Page 43 of Highlander's Sinless Nymph
“Aye, ye see now, that is why we cannae stop.” He tried to smile for her, but it came out as more of a grimace than anything else. “Ye just worry about yerself, lass,” he said. “Do nae worry yerself on me account.”
They carried on riding like that all through the day. Edward galloped Cogar for as long as he thought the horse could stand the pace, then trot her and finally dismount so that she could walk for a while. Then he would do the same in reverse; walk, trot, gallop.
It quickly became evident why it was that Edward was suffering in the unusually hot day. There was not a cloud in the sky and the sun beat down with rare zeal for the Highlands at that time of year. As luck would have it, Charlotte was always shielded from the worst of the sun by Edward’s large physique, and by the fact that the route they were taking happened to follow the course of the sun so that it always shone directly at the big Highlander.
When they started riding, Cogar’s nose was pointing towards the east but, as the day progressed, their course gradually bore them westward along the bottom of a rocky escarpment. Charlotte was sheltered behind Edward’s broad frame as effectively as if she had been sat behind a tree.
By the time that the sun was well on its way to setting, Edward could barely keep to the saddle. He had ceased to talk to her an hour or so before, and it seemed to Charlotte that only sheer bloody-mindedness kept him in his worn saddle.
“Here,” Edward said, when they had finally got to the end of the line of cliffs. As if she knew exactly what her master was talking about, Cogar pulled up and stopped.
Charlotte slid from the saddle and looked about her. Dusk was falling and, by the gorgeous last lingering light of the sinking sun, she saw that they were on the edge of a fragrant patch of heather. She saw that the horse had wandered off a little way, Edward still slouching heavily on her back, through the thick heather, as if she was well acquainted with the spot. Indeed, when Cogar stopped, she ducked her head and began to drink from a pool that was hidden by the beautiful waving mass of vegetation.
With a groan, Edward slipped sideways from his steed’s back and disappeared amongst the heather and ferns with a dull thud.
“Edward!” Charlotte cried. She hurried over to where he had fallen and found him sprawled on his back. Thankfully, the soft springy turf had cushioned his fall and stopped him from injuring himself.
Charlotte knelt over him. Edward’s face was pale, his skin clammy, his face beaded with perspiration. Instantly, she recognized the symptoms for what they were.
“I’ve seen this before, Edward,” she said. “Don’t worry. You have had too much sun is all. I can help you.”
Edward did not answer. His eyes slid away from hers to stare up at the sky for a moment. Then, he rolled laboriously to his hands and knees, crawled a short way from where they were and vomited into a patch of ferns.
Charlotte cast about anxiously. There was dry bracken and sticks aplenty to get a fire going, and they were sitting right next to a pool of clear, clean water.
It was true that Charlotte had seen this before. She had seen it a few times, in actual fact. Her father’s troopers were pushed hard by their captain and, on the warmer roads further south during the summer, Charlotte had tended a number of men afflicted by this illness brought on by too much heat and sun. Though she did not tell Edward, she had seen one young man die from it.
Although she hated to see Edward in such straits, she also felt a steeling sense of purpose that she had not had since taking to the road with him. She recognized what was wrong with him and she had the knowledge to help.
Edward had finished being sick and had crawled back over to her and flopped back onto his side by the edge of the pool. He was breathing heavily.
Charlotte pulled off Edwards boots and, with some effort, dragged his legs around so that they were nearer to the pool. Then she carefully lowered his feet into the cold water. Next, she rolled up his shirt sleeves and, using her own cloak as a cloth, bathed his inner arms and wrists with more cold water.
Edward moaned slightly as Charlotte did this. His eyes were now closed, but his face was still waxy and covered in a sheen of perspiration.
Charlotte then filled the water skin from the pool and carefully poured the icy water through his sweaty hair, massaging the big man’s scalp gently with her fingertips. After she had dampened his hair, she wet her cloak once more and bathed his face with it. This seemed to relax Edward and his body sagged slightly on the soft grass, his breathing coming a little more evenly and less strained.
“I need you to try and drink some water, Edward,” she said gently into his ear. “I need to keep you cool not just on the outside, but also internally.”
Edward made a grunt of what Charlotte took to be assent. Charlotte moved around to the Highlander’s head, held it up, and then gently slipped beneath it so that she could cradle it in her lap. Tenderly, she placed the skin to his lips and tipped a little of the water into his mouth. She did not worry about spilling the water down his neck and chest––it would only help in reducing the heat of his body.
After only a few mouthfuls, Edward reacted as she knew that he would; he rolled away from her and vomited the water back up. This was what Charlotte had seen before and expected and so it did not dishearten her. She held the heaving man’s shoulder length blond hair away from his face as he was sick. Then, when the episode had passed, she tried again.
Charlotte kept this routine up––the bathing of the feet, the application of the damp cloth to the face, neck and wrists, and the slow feeding of water––until well after the sun had gone down. She paused only so that she could light a fire and boil some water in a simple pot that she found stuffed into Edward’s saddlebags.
Once the water in the little dented pot was at a rolling boil, Charlotte left Edward and Cogar and backtracked a little way back down their trail until she found what she was looking for; a wild raspberry bush. There was not a single fruit on it at this time of year, but this did not dismay her. She gathered all the newest and most tender leaves that she could and then ran back to the small fire.
She was pleased to see that Edward’s eyes were now open. He still looked pale and weak––as weak as a man built like a carthorse could look––but at least he was aware of his surroundings.
“Have you been able to keep any water down?” Charlotte asked him, as she took the pot off the fire and put a couple of handfuls of the raspberry leaves into the water to steep.
“Aye,” Edward said, his voice coming out in a croak. He lay back on the pillow that Charlotte had made him by rolling his cloak up.
“And how do you feel?” Charlotte asked.
“I’ve a headache the likes o’ which I have never felt in all me days, but I do not feel as nauseous as I did,” Edward replied.
The big man closed his eyes.
