Page 50 of Ruining a Highland Healer
"I’m here," she whispered. "Ye’re safe now, Torrin."
At the other side of the bed, Ina threaded a needle with care. "This might hurt, me laird," she said, and though Torrin probably couldn’t hear her in his state, Valora still appreciated that she warned him.
Then the stitching began. Inch by inch, Ina sewed the wound, her work slow, steady, and meticulous. Torrin never fully woke, still in the throes of pain and delirium, but he flinched under every tug of the needle, his breath hitching with pain. Behind them, the fire burned bright now, its flames casting long shadows across the walls and the stone floor.
Valora held Torrin’s hand, her own trembling. With her free one, she wiped away the blood that continued to seep out of the wound, so that Ina could see better, making sure she was as gentle as possible. By the time Ina was done, though, and the wound was stitched, Torrin was burning with fever. His face shone with sweat, his breathing slow and shallow.
"He’s burnin’," Valora said, letting go of her task to press her hand over his forehead. He was warm, his skin clammy. Exchanging a concerned glance with Ina, Valora wiped some of the sweat off his forehead, but what they needed was cool water.
"I’ll bring some water an’ some cloth," said Ina, thinking the same thing. As she stood, Valora sat there by his side, whispering reassurances in Torrin’s ear—that he would be alright, that he would recover, that nothing bad would happen to him. It was more for her to hear. It was more for her own sake, her own sanity, but she hoped he, too, could hear her and take some comfort in her words.
When Ina brought the cool water, Valora wetted a piece of cloth and laid it over Torrin’s forehead. There wasn’t much else that they could do, other than apply some salve to the wound and prepare a potion for him that would hopefully lower thefever. Once again, as Ina prepared it, Valora stayed by Torrin’s side, trying to keep the creeping panic at bay. But there was no calming her racing heart. There was no telling herself that everything would be alright.
One it was decided that there was nothing else for Ina to do and that Valora would watch over him throughout the night, two men came back into the room to take Torrin to his chambers, where he would be more comfortable. Valora and Ina went with him, making sure the stitches weren’t disrupted and that he was safe and comfortable, and in the end, it was only Valora who was left with him, sitting by his side on the bed to watch over him as he slept.
The castle slept, too, but Valora did not.
She moved between the water basin and the bed with the swift, regular motions of a ritual. A cold cloth to his brow, her eyes checking the wound. Her hands replacing the bandage if blood soaked through. Her lips whispering reassurances. Her mind praying, again and again, for him to open his eyes.
For the whole night, his fever raged. He muttered names—some she recognized and others she didn’t. Noah. Col. Daisy. Then finally, late in the night, when she, too, was almost delirious and half-asleep, one word stopped her dead in her tracks as she brought another wet cloth to the bed.
"Wife."
It was hoarse, ragged, barely a whisper.
Valora froze, the cloth still held tightly in her hands, dripping water on the floor. Torrin didn’t open his eyes. The word had slipped out of him like a dream without his knowledge, without his permission, as though it simply had to be spoken out loud. But it hit her in her chest like an arrow, cutting her breath short.
She looked down at him—his face pale, his jaw unshaven, the sweat-dampened strands of his hair curling at the temples. Never before had he seemed so vulnerable to her. Valora had always imagined him impervious to harm, indestructible, and yet there he was, burning with fever and battling blood loss. And yet, the word he spoke, that single word whispered in the night, held the weight of a vow.
Wife.
There was nothing but truth in that word.
Valora’s heart stilled, then thudded painfully in her chest, every beat a sweet agony. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, and for the first time, she let go of her careful distance. Every wall she had built, brick by slow brick since the first time her heart was broken, now shattered like glass, rendered fragile and breakable by that one simple word.
And Valora couldn’t help but like the sound it, the way it was spoken by Torrin’s lips.
Please God, keep him alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The fever broke with the dawn.
Golden light spilled through the windows, casting a warm glow on the bed where Torrin stirred, his body finally cool. He looked around only to find that he was back in his chambers, even though the last thing he remembered was being on the horse, trying to make it back to the castle. As he looked around, he saw Arrow lifting his head from beside the hearth, giving a soft bark.
The next thing he saw was Valora. She was asleep in the chair beside his bed, curled into herself, one arm resting on the edge of the mattress. Her head lolled slightly to one side, a lock of auburn hair falling over her cheek. Under the light of the morning sun, she resembled a painting—like someone had tried to capture the likeness of an angel.
Torrin exhaled—quietly, reverently. He reached for her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles, but she didn’t wake.Carefully, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth.
Still, she didn’t stir. He thought she must have been exhausted, considering everything that she had had to endure, and he doubted she had gotten much sleep the previous night. He decided it was best to let her rest, even in that awkward position on the chair. Slowly, he rose, trying to be as quiet as possible as he moved around the room, cleaning up as best he could before getting dressed. It was far from an easy task, though. His injury had taken a lot out of him, and he had lost a lot of blood. His body was stiff, sluggish, and he was naturally in pain. Though his mind raced, he was still dizzy, and every few steps, he had to stop and steady himself, making sure he wouldn’t topple right over.
Naethin’ a hearty breakfast an’ some ale cannae fix.
If this was little more than a lie he told himself then no one had to know.
Torrin left her sleeping as he exited the chambers, knowing there was much work to do.
He couldn’t afford to rest any longer. He had to meet with the council.
