Chapter Four
Finn awoke the next day
There was light, and he was in bed, warm, and not in pain.
That information made its way through his sleep-raddled brain and brought comfort in its wake. He wasn’t sleeping on the forest floor, or trying to avoid rodents in some drafty stable.
He wasn’t cold.
“You have joined us, Mr. Finn. That is a very good thing.” A man’s voice spoke softly, while a hand rested on his forehead. “And no fever to speak of. I believe you are now well on the road to recovery.”
Finn struggled to open his eyes again, squinting at the blurry sight of a dark and bearded face, topped by a turban and a jewel. He tried to speak, but his mouth and throat seemed not to want to work correctly. He managed a croak of some sort.
“Here, this will help.”
The man slid an arm behind his shoulders and lifted him, then held a cup to his lips. Finn automatically sipped, the liquid warm and sweet, slipping down his throat like manna from Heaven.
“Thank you,” he whispered, no longer feeling like his throat was lined with gravel.
“Once more, I think…”
The cup returned and this time Finn sipped eagerly, moistening the dry tissues of his mouth. “Good.” He pulled back, licking his lips.
“How do you feel?” The dark face watched him.
“I…I’m not sure.” He lifted a hand to his head. “Where am I? Everything is a little foggy…”
“Which is just what we expect, Mr. Finn.”
A new voice, a woman, entered the conversation. Somehow, she sounded familiar, but he still fought to focus his eyes and she stood at the end of the bed, a blur in blue with golden hair.
“Where am I?” he asked again.
“You’re at Doireann Vale, sir.”
Which told him nothing.
“He just woke, Miss Hecate,” said the man at his bedside. “He has had a drink of the honey water.”
“Excellent, Dal. Thank you. I will take over now.”
“If you need me, just call.”
“Of course.”
Finn listened as the rustle of clothing and the squeak of the chair springs told him that the man had risen and the woman was going to take his place. Perhaps now he could see her a little better.
“There now. I expect you’re worrying about many things, Mr. Finn.” She reached out and put her hand on his forehead.
He wished people would stop doing that. It was somehow rather undignified.
“Where am I?” He turned, seeing her face clearly for the first time.
She was…intriguingly beautiful. Those words were all he had, as he stared at the oval face, the delicate ivory skin with a touch of rose on the cheeks, and eyes that could have come straight from a fairy tale. Her lips were full and pink, her teeth white as she smiled at him. Surrounding her amazing features were tumbling curls of tawny gold, loose and free. He swallowed. “Who are you?” Then he blinked as a terrifying thought crossed his brain. “Am I dead? For surely you must be an angel.”
She chuckled, a sound that brought a similar curve to his lips. God, she was extraordinary.
“You’re not dead, let me reassure you of that. And I am the owner of this house. My name is Hecate. Hecate Ridlington, and I’m no angel. Just ask my family.”
Her name…something…somewhere… He shook his head in frustration. “I cannot remember…”
“That’s quite all right,” she soothed. “You have been very ill, Mr. Finn. You had typhus. But now you have recovered, physically. The emotional toll will take longer to resolve.”
He thought about that. “You call me Mr. Finn. Are we acquainted?”
She cleared her throat. “Er, yes. It was…um…well, you’re from Ireland, we think. And you were wearing a uniform. We had to call you something, so we decided on Mr. Finn.”
“I’m Irish?” He gazed at her unfathomable eyes.
She smiled again. “I believe you are, although there’s barely a hint of it in your speech. Dark hair, those long black eyelashes…blue eyes put in with dirty fingers, as my mother would have said.”
“Ah. So you live here with your family?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I live here alone, but for my housekeeper, and Dal. The man you met when you first awoke. He is my personal guardian, also my friend, and were it not for him, I would not be alive.”
“Then I must be grateful to him also,” said Finn politely.
“Indeed. He has also cared for you during your illness.”
“You said typhus,” Finn managed to pursue a line of thought. “And yet I am cured?”
She nodded. “I have some knowledge of herbs and potions, Mr. Finn. The old country ways of restoring health that have little to do with leeches or bleeding. Thankfully my medicines worked and the typhus passed without claiming another victim. But I must caution you—as yet, you are not strong. Now that you are awake, we must begin to help your body rebuild.” She tilted her head to one side. “So I will ask you a question now. What is your name?”
He froze, still held captive by those wondrous eyes. But then, as his mind tried to sort itself out, he frowned. “I…” He concentrated, trying to pierce the mists that seemed to be hiding so many things inside his head. “I—I can’t remember…”
A look of sympathy crossed her features. “’Tis all right. These things take time.”
He closed his eyes. “Why? Why have I no memories? Just blurs…the sound of guns…I was in a battle. And then…nothing. Just a sense of sorrow.”
This time, when a soft hand rested on his forehead, he didn’t mind. It was comforting and stayed there for a few moments. Amazed, he felt his frustration and fears drift away, leaving him calm.
She removed her hand and he opened his eyes. “What did you do?”
Looking away, she shrugged. “I merely hoped you might relax.”
She shifted her skirts, as if to stand, but his hand shot out and grasped her forearm. “’Twas more than that, Ma’am. Your touch changed how I felt.”
Her gaze met his, the teal blue and gold depths revealing little. “I have some healing skills, as I mentioned before. And quite often healing begins with the mind and continues on to the body.”
He continued to hold her down on her chair. “Are you a witch?”
Her chin lifted. “That is a word that can mean many things, Mr. Finn. Do I have…abilities, let’s say, that others do not? Yes, I do. They help in healing, as you know, and in how I view the world around me. They have helped in that I was able to encourage others to store food, since I sensed a very bad year ahead. That has come true, as you will soon recall, once your memories return.”
She met his gaze, without blinking. “Am I a witch? I do no harm, nor will I ever use what talents I have been blessed with to hurt anyone. I am simply a woman who has senses more finely tuned than others. I am neither unique, nor a witch. I have a large family who understands and loves me for who I am.” She removed his grasp from her sleeve. “So there it is. If you feel you are unable or unwilling to remain here at Doireann Vale during the time of your recuperation, I will ensure that you are conveyed to wherever it is you’d prefer to be. We do have a physician in the village. He might be able to recommend a place where you can receive the care you need.”
She stood, shaking out her skirts.
Finn got the strongest impression he’d hurt her feelings somehow. Which thought was magnified by the sudden arrival of a very large black cat on the bed, who stared at him from huge green-gold eyes. Finn blinked.
“Bub, get down. You’re not helping matters at all.” She frowned at him.
Finn couldn’t help but chuckle. It was rusty and short, but it was there. “Forgive me. I intended no insult.” He shot a quick look at the cat. “And if you’d reassure your familiar, here, I’d appreciate it. He looks like he’s about to see if I might be a tasty dinner.”
A musical laugh greeted his words. “This is Beelzebub. Not because he has underworld origins, but because he’s a very cheeky devil sometimes.”
Finn nodded. “I gratefully accept your hospitality, Miss Ridlington. Indeed, until my memories return, I do not know where else I could go and I have yet to learn where I am.” He paused, curious to see that the cat had decided to sit closer, moving against his hip and settling himself on the covers. He looked back at Hecate. “My memories…they will return…won’t they?”
“I hope so,” she answered. “I really hope so.”
*~~*~~*
Finn drifted off to sleep right in front of Hecate’s eyes, and she smiled as she saw his lids droop and his breathing slow to a regular rhythm. This was exactly what he needed—a relaxed period of rest. It would let his body recover and, with luck, clear his mind as well.
She walked quietly away, hearing a slight thud as Bub jumped from the bed and joined her. Together they left their guest to his nap, and Hecate smiled at the cat as they shut the bedroom door behind them. “He’ll do for now, Bub. I doubt we’ll need to be at his side every minute anymore. Dal will be pleased.”
Bub lifted his head and glanced at her, giving her his unspoken agreement.
It was astounding how quickly she and Bub had developed a strange and silent rapport, but for Hecate, it had been one of the most important features of her own recovery. Having this small but independent creature claim her as his own…well, it reminded her to think of him, and others, rather than drifting away and inward, as she had been prone to do.
A glance from one to the other, and opinions were exchanged in a pleasant non-verbal manner. Whether all cats behaved thus, Hecate wasn’t sure. But she and Bub certainly understood each other very well.
Now she had yet another person to think of, and she walked downstairs to the kitchens to see Mrs. Trimmer, since they would need to talk about a menu of nourishing foods.
Lured by the scent of fresh bread, Hecate found her cook frowning into the pantry.
“Don’t tell me Bub’s been at the cheese again?”
The cat shot an indignant look at his mistress, as if to say “you’re holding that one moment of weakness against me, aren’t you?”
“No, Miss Hecate. I’m jes’ worryin’, is all.”
“About what?” Hecate moved to her side and peered into the cool darkness.
“I think we’re runnin’ low on flour. An’ there’s none at market fer now…”
Hecate frowned. “Yes, that could be a problem. There will be hardly any harvest, I’m afraid.” She stepped inside the tiled pantry, moved some things around and peered into the darkest corner. “There are still several sacks tucked behind these baskets, though.”
“Ah,” Mrs. Trimmer sighed in relief. “I knows I should’ve gone in an’ rummaged, but me back’s a wee bit sore this mornin’.”
“Well for Heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” Hecate turned back to Mrs. Trimmer. “I’ll make you some tea. It’ll set you right up, and then you can rest a bit.”
“Oh no, Ma’am. I got ter finish up ‘ere. There’s scones ter be baked, an’ the meat pie’s got ter go into t’oven fer yer lunch…”
Hecate held up her hand. “I’ll hear none of that, if you please. Now sit.” She pointed firmly at a chair by the fire. “Come along. Sit now.”
Mumbling, the cook obeyed.
Hecate set the kettle back over the fire and busied herself with cups. “I’ll make us both a cup, I think.” She retreated back into the pantry, coming out with honey in her hand. “Thank goodness the bees were generous last season.”
“Aye,” nodded the other woman. “That clover honey’s t’best I’ve ‘ad in years.”
Hecate added some herbs to a bowl and stirred. “I think I’m going to make some soup today, Mrs. Trimmer. If you won’t go and take a nap, which I strongly advise you to do, then will you stay and direct me? It would do me good to experiment with a dish or two. One never knows when one will need to fend for oneself.”
Staring at her mistress with a certain amount of disbelief, the older woman nodded. “I’ll be ‘appy ter ‘elp, Miss Hecate. But honest, I don’t see yerself ever ‘avin’ ter work in a kitchen…”
“Who knows what our future holds?” She wrapped a cloth around the handle of the kettle and lifted it from the fire, pouring the boiling water carefully into the pot.
“Why, yerself, Ma’am,” answered Mrs. Trimmer with confidence.
Hecate blinked. “Er…not as accurately as I’d like.” She put out the cups and the honey. “But I can predict that by the end of today, there will be a delicious soup smell throughout the house.”
“Mayhap our lad upstairs might want some?” Mrs. Trimmer raised an eyebrow. “Comin’ round a bit, then, is he?”
Hecate nodded. “It looks as though he is well on the road to recovery, yes.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “That’s a good thing. Get him back on ‘is feet and on ‘is way.”
Oddly, that thought did not bring Hecate any pleasure. But she kept her countenance. “We’ll see.”
About to pour her herbal concoction into their cups, her hand froze as a piercing scream echoed through Doireann Vale.
With Mrs. Trimmer right behind her, Hecate rushed up the kitchen stairs to see Dal running down from upstairs. They all ended up in the hall looking at Winnie Trimmer, who was holding a small whisk broom and looking white as a sheet.
“A-a-a-man, Miss. In there…” She pointed to the room Hecate used as an office. It was small, but convenient. And it had a French door out onto the back garden.
The door was open when Dal looked in, with Hecate right behind him. Footsteps showed in the soggy ground outside. This wasn’t anything imaginary; the intruder had been quite real.
“Are you all right, Winnie? Did he hurt you?” Hecate touched the young woman’s arm.
“No, Miss. I was goin’ in t’do some dustin’, an’ I turns round an’ there ‘e is. All covered in dark clothes, an’ a scarf round his face. I screamed an’ ‘e ran out the door.”
“I will track him down, Miss Hecate,” snarled Dal.
“No, no don’t,” she urged. “Look it’s starting to rain again. Any tracks he leaves will vanish within a few minutes.” And the downpour that followed her words did indeed start the process right before their eyes. “It would be a waste of your time. Shut the door and let’s see if we can uncover his purpose.” She touched his arm. “Please, Dal. Let him go.”
“A sound piece of advice.”
The voice from the door made them all jump. It was Mr. Finn, quite fetching in his improvised garments.
“My quilt looks well on you, sir,” commented Hecate.
“Er…yes. Well, needs must, you know.” He lifted his chin and tugged the quilt around his body more tightly. “What’s a man to do when a woman screams?”
“Since you’re not only awake but have managed to come downstairs, please sit here.” She pointed at the couch. “Winnie, could you light the fire? We’ll see if Mr. Finn might like a change of surroundings for a little while, but he must keep warm.”
“I will fetch an appropriate garment for him, Miss Hecate.” Dal moved from the now-closed glass door.
“And I’ll bring that tea up ‘ere, Miss.” The cook hurried off.
Hecate smiled. Her little household brigade proved itself to be flawless and in very little need of direction.
Finn caught her eye. And he smiled too, a warm and appealing flash of blue eyes and white teeth from his pale face.
He was, she realised, a very attractive man. Very attractive indeed.