Mystified

by Renee Bernard

  He turned back, instantly seizing on the awareness that there was someone else there.

  An angel.

  I am definitely dying.

  Angels are very pretty. I should have guessed that. Why didn’t I guess that? Always pretty in paintings but this one is…this one is ridiculously lovely and I like the golden color of her curls and the singing is... Angels are terrible singers. I like it. Shouldn’t like it. But there you have it. There is no accounting for a man’s personal tastes.

  “It is a wicked fire,” she said calmly. “But you have the power to put it out.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Can’t put it out if we run from it, Mr. Hambly. You must fight.”

  “No.”

  No time for angels. I’m expected at the castle.

  Except it was a struggle to remember why he needed to be anywhere and the fire demanded his attention.

  I’m cursed.

  Which makes no sense because I don’t believe in curses. I need to tell her that I don’t believe in curses.

  The angel was far too beautiful to fear the flames and her calm encircled him.

  It’s too hot. I should run.

  The angel shook her head, hearing his thoughts, tied to him inextricably with bonds he couldn’t see but could only feel. Stones drifted past their heads and still, she didn’t move.

  Damn it. Not running. No more running. Not from any of it. Black stones and curses…

  Very well. I’ll die here and the angel can hold my hand. Small price to pay for her company and I’ll send word to the castle that I am very sorry but I am apparently going to be late to the gathering.

  How does one phrase that correspondence?

  Please accept my deepest regrets but as I am never ill, I am regrettably detained as…Death and I are having an argument about when it is wise to run from a fire, about how many stones there are in the walls of Castle Keyvnor and I…

  “Stay with me,” the angel said softly.

  He nodded, a tendril of gallows humor making him smile since he wasn’t going anywhere, was he? His understanding of a field of floating stones and raging fires appeared to dictate that he wasn’t in any position to dictate itineraries.

  “Yield it to me. Let it go now. Give the fire to me.” The angel was touching him, drawing the heat from him and suddenly the calm was gone.

  Gone.

  The surreal world around him leapt back into motion but this time faster—the stones hurtled through the air, the flames roared into a wildfire and there was nothing that wasn’t chaos and terror.

  Except her. With her hands out. Touching him. Speaking in a cadence about…warriors and fires and maidens and…letting go of the fire…

  Too tired to fight.

  A small selfish demon inside him pouted that he was in no mood to share—not fires or numbers or…whatever she wanted, he was not convinced he had enough to go around and if the angel wanted curses, she could very well fly off and get some of her own.

  But she was relentless.

  Hands.

  Voice.

  Willful thing. Angels are very pretty but they are also very bossy.

  Very.

  Night fell and still her father had not arrived. It had been easier to be brave while the sun shone but now alone with her handsome patient with only candlelight and firelight to stave off the darkness, Elethea had to face her fears. It was after midnight and he was unraveling fast.

  Too fast.

  The crisis was coming. She sensed it and braced herself for the battle. It was so much faster than she’d expected. “Father is coming but…the Carrols’ baby must be keeping him and so it is just you and me, Mr. Hambly. Don’t worry. We’ll defeat this dragon.” Elethea deliberately kept her voice bright and confident. But a new terror had begun to insinuate itself as each hour had passed.

  He’s the heir presumptive…they’ll blame Father for not getting here….they’ll look for the nearest soul to crucify for it and I must ensure that it is all on me. It is up to me to do whatever I can. It’s tears. Gran dreamt of tears but I don’t see how losing him resolves anything… Oh, Goddess help me…

  He was weaker, his movements more frantic but far less powerful as the heat sapped his strength. Elethea opened the windows, the cool Autumn breeze sweeping into the room to make the candles sputter in protest at the chilling touch of air. She moved to him, then pulled back the bedcovers to expose as much of his skin as she could manage to the night air. Ella wrung out the cloths and began to bathe him again, this time in a pattern of caresses, encircling his heart and then working out to his extremities. She moved her hands, every so lightly, and envisioned that with every touch she was pulling lit threads through his frame, weaving a healing energy of her own spirit into the ailing tapestry of his core.

  “Doesn’t that feel lovely?” she said softly. “Stay with me and let’s count together, yes?”

  Hot to the touch, I swear I can feel the steam from your body, dear sir. It’s edges sting, this fever has such sharp edges but…

  Breathe with me and let this fire go.

  Without realizing it, she began to speak aloud the healing direction of her thoughts. “Breathe with me, dear man. Let the fire go. To me. Give the fire to me.”

  “No,” he moaned. “Mustn’t hurt angels.”

  She shook her head. “No angels here, dear stubborn man.” She sighed and closed her eyes as she began to pray, speaking aloud her spellwork. “To me. I take it so. I take it with an open heart. I take it fearlessly. This Warrior’s Fire. Blaze brightly for battle’s sake and into the fray, it serves the Warrior’s Will and now mine. Serve my will! Burn Warrior Fire at the command of the Goddess and the will of the Maiden. Behold, the Goddess Fire burns brighter and overtakes it. Fire to my hands—serve my will! To battle! My strength to this man’s! Bone to bone. Blood to blood. Breath to breath. Warrior Fire yields to Maiden Fire. Maiden Fire yields to Goddess Fire and we are through. We are through it. To my hands submit this fire. I am a shield-maiden and cannot yield. Aine’s tears douse this heat and bring him back unbroken.”

  Please.

  Unbroken.

  Tears slowly fell down her cheeks unheeded and onto his skin. She wept but didn’t stop her work. Didn’t stop touching him, directing all her energy and will into his body to demand that when the fever crested and broke, he would be left behind—a marooned and intact survivor floating back after the storm’s tide. She lost track of time and could not have said how long they battled together, how long she prayed, how many times she traced her circles on his skin and invoked Aine’s mercy until her body felt as if it were infused with sand and grit from exhaustion.

  Waves of heat rippled up from her fingertips and she recognized the familiar sensation at last. Small tremors of power channeled through her and Ella’s tears began to fall in earnest in relief. The sky had begun to turn grey with the coming dawn, the quiet so complete that even the wind paused to honor it.

  His eyes opened again and for the first time she caught a glimpse of the soul residing behind them.

  “Redemption,” he whispered.

  “The dragon is slayed,” she whispered. “You were very brave.”

  “Nonsense,” he said evenly, then his eyelids became too heavy for conversation. “Dragons are…not real. I don’t…need to make that claim…for I am…never ill.” He was fast asleep before she could argue that it was a claim he was in no position to make and Elethea smiled as she felt his forehead again for reassurance that the fever had truly broken. His skin was finally cool to the touch and she leaned over to put her head down on his arm, as the tears overwhelmed her. She gratefully gave in, uncaring of how unseemly it was to sob over a man’s sickbed.

  “Elethea! My God! Is he gone?” Father burst into the room, his doctor’s bag in hand harried and with his wig askew. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry!”

  “N-no! He’s through it and the fever just broke!” She stood quickly, guilty to be caught draped over her p
atient. “I was…relieved.”

  “Here, step aside.” Dr. Fairfax inserted himself quickly to make his assessment and reconfirm that indeed the worst had passed. “Elethea, for God’s sake, close those windows and fetch another blanket! If he catches a chill now, we’ll be attending another funeral!”

  She dutifully did as he ordered, recalling Gran’s comments about her father’s aversion to any natural elements but there was no sense in arguing the point. Mr. Hambly would survive. Nothing else mattered.

  “Go home, Ella. Get some sleep. I’ll see to him from here.”

  “Yes, Father.” She gathered up her kit as discreetly as she could, set out more fresh linens and changed the water in the bowl with the cloths next to the bed. “I’ll see that you have a meal waiting for you when you arrive.”

  “What a comfort you are to me,” he said.

  “Did Mrs. Carrol come through? And the babe?”

  “Babes twice over! It was twins and there’s no telling when they are so small but one can hope... If the midwife hadn’t fallen off that ladder last week, I’d have been free to come when Ben found me but I just couldn’t leave her side and I thought Mr. Carrol was like to harm himself as it went on and on and he was so frantic. God, what a night!”

  He reached up to adjust his wig and regain his composure. “All I could think was that I’d be hard pressed to explain how the wife of the village butcher had my attendance while the heir presumptive to the earl was left to languish alone…”

  “Not alone,” she said softly.

  “Of course, dear. Your presence was my only solace but I doubt the family will see it so—and they may still demand an accounting of my choices. We must brace for the worst since it is understandable if their fury unleashes to send us packing!”

  Elethea shook her head. “I’ll speak to Mr. Thackery and make it clear that it was your timely arrival that averted the worst. Who will dispute it? Mr. Hambly will see only a wonderful doctor when he awakes, Father, and so he should.” She kissed her father’s cheek. “For you are the very best physician in all of England!”

  “Flattery,” he sighed. “Why does it always work?”

  “Because it is true,” she said, teasing a smile from him. “Rest if you can while he does and I will see you at home.”

  “Yes, go home, Elethea. I will see you there when I am done but only after I have truly made sure of Mr. Hambly’s recovery.”

  She lowered her eyes to the floor trying to ignore the sting of his gentle dismissal. Elethea left the room quickly, not trusting herself to look at Mr. Hambly without saying something maudlin. She went downstairs to the ground floor and found Mr. Thackery pacing in the entryway.

  “Oh, God…is he gone?” he said.

  “No!” Elethea smiled. “Father arrived just in time and the fever has broken. I expect that Mr. Hambly will make a full recovery with Father’s help and be with his family before too many more days have passed. As a precaution to ward off a spread of the scarlet, I’ve put salt on the floor of the doorway and you must ask your maids to wash with salt water for a few days.”

  “Thank God! Oh, praise the saints!” Mr. Thackery sat down on a stool by the wall. “I couldn’t sleep for worrying.”

  “You are very kind.”

  “It’s a miracle, isn’t it? Dr. Fairfax arriving like that? Just in time?”

  “Yes, a miracle. Without question.” Elethea headed for the door and left the inn without looking back.

  Better this way. A man that proud would not have been comforted by a strange woman at his side, of seeing him that way. If he remembers me at all, I shudder to think of what he’ll say of a girl who…touched him so shamelessly and immodestly. Perhaps better that only I will remember it for the rest of my life…

  Mr. Hambly would be spared the embarrassment and of course, her beloved father’s reputation would be protected and even solidified as a good physician and resource for the village and county and their livelihood ensured.

  Exhaustion made her stumble slightly and Ella paused by the lane to catch her breath. It was an icy cold Autumn morning, the light still pale in a dark grey overcast sky but for her, it was as beautiful as any she had seen.

  Because Blade Hambly is alive!

  She sighed and then laughed. “I did say I would wait for privacy, fey friends!”

  Chapter 5

  Blade opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the light from the windows across the room. It took him a few moments to absorb that he was not in a guest room at Castle Keyvnor and that the weakness that ebbed through his frame was no illusion of sleep. The very idea of sitting up made him want to cry and that—that was completely unacceptable.

  “Water,” he said then winced at the croaking growl of the single plaintive word.

  “Ah, Mr. Hambly! You are still with us, thank God.” A man shifted up from a chair next to the bed, his powdered wig and black coat immediately professing his position. He moved to the kettle over the fire and poured out a small cup of brew. “This will be more fortifying and help your blood.”

  Blade shook his head. The thought of anything hot coming within twenty feet of him was not a comfort with the memory of flame too fresh in his mind. “Something cool.”

  “Ah, yes…well…of course.” The doctor set the tea aside and found a small cup he filled from a tankard of cider on the sideboard. “I am Dr. Alistair Fairfax. You are a very lucky young man, sir.”

  “Lucky is not a word often applied to members of my family, doctor.” Blade tried to shift and ended up accepting the doctor’s help to sit up so that he could take the cup and drink comfortably. “What…happened? Did I fall? Was there an accident?”

  Dr. Fairfax smiled. “A bout of scarlet fever, Mr. Hambly. You’ve likely been ill for a few days without evidence beyond melancholy perhaps? Or a moodiness and a soreness in the muscles and limbs? It is a common thing but not commonly survived. So, as I said, you are a very lucky man.”

  I am never ill.

  Blade wisely didn’t speak the words aloud. It was obviously a self-deluding lie that made him feel like a fool. A lifetime of repetition did not apparently make a thing true. “I am rarely ill.”

  “I do not doubt it. You are as hale a man as any and extremely fit. It was your salvation I suspect.”

  “My salvation.” Blade echoed the sentiment then took a sip of the cider. It was a bracing brew and made him feel light-headed. “Where is…that is to say, have you been here the whole time?”

  “Entirely,” Dr. Fairfax said. “I was called when you arrived and came as soon as I could. A good thing too with this kind of fever besetting you, Mr. Hambly.”

  “Yes. A good thing.” Memories of an angel with strawberry blonde curls and eyes the color of the sea hovered around him—which was too ridiculous a thing to admit. Angels did not exist and naturally, men who asked about them when they no longer had the excuse of a delirious fever to justify the inquiry should know better than to risk it. “I am expected at the castle. The family needs to be informed of my…delayed arrival.”

  “I took the liberty of doing just that. Along with assurances when your fever broke earlier today that you were out of danger. Naturally, I have asked them not to rush to your side for fear of anyone else falling prey to this—at least for a few days until I am convinced that the worst is past and you are strong enough to finish your journey.”

  “What day is it? I am must be at Keyvnor…for the reading of the will.”

  “You need to make your recovery and there’s no rush. I would prescribe a fortnight or more before you—”

  “I won’t need a fortnight.”

  “It pains me to insist on it, Mr. Hambly, but if you push yourself you may not live to regret it.”

  Blade gave the man a hard look. Doctors were notoriously pessimistic but it was hard to argue when he didn’t feel like he could overcome a kitten in a brawl at the moment. “I’ll rest here a day or two and then I will decide for myself where best to convalesce.”

&
nbsp; “Of course, Mr. Hambly.” The next minutes were humbling as the doctor listened to his heart, assisted him with the chamber pot and then into a fresh nightshirt not damp from a night of sweating.

  “We’ll have to burn the clothes you arrived in and your nightclothes, but I think that goes far enough to ward off any further incidents.” Dr. Fairfax was all business and Blade took comfort in the man’s courteous demeanor. “One cannot be too careful but one can be overzealous in the destruction of a perfectly good wardrobe.”

  “I…should thank you for….your services. I owe you my life.”

  “It is my honor, Mr. Hambly. No need for thanks.”

  Blade set the cider aside and closed his eyes. “So you say until I am presented with a bill. But I’ll not quibble over any cost. I am grateful, sir. Let’s—leave it there.”

  Sleep came fast and Blade’s last thought was a wistful wish that he would dream of angels.

  Late that afternoon, Dr. Fairfax made his way homeward, as exhausted as any man after the ordeal of a long stretch of work. He’d not anticipated the twins which was a misstep he was in no mood to admit to another living soul. Babies were generally the realm of the midwife and he was already as miserable as could be at the notion that more nights like the last night lay ahead. And then to have the heir presumptive falling ill with a fever—and to have Elethea staving off disaster!

  His daughter’s calm presence had salvaged what could have been a disastrous turn but it stung his pride, too. Her nursing skills were admirable but it was difficult to accept that his greatest competition in the village was his only daughter. More than once, inhabitants in Bocka Morrow had quietly sought out her aid without a nod to his superior training. Alistair Fairfax knew that his child dabbled in herbology, as her mother had, but somehow it felt more unseemly to have Elethea bounding about the countryside with her rustic remedies and poultices.

  He blamed his mother-in-law with her stubborn insistence in living in the forest like a crone when their home in the village would have afforded her every comfort. Maevis Grayson had influenced her granddaughter to behave like a wild sprite and applauded her independence instead of nurturing more acceptable feminine qualities and restraining Elethea’s generous spirit.