TIME AND REST
The journey to the abbey took a whole day. It was a day Amice wished to forget. Seated by Henry's bedside in the cold monastic cell, she tried not to think about it.
I almost lost him.
Henry had been burning with fever, shivering and sweating, murmuring wordless things as they carried him out to the cart. Farmer Lewis had driven them there and, when Amice gave him and his wife a gold coin from Henry's purse in thanks. He had almost wept with appreciation.
“I don't know what we would have done without them,” Amice murmured. “I almost lost you.”
Henry had been unconscious since that day. He was still unconscious, a day later. That made three days of fever. Today, something had changed. Instead of shivering and twitching, he was still. Father Brogan, the healer of the abbey, had given him something the previous night, when the convulsions had started. Amice had truly thought they would lose him.
Now he's just asleep.
She looked down at his face. He was restful and his face unlined, but it alarmed her how quickly the flesh had dropped off him. He was gaunt now, with hollow temples and dark rings around his eyes, his mouth bracketed with lines. He hadn't eaten in three days, though she had succeeded in getting a few spoons of water through his lips.
She heard someone walk heavily across the flagstones. A man with a limp, the wood stave he used as a walking stick clattering on the thick stone floor. She turned.
“Father Brogan?”
“My child. How is he?”
“He's asleep,” Amice said, sniffing.
The old monk stood beside her. He looked down at the reposeful face. “All we can do, my child, is to pray. The wound is much improved. When I dressed it, it did not smell. I think he will return to us. Let us pray.”
As he bowed his head, Amice did her best to concentrate. He spoke in Latin and the sound of it washed round her, lulling her senses and soothing her soul. When he finished and shuffled off, Amice looked down at Henry.
He is so beautiful. She stretched out a hand and touched his cold, lifeless one. She bit her lip. So beautiful. She stroked his hair.
He stirred. She froze.
“Father Brogan?”
She called for the priest in some alarm, half thinking that this was some new ailment, perhaps the return of convulsions. However, Henry did not move. Instead, his eyes flickered then opened.
“Henry?”
She beamed at him. He blinked and the blue gaze focused on her face. He frowned. “Amice? But...what..? Where?” He took her hand as she reached for his, gripping her fingers tight. “I was....it was burning. I thought you were dead.” He stared at her, his blue eyes drinking in the sight of her. She laughed.
“I thought you were dead. Oh, Henry! Thank Heaven! You've returned to us.”
Henry blinked. “My head. I...” He shook his head, frowning, and then smiled. “I think I'll live,” he said gently.
Amice was crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks. She was also laughing. “Yes,” she said with a laugh. “Yes, Henry. I think so too.”
She kissed him, tenderly, and then went to find the priest. He frowned at her summons and then, when he saw his patient sitting up and looking around, apparently awake and well, his big, solemn countenance split on a grin.
“How many fingers have I?” he said to Henry, holding up three. Henry frowned. He looked sideways at Amice.
“He said, how many fingers does he have?” she translated.
“Ten, like everyone else, I hope,” Henry said. Then he saw what she meant. “Oh. Three.”
The priest looked to Amice, bemused, and she translated.
“He said three, Father.”
“Good, good.” The priest grinned. He looked very happy. “Right,” he said, clasping his hands. “Now we move onto the next stage.” Amice frowned at him, worried, and he laughed, continuing: “we feed him.”
“Oh!” Amice felt her heart soar with relief. “Good. I can help with that, Father.”
“Good, good,” he said, nodding, the same broad grin on his face. “I need to see to my other patients. Ever so many patients. You take care of him, my lady.”
Amice nodded. “I will.”
The priest slipped out, leaving them alone together. When he had gone, Amice looked at Henry. She laughed.
“What?” Henry said. He looked affronted.
Amice just laughed. “Oh, Henry. It's so good to have you back.”
“It's good to be back,” he retorted. “Now. What did the fellow say? Am I in working order?”
“He said you need to eat.”
Henry laughed. “Now never a truer word was spoken.” He shuffled up to sitting. Amice saw him wince and leaned forward, moving the pillows so he could sit up properly.
“You might not feel able to eat very much for a while,” she cautioned as the priest returned with a vast bowl of steaming gruel and a pitcher of water.
“Try me,” Henry challenged.
She laughed and the monk, only partly understanding the exchange, laughed too. Then Amice took the bowl from him and he went out, leaving them alone.
“Now,” Amice said gently, holding it and passing him the spoon, “if you are too tired, I shall feed you.”
Henry's blue eyes looked into hers. She felt heat suffuse her body as she saw the expression in them. She coughed. Henry grinned.
“If you want me to stay in this bed forever,” he said, smiling, “do that. If you spoil me so much, I swear I shall never leave.”
Amice laughed, feeling joy, shining and wonderful, fill her heart. Henry was back. “Now, I don't know where to start on such a recalcitrant patient,” she said sternly. “But I'm going to feed you. Sit up straight.”
Henry obeyed and she lifted the ladle of gruel, holding it to his lips. He sipped at it, his blue eyes looking deep into hers as he did so. She felt a slow tremor start in her body, cutting through the tiredness and the worry and making her want to throw caution to the wind and slide in under the covers with him, her body pressed to his. He smiled.
“Do I get more of that?”
“Oh!” Amice laughed, focusing again. “Of course. Here.”
She raised the ladle to his lips again and he sipped at the gruel. She tried not to focus on those hard, molded lips where they clamped the edge of the spoon, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. She could feel her body shivering and she wanted so much to kiss him and touch him and hold him close.
They finished half the bowl like that. Henry sighed.
“Much as I would like that to continue, I feel a little tired,” he said. “If you don't mind, I would sleep a while.”
“Of course,” Amice nodded, setting the gruel aside. “Sleep my love. And recover your strength. When you are well enough, we'll be on our way.”
“Yes. Good. To Dunkeld.”
Amice blinked, feeling her eyes mist up. “To Dunkeld.”
It took four days. By the end, Henry was able to walk round the room without sitting down.
“I'm ready,” he said.
Amice protested. “No, you're not,” she said firmly. “You're not going anywhere! How can you?”
“I can try,” Henry said firmly. He fixed her with that warm blue gaze. “Please, my dear. We have to try. I have a letter to write to my king. Then we must go.”
Amice nodded. She was excited and elated, but she also felt a little sad. Their journey would be coming to an end soon. What would happen when they reached Dunkeld? Would her parents be prevailed on to accept her marriage?
They left that afternoon, traveling to Queensferry with the cart. From there, they would have to hire horses and take the road to Dunkeld. In the woods, with the first buds and shoots appearing on the trees, the sound of birds chattering and faint glimpses of blue sky overhead, Amice felt joy fill her heart. She was with Henry, and they were going home.