It might not help, but it sure couldn’t hurt—there was another one.
The “staying positive” philosophy was one she employed in caring for her patient. One of the ways she expressed it was in her constant conversations with Alexander. Well, not really conversations, since she was the only one talking, but she still considered it an important part of the process. Just because he appeared most of the time to be deeply asleep didn’t mean that he couldn’t hear her on some level. It was for this reason that she spent so much time talking to him when they were alone together.
It might not help but it couldn’t hurt. Maybe that would be the trite saying she would dredge up to use on her own grandkids. Assuming she ever got home to get married and have children of her own.
The thought of marriage brought Peter’s face wavering into her mind and sent another shiver down her spine. Peter. Cold, distant Peter.
“There is that,” she whispered to herself, coming to a stop at her destination.
If she couldn’t find a way home, at least she didn’t have to worry about ending up married to a man she didn’t love. And if she did find her way home…
“Positive attitude,” she reminded herself aloud, doubting very much that this was the sort of situation her grandmother had in mind all those times she recommended the course of action.
With a sigh, Annie pasted a smile on her face and pushed open the door to Alexander’s bedchamber.
“I was hoping you’d come back soon.” Aggie stood in the middle of the room, her basket of herbs and potions tucked under one arm and Lissa nowhere to be seen. “I sent Lissa on her way, but I canna stay here. Time has come for Mairi the seamstress and I’m needed at her side. It’s likely I’ll no’ be back to relieve you in watching over our laird through this night, so you’ll have to do it yerself. My blanket roll is by the fireplace and yer welcome to this use of it.”
“Mairi’s time has come?” Annie stared at the healer, at a loss as to what the old woman was trying to tell her other than that it appeared Aggie wouldn’t be coming to relieve her of her caretaking duties as she had each night. “Her time for what?”
“The arrival of her bairn, of course,” Aggie said, shaking her head and drawing the woolen she always wore around her shoulders in spite of the heat in the room. “By my way of figuring, the child should have come many days ago, but considering how stubborn Mairi and her man both are, it’s no surprise their wee one would take his own good time in meeting the world.”
“Okay. I get it now. You mean that someone’s having a baby. She’s in labor right now?” Annie set the tray down with a clatter to take Aggie’s arm and urge her toward the door. “Then you should go. I’ll take care of things here. No problem.”
Having a child in this day and age, without real doctors or hospitals, would be scary enough without having to do it all alone. Which was likely the whole reason midwives and healer women had come to be so important in the first place.
“So…” Annie said to the quiet room once she’d closed the door behind Aggie. Her long stretch of alone time had just gone from to three or four hours to something like fifteen or more. “No big deal. I can do this. Again. Just you and me, Alexander. You know, it sure would be nice if you decided to keep up your end of the conversation about now.”
For a moment of sound to break up the unrelenting boredom, she’d been reduced to talking not only to an unconscious patient, but also to herself. Not for the first time since she’d arrived in this century, she thought longingly of her wonderful e-reader, chock-full of all her favorite books, lying there waiting for her, seven hundred years from now.
A quick check on her patient assured her that he still slept, so her time, for now, was her own to occupy.
With another sigh, she put her hands on her hips and examined the room for something to do to keep her busy. Just as Aggie had said, her blankets lay in a neat roll by the fireplace, in the spot where she had slept each night since she and Annie had begun to share responsibility for Alexander’s care. While that might be the perfect spot for the ancient healer who always seemed to be cold, Annie considered it less than desirable. Snuggling up to a blazing fire in the middle of summer held little appeal to her. Besides, she had always been a sound sleeper. From this far away, she could easily miss it if Alexander were to wake and require assistance. All things considered, laying out her pallet next to his bed would be a better choice for her.
She gathered up the bedroll and crossed the room to the bed, stopping once again to consider where she wanted to spend her night. The far side of the bed, between him and the wall, seemed the better choice. She could go ahead and lay out her blankets now without having to walk all over them while she tended to her patient.
Once her decision was made and the blankets unrolled, she again prowled the room, looking for something to do with herself. The first couple of days she’d stayed busy with her relentless cleaning, but the room was as clean as she could get it now, so there was nothing left for her to do in that regard. If she couldn’t find a way out of this time soon, she might be forced to learn some sort of handiwork just to fill her time. She thought of all the lovely handmade things her grandmother had given her over the years, and regretted not taking the time to learn how to make some of them herself. Did they crochet or embroider in this century? She had no idea, but if they did, this might be her best opportunity ever to learn the crafts.
Still, having decided that she would accept Lissa’s offer to teach her to do something at some point in the future didn’t do much to help her occupy her time right now. Again she scanned the empty room, her eyes settling high up on the wall.
As if the room wasn’t already starkly depressing enough, the shutters that covered the opening high up in the wall were closed. Whether it was the result of wind blowing them shut or someone not stopping by to open them this morning, leaving them shut was not an attractive option. The room was too gloomy and too stuffy. She should have noticed that oversight earlier, but she’d been too busy plotting her visit to Alex.
“Left you in the dark today, did they?” she asked her sleeping patient. “That was pretty thoughtless of them. It’s like a mini-oven in here with those things closed. But don’t you worry about it. We’ll find a way to fix that little problem. Somehow. Let me just think for a moment.”
Though she was determined to remedy the situation, opening the shutters was not a task that would be easily accomplished. She realized that she’d never seen how it was done; it just always was done before she arrived each morning.
A few moments of studying the window and she thought of a way. Granted, it was a way that would have had her mother freaking out if she were here to watch her, but a way nevertheless.
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not here, Mom,” she said with a chuckle, dragging the heavy wooden table that usually sat by the fire to position it under the window.
Next she placed a wooden stool on top of the table and stepped back to study her handiwork. So far, so good. But not quite there yet. She wasn’t a short woman, but even she needed something else if she were to be able to reach the latch on the shutters.
“There has to be something. Another foot or two. That’s all I need,” she said, slowly making her way around the room. The trunk at the end of the bed was far too heavy to lift, so that was out of the question. “Ah-ha!” she exclaimed, hurrying to the fireplace to snatch up a large wooden bucket filled with wood, which she promptly dumped out onto the hearth.
Tucking the bucket under one arm, she gathered up her skirts and climbed up onto the table to position the bucket upside down on the stool. The bucket fit, though just barely, its lip hanging over the edge of the stool. A little wobbly, but she could make it work. She’d just have to be very careful.
It would do just fine.
As long as she didn’t look down.
Carefully, slowly, her fingers clinging to the rugged stone wall, she made her way up onto the bucket.
It was just ba
rely high enough, but, as she’d hoped, from this height she could swing open the heavy wooden shutters, allowing the bright sun to flood in through the window opening. She lifted her face to the gentle breeze that wafted through the open window, more than a little pleased with herself that she’d managed to solve her problem without having to go find someone to fix things for her.
Her moment of accomplishment faded as a noise from outside intruded on her thoughts. A clanging noise that sounded like metal banging against metal. If she were watching a movie, she’d swear it was the sounds of a sword fight.
Her curiosity piqued, she had no choice but to investigate. By stretching up onto her tiptoes, she could just see out through the opening and down into a portion of the castle grounds below. She strained to listen, realizing the sounds came from somewhere off to her left.
A heart-pounding fear filled her chest when she spotted the source of the sound. Two men, clearly engaged in battle, their swords clanging loudly against one another as they defended against being sliced to bits. After a moment of watching, she realized the men in the field below weren’t fighting for real but instead appeared to be engaged in some sort of practice battle. The murmur of their conversation as they switched off with a third participant demonstrated their lack of intent to harm one another. As the odd man out stepped away, another stepped in to take his place.
“Ho-ly shit,” she breathed, as the man who’d stepped away peeled off his shirt to reveal an exceptionally impressive set of back muscles.
When he turned back to the others, she realized the fighter in question was none other than Alex. She also couldn’t help noting that the chest muscles he sported were equally impressive. She’d suspected as much when she’d shared a horse with him, but she’d been so distraught that day, she hadn’t really been in any mood to appreciate his physical attributes.
Considering that her mood was considerably improved today from what it had been on that first day here, she found herself filled with appreciation now.
The other two men, Jamesy and Finn, pulled off their own shirts, laughing out loud as they resumed their swordplay.
It was an awe-inspiring spectacle spread out below her, with each of the men displaying an athleticism she’d never imagined ancient warriors would have had. While any one of the three would put to shame the artful work of even the best of Hollywood’s makeup artists or CGI developers, it was Alex himself who held her attention.
How could such a grumpy, brooding, arrogant man be so darn gorgeous?
“I’ll give you credit for one thing, Alexander,” she said to her sleeping patient. “You sure did raise one kick-ass, handsome son.”
She’d watched for quite some time when, to her delight, Alex stepped away from the other two men to pick up a bucket setting at the edge of their field of combat and dump it over his head. For perhaps the first time in her life, she finally understood the attraction of those wet T-shirt contests she’d heard about. Only this was even better, because there was no T-shirt impeding her view.
“Better than chocolate,” she said aloud.
“Annie?”
The raspy sound coming from the direction of the bed startled her, and the bucket under her feet teetered for a moment before she managed to right herself. Unfortunately, it was time for her to walk away from the best entertainment she’d found since she’d arrived in this century. Her patient was awake.
“I’m here,” she answered, remembering not to look down as she descended her makeshift tower and slid off the table to stand on solid floor. “I’m so glad you’re awake. I’ve something special for you to try today. Where I come from, we call it pâté. Sort of.”
She made the decision earlier not to tell him exactly what she was going to try to feed him. Opting for a fancier—though not at all accurate—name might entice him to try a couple of bites. Liver sounded so much less appealing. Almost as unappealing as the brown goo looked and smelled once she’d squished it into the chicken broth to feed to him.
“Doona want,” Alexander whispered. “Thirsty. Mead.”
“Okay then, if you’re thirsty, you can have a drink first. Then we’ll have a couple of bites.”
With one arm behind Alexander’s head, she lifted him forward and put the tankard to his lips.
“Water,” he sputtered, his face scrunching into a frown as soon as the liquid rolled down his throat.
“Exactly. Water’s good for you. And if I just had a glass of ice for it, you’d love it, I’m sure.” She lifted a small wooden bowl to his lips, and when he refused to drink, she tried some encouragement. “Have just a little sip for me. This is chicken broth mixed with just a touch of…um…pâté. My grandmother always swore by the healing power of chicken broth. You get a few swallows of this down you, and tomorrow I’ll bring you some of that honey mead the cook tells me you like so much.”
“Stinks of offal,” he managed to say before taking his first swallow. “Tastes of…liver.”
He had her there. This liver mash and real pâté were about as much alike as milk and milk chocolate. She’d be the first to admit that she’d pulled the new name out of thin air, thinking if she made this nasty concoction sound better, it might go down easier.
“Liver, pâté…same thing,” she lied, keeping her smile fixed in place as she attempted to dismiss his complaint. “In an offhand sort of way. What’s important is that it’s good for you, so you need to eat it. It’ll help build strong red blood cells to replace all those that Master Montague drained out of you. Come on, just a little more.”
Two more small swallows and the old man’s eyes drifted shut.
“Hard bargain to get what I want,” he whispered.
“I know,” Annie agreed. “But you did really good. We’ll have a little more of this later on, and tomorrow, I promise, you’ll get your mead.”
One corner of Alexander’s lips curled into what she hoped was a smile before his face went slack and he drifted back into the world of sleep that claimed so much of him.
Annie tucked the covers around him again and placed the tray back on the hearth before returning to the bedside to study her patient. His color was better, no doubt about it. And he was waking more frequently, though for only very short periods of time and never when anyone else was in the room, making it difficult to get anyone to believe her when she told them he was improving.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, patting his covered foot. “Soon enough, you’ll be sitting up on your own, taking visitors and talking to your whole family. Then they’ll see I was right.”
At least, she hoped that was what was going to happen. If not…No. She didn’t want to think about any of the possible if nots. She’d never been completely responsible for anyone’s wellbeing before, and she certainly didn’t want to blow it now that she was.
With a long, empty afternoon and evening ahead of her, she concentrated on making a mental list of all the things she needed to do.
“Number one,” she said aloud as she paced the length of the room. “I need to figure out some undeniably necessary reason to get back to the arbor. Too bad you’re not awake to help me with that one. After all, you know your son much better than I do. Number two…”
She paused, realizing there really wasn’t a number two on her list. Until she could thoroughly search that arbor and locate some clue to the mystery of how she could get back home, taking care of Alexander was her only task. And she knew from experience that once he’d wakened and gone back to sleep, she faced several hours of boredom and inactivity.
Noting the sound of swordplay continued outside, she considered checking back in on the battle below. There was no reason not to, right? It wasn’t like she had anything else to do, or like anyone would catch her ogling the men as they practiced. Aggie wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, and no one else came up here in the afternoons. Why shouldn’t she? She couldn’t think of a single reason not to indulge in a little voyeuristic entertainment.
Once again she carefully c
limbed the shaky platform to catch a glimpse of the activity in the courtyard below. Jamesy and Finn were still hard at it, and another couple of men had joined in, but Alex was nowhere to be seen.
“His bucket’s gone, too,” she murmured.
Perhaps he’d gone for more water. The well was just off to the right, just beyond her line of vision.
If only she were an extra inch taller.
Annie stretched up as far as possible, straining to see out beyond the thick stones that formed the window opening, out to where the well stood. By hooking her fingers over the stone casing of the opening, she could give herself just enough of an edge to lift up onto the very tips of her toes. Not good enough. But if she pulled herself up, she should be able to support her weight against the edge of the window opening. Mustering all her strength, she pulled herself up to balance against the opening like a precariously posed ballerina. It wasn’t a spot she could maintain for long. Already the muscles in her arms were shaking in protest of the effort she’d demanded of them. In spite of the strain, the position worked perfectly to allow her to see one side of the well, even though the man she’d hoped to spot wasn’t there.
What the position didn’t work well for was letting herself back down.
When she attempted to lower her weight back onto the balls of her feet, the bucket wobbled and toppled from under her, sending both itself and the three-legged stool on which it had stood pitching over on the floor with a loud clatter. She hung from the window casing like a rock climber whose rope had broken, her fingertips mashed against the sharp outer edge of the stones.
As she struggled to hold on, it took her a moment to realize the little squeaking sound she heard came from her. Another moment passed before the realization set in that she wasn’t going to be able to hold on. Already her fingers were slipping over the rough stone, carving little ridges into her skin.
There was no way she had the strength left to pull herself back up onto the ledge. All she could do now was to hang on. The sting in her fingers was nothing compared to what she’d feel falling the eight or so feet to the stone floor below.
All The Time You Need Page 12
