long lashes. How had she not noticed them before? They framed his eyes, probably adding to the intensity of his gaze.
After a third sip, he laid back, and she eased her hand from behind his head.
Her nerves hummed from being so near him. Had he felt a stirring, too? He must be too miserable to feel pleasure of any kind. She needed to escape back to her wall so she could bring order to the churning inside her, but she should cool him more with the wet cloth first. That seemed to settle his pain more than anything.
Her fear of his proximity gnawed at her. She was a warrior. She could sit here and cool the man’s brow if that’s what was needed.
Three more times she wrung the dripping water from the cloth and soothed it over his face until the fabric grew hot. He wasn’t feverish exactly. At least, not that she could tell. His warmth might have come from the exertion of vomiting. The act seemed to have stripped all the strength from him.
At last, his breathing grew even again, so she dropped the rag back into the water and simply sat beside him. Her eyes roamed his features, but sitting here staring at him would do her no good. While he slept, she should retreat to her wall and work on her arrows. She should.
But another length of time passed before she finally made herself push to her feet. By then, every line of his face was imprinted in her mind’s eye.
Now, she wouldn’t be able to forget him, even if she wanted to.
“Brielle, he needs to spend some time in the sunlight.” Audrey had pulled Brielle to the side as Evan ate his midday meal. Nibbled at the meal, anyway. This was the first bit of food he’d attempted since his sickness started the night before. “He should be strong enough to walk now, and I can’t imagine he’s a danger, not as bad as he feels.”
Brielle studied the man, still pale from the illness. Still handsome, despite his dire situation.
He glanced up to meet her look, raising his brows in question.
Did her nonsensical thoughts betray her? She schooled her features. She’d not allow him to think her weak. Especially in that way.
He probably knew they were speaking about him. Audrey spoke in French, but not so loud that he could hear and understand the words if he knew the language.
She shifted her focus back to her friend. “Are you certain he’s strong enough?” He’d vomited only once more after that first time she tended him alone, but the final time had seemed to strip the remainder of his strength. The rest of the night he lay almost lifeless, the gentle rise and fall of his chest the only sign he still breathed.
When Gerald arrived that morning to begin his shift as guard, she left for a little while to take care of her responsibilities in their quarters. When she’d arrived back in this room, Evan had been awake. Audrey had propped his head up and was helping him drink from the water cup.
He seemed exhausted, but his eyes had offered a weary greeting as they tracked her across the room. Awareness of him tightened her insides, but she worked to focus on her duties. Audrey had cared for him in her pleasant, thorough way, and Brielle had to push down the surge of whatever it was that made her want—only for a moment—to take her friend’s place.
The memory rose up completely unbidden from the night before, of the warm strands of his hair sliding across her fingers. It was then that she turned away from Evan to speak to Gerald again.
As much as she should have taken herself far away from the storage chamber, she told Gerald his shift was over. She would watch Evan for the day, and Philip would relieve her at nightfall when his shift started.
Thankfully, Evan had slept the remainder of the morning, and the slumber must have done him good, as evidenced by the way he now sat up and nibbled the pastry.
“Can I ask him? I’m sure he’s strong enough.” Audrey’s voice tugged her back to the question at hand.
A bit of sunlight might do them all good. At least the visit outdoors would keep her from being alone with the man all afternoon, with only the work on her arrows to keep her from staring at him. She’d done enough of that to last a lifetime.
When Brielle nodded, Audrey spun, and pleasure rang from her voice as she switched to English. “Evan, are you up for a stroll outside? It’s a warm day, and I think the sunshine will do you good.”
He straightened and lowered the pastry, his gaze pivoting to Brielle.
She nodded her consent, although he’d surely seen her make the same motion to Audrey. He must have thought he’d never see daylight again.
She wasn’t such an ogre that she would deny a man sunshine forever, although perhaps it was best he thought of her that way. The twist in her belly said otherwise, but she pressed the feeling down.
Audrey reached to help him up, but he shook his head. “I can do it better if I go slowly.” His voice had taken on a gentle tone that seemed more than weariness. Perhaps the sickness had brought out a softer side.
With Audrey hovering near his right arm, Brielle stationed herself at his left—near enough she could step close if he appeared unstable, but far enough he couldn’t grab one of her weapons. She kept her hand near her blade, just in case. Yet she was fairly certain his exhaustion wasn’t feigned.
And her intuition told her he wouldn’t attempt an escape during this particular outing. He seemed pleased with the prospect of sunlight.
He made it to his feet and paused, his breathing heavy. Was he also dizzy? She readied herself to step close enough to catch him if he started to topple.
But then he looked steadier and started a steady shuffle to the door.
They moved down the long corridor that extended along the rear of each family’s abode. She could still remember when this hallway had been hacked out of the mountain after the English massacre. Before that, each home only opened to the main courtyard. But the elders decided they should have a way to connect the people if they were ever forced to hide from intruders inside the rock walls.
“We can go through here.” Audrey motioned to the rear door of her family’s chamber.
Although that cut through would be quicker than walking all the way down to the only door leading directly from the hallway to outside, Brielle shook her head. “The main door.”
Better not to let him see inside any of their homes. Maybe he would find something he liked and plan to take it with him if they ever let him leave—perhaps that something he’d alluded to when they were talking. Something he’d never seen before that he’d come searching for.
When they finally reached the main entrance, Brielle gave the door a hard nudge with her shoulder. The cold tended to make the wood swell and scrape the stone around the frame. Better a snug fit than to allow the icy wind and snow into the cave, though.
As sunlight poured in, she blinked against the brightness. Evan slapped a hand over his eyes and tucked his chin. Poor man. The brilliance must be nearly blinding to him. She could only imagine how miserable he’d been locked inside for days. Bringing him out would be helpful, if only for a few minutes.
Across the yard, some of the children were tossing a short rope between them, and their laughter floated across the breeze. The giggling sounded like one of the Mignot twins, or maybe Philip’s youngest. A boy shouted that he was open to receive the throw, then a flurry of voices rose as the leather cord was tossed high into the air.
The cacophony increased in pitch as the object landed, and they all dove for it. Someone howled, maybe in delight, but another cry rose along with the sound. One of the youngest must have been caught in the midst of the melee.
Widow Cameron waded through the youngsters, soothing as she went. When Monsieur Cameron had died in a snowstorm, she became the unofficial nursemaid of the youngsters. In exchange, the families around her helped supply food, firewood, and anything else she might need.
Brielle glanced at Evan, who was staring at the children. He seemed caught by the drama, more than she would’ve expected. Had he planned some ill deed toward the youngsters? But the expression on his face held no malice. In truth, he looked even more pale than before, although that could be attributed to exhaustion, sickness, or simply the brightness of the sunlight. Yet, he looked almost stricken.
He blinked and seemed to come back to himself. After glancing around the yard, he pointed toward the gateway. “There. That’s where I first realized you were a woman.” One side of his mouth tipped as he slid a glance toward her.
She bit her lip to keep in her grin but didn’t do a very good job of it. “You thought me a man?”
His brows rose. “When your arrow struck me, yes. Then I heard you speak and wondered how in the world a lad had bested me.”
She stiffened. He’d thought she was a young boy? That was even worse than if he’d realized immediately that she was a woman.
Maybe he realized he’d offended her, for his next words came softer. “Then when I saw your face, there”—he pointed to the place just inside the gateway where he’d collapsed—“I knew nothing was as I’d thought.”
The words slipped inside her, circling as they settled in her mind. What had he thought he’d find here? If he’d been sent by his country to scout their village before they planned an assault, was he now having second thoughts?