Page 62 of Halfling
“Oh, no, I’ll watch him for—”
“He won’t be doing anything for days yet. Lay down and rest. You’ll need it to care for him.”
It was on her tongue to refuse again, but when she peered down at Orek, she saw the smoothness of his brow and steady rhythm of his breathing. He was truly sleeping now, relieved for a while from the pain, and she knew the poppy milk would keep him that way for hours yet.
“All right,” she finally acquiesced.
As Cara left to fetch a jug of water, Anghus told her, “Got chores to do, so it won’t be quiet.”
“I don’t think that’ll stop me.” Her eyes stung with every blink, and it was only stubbornness keeping her upright.
Cara soon returned with a clean rag and ceramic jug full of water. Seeing that she and Orek had everything they’d need for the next while, the couple left, closing the stall door behind them.
Relief nearly buckled Sorcha’s knees, but she made herself stand long enough to change out of her soiled clothes, rinse off with the water and rag, and slip on a clean shirt and braies. She gathered what blankets they had left and laid them out beside Orek.
Sorcha laid down, watching the massive expanse of his shoulders. In the soft light of the barn, she could just see the scars that dotted and crisscrossed his back, a story that spoke of a hard life.
Her body almost melted into the furs and hay, but she couldn’t help working a few knots from his long mane of hair and plaiting a quick braid.
Sleep tugged insistently at her mind, a siren’s call that pulled her under.
Before she succumbed, she shifted a little closer, resting her balled hands against his back. His skin blazed warm, and she felt every breath he took. She let the rhythm lull her the last little bit to sleep.
Sorcha woke much later with hay in her hair and cotton in her mouth. Well, at least it felt that way. She blinked blearily at the unfamiliar stall; the scents and noises of a busy, active barn were familiar enough, but this wasn’t her family’s stables.
The events of the previous day crashed over her, sending a sharp ripple of panic through her chest, and Sorcha whipped around.
Orek lay just as she’d left him, sleeping deeply, his breathing even. The skin around his stitched wound looked no angrier or redder than when she’d last seen it, and she said a silent prayer to the fates to keep the fever away.
She peered over his shoulder, glad to find his expression lax.
Unable to help it, she ran her hand along his arm, soothing him as much as herself. She’d been so scared for him, was still terrified he was in pain or wouldn’t rouse. Sorcha had helped her mother take care of plenty of sick siblings and wounded grooms, spent many days at bedsides nursing and feeding and comforting. But she’d always had help—most importantly Aunt Sofie nearby and supervising the healing.
Here, now, in a strange barn with her companion gravely wounded, Sorcha had to admit she was out of her depth.
Sorcha squeezed his wrist and buried those thoughts down in a pit in her mind. Worrying and dithering helped no one, and in the light of—she squinted at the high window near the gables of the barn—late afternoon, she was more than a little ashamed of how she’d handled herself and the situation yesterday. Or really,hadn’t handled.
Letting out a long sigh, Sorcha lay on her back and rubbed her eyes, trying to work the lingering murk from her mind and grit from her eyes.
“Oh, no, none of that,” said Cara, bustling up to the stall door. She unlatched it, sweeping inside with a tray laden with something warm and delicious-smelling. “I know you’re up, so you’ll stay that way until we get some food into you. Then you can sleep again.”
“I already slept the day away,” Sorcha protested weakly, accepting the food. She was never too proud for food, as her generous backside proved.
Cara waved away her words with a tut before leaning down to inspect Orek without touching him. “You were bone tired,” she said, lifting the bandage soaked with herbs they’d secured over the wound last night. “Still are, I expect. I just wanted to make sure you had a meal before you slept again.”
“I appreciate it,” she said around a mouth full of warm, buttered bread. The pea soup that accompanied it was hearty, the salty hunks of meat a wonderful mouthful, and made Sorcha forget her manners.
“Please let me know how I can repay you,” she said once she’d chewed and swallowed. “Your kindness is—”
“I’m sure there are plenty of chores we can find for you, but please don’t worry yourself today. Rest. The sun’s almost set and the day’s work is done. Look after yourself now and then you can look after your man.” Cara grinned at her and winked, “And the horses, if you’ve any skill.”
Sorcha blushed to the roots of her hair, not knowing how to politely correct Cara. Instead, she said, “I’m not afraid of mucking. My family runs a large stable.”
Cara made a happy noise. “Know anything about shoeing?”
“Sure,” said Sorcha, tearing off another hunk of soft bread. “I worked with the farriers when they needed help.”
“Excellent. Anghus will be happy to hear it. We’ve only got the one farrier in town, and we share him with several other villages. Won’t be round these parts again for a week and we need to start bringing in the harvest.”
