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WITH THE COMING OF NIGHT, Eben’s fever rose and nothing that Raven or Elizabeth Galloway tried seemed to lessen it. He tossed upon the Galloway’s straw tick as if upon a torture rack. It pained Raven to see him this way, and for the first time since their confrontation, she began to face the very real possibility that he might die. Her only comfort was the stalwart Elizabeth, whose quiet calm and firm belief that the patient would recover never seemed to waver.
“I’m going to send James for some well-water,” the older woman said, pressing the damp rag with which she’d been bathing Eben’s face and throat into Raven’s hand. “This has grown tepid, and the only way I know of to lower a fever is to bathe the hot with cool.”
Raven hastened to place the rag against Eben’s brow and Elizabeth laughed. “Not just the head, child. The whole. He’s naked as a newborn under that quilt. Strip it off and bathe him. I’ll be back in a little while.” She went out, chuckling to herself. “Newlyweds! Dear Lord. Was I ever that naïve?”
Raven gaped at the now empty doorway. “Oh, this is a fine revenge, m’sieur,” she said, inching the quilt down. “I’m glad you are still asleep. At least I don’t have to endure your laughter at my predicament.”
She rinsed out the rag in the basin, wrung it damp, and ran it lightly over his neck and broad shoulders, not halting her work until met once again by the barrier of the quilt. Inch by inch, she worked at cooling his hot skin, then slid the quilt down again, until it was draped modestly over his loins.
She washed his chest with its light furring of dark hair, then moved lower, over the flat surface of his belly. Again the quilt barred the way and was repositioned… this time to the tops of his thighs.
Now, nothing was left to Raven’s imagination. Her warm gaze followed in the rag’s wake, touching him where she’d never dream of touching him when he was awake and watching her. He really was quite magnificently made. His
wingspread was impressive, his hips lean, his buttocks tight. She felt a small stirring of pride as she gazed at him, soon overwhelmed by confusion.
He was not hers, after all. Not really. He was her hated guardian, and the bane of her existence, was he not? So, why did this small task make her feel like his spouse in truth?
Working the cloth over his sun-browned skin and with no one to guess the direction of her thoughts, she allowed her mind to wander down paths previously forbidden.
What would it be like to be his woman?
To share his bed and bear his babes? She could almost see a tow-haired boy or girl with eyes of palest blue playing in a sunlit dooryard, and felt her heart soften in her breast.
“What were you thinking just now, sweet?” came his raspy whisper. “You had such an odd expression, and for a second there I could have sworn that it was tenderness.” He sighed and turned his head on the pillow. “Or maybe you are looking forward to my premature demise, and already dreaming of the end of the bargain.”
“You haven’t cared at all for my thoughts and feelings until now,” Raven said, irritated that she’d been caught. “Concern yourself instead with getting well.”
Lifting a hand, he sought hers, holding it briefly. His skin was blistering hot. Raven gasped and pulled away. “That isn’t true, lass,” he insisted. “I have thought only of your future since entering into the agreement with your father.” A violent shudder ran through his long body, making his teeth clatter.
She saw him clench his jaw to still the noise. “Jesus. I have never felt so wretched. I’m hot and cold, and my eyelashes hurt. I suppose I must be dying. Kindly spare my feelings and put off celebrating until after I am gone.”
The pain of her own papa’s death was still too fresh, the wound too raw, and Eben’s talk of death and dying made Raven uneasy. He meant nothing to her; still, she was strangely reluctant to let him go. “Don’t be silly,” she said to him. “It’s just a little fever. You’ll feel better soon.” She wrung
out the rag, and sponged his brow while he stared at her, the light in his eyes a burning intensity.
“No, I’m certain of it. My strength is waning fast. I have finally found a foe I cannot fight.”
“Since you put it that way, then perhaps you are right.” She dropped the rag into the basin. It sloshed water onto the quilt. “Quitting is easier than getting well, in any case. You can just lie there passively and think bad thoughts until the Devil comes to carry you off. I suppose you will want someone to sit by your side and hold your hand while you get on with your business of dying, of giving up?”
He frowned at her. “Don’t make it sound as if I’ve a choice,” he said. “I did not ask for any of this.”
“It is only my opinion, and thus, not to be taken seriously.
Perhaps you would rather I just sit quietly and watch you labor for your breath?”
The frowned turned to a scowl. “Since when have you been so acquiescent? So agreeable?” And then, in an aside, “I do not think I like this side of you.”
“How would you have me be?” Raven asked, her voice rising with her level of upset. “How should I be, then? Should I weep, and wail, and gnash my teeth? For a coward?”
That brought him upright in bed, though he did not stay that way for long, and was forced to lie back down. “What say you, woman? Me? A coward? You’re raving like a lunatic. I took that blade from you! Disarmed you, when a coward would have fled!”
“That does not make you brave, Eben! It makes you a damned fool!”
“A fool,” he muttered. “At last she has something there, though not for the reason she thinks.” He clapped his mouth shut so forcefully that his teeth clacked. “Now, I’m the one who’s raving.” He rolled one way, then rolled back, unable to out-roll his misery. “Why must you always nag at me? Even on my deathbed you give me no peace. ‘Twas a sorry day we met, indeed.”
Maybe his anger would give him something to concentrate on, beside the notion that he was dying. Raven was about to turn away when she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard Elizabeth’s sympathetic voice in her ear. “Don’t fret, child. It’s the fever talking. I’m sure he didn’t mean a word of it, and he’ll be his own sweet self in no time.” She brushed past Raven to stand by the bed, and as Raven watched her, she wondered if the woman really knew Eben at all? “Mr. St.
Claire, can you drink this for me, or do I need to spoon it into your mouth?”
“I can manage,” he replied, taking the tin cup she held out to him. His hand shook, and the liquid dribbled onto his hand, but he managed to get most of it into his mouth. He forced himself to swallow, then, pulled a face. “By the thunder, what is that, pig swill?”
Elizabeth drew herself up stiffly. “Due to your condition, I am willing to overlook that—this time.”
“Beggin’ you pardon, ma’am, but that concoction was rank.”
“Most medicines are. It’s willow bark tea. Let’s just pray it works its magic on you from the inside, while this poultice draws the poison out.”
Eben mumbled his thanks and handed her the cup. “I’ll bring more in a while,” she promised. She started to exit, then thought better of it. “Don’t be so hard on your wife, Mr. St.
Claire. She is only a girl, and to call her a nag when she is concerned for your life is unkind. Every man needs a gentle push in the right direction sometimes, and though it may not always seem so, there is love behind it.”
“Wife?” Eben said, confused, until Raven glared at him. “Oh, aye. Raven. My—wife.”
The older woman glanced from him to Raven, who shrugged. “He’s been out of his head almost since the moment we met. I am unsurprised he should forget our nuptials so soon.”
Elizabeth clucked her tongue, slipping an arm around Raven. “Come with me, my dear. I’ve some peppermint tea brewing that’s just the thing for taut nerves.”
Eben’s mouth watered at the mention of Elizabeth’s peppermint tea, but he didn’t dare request any in case she brought him more willow bark swill. As he settled back onto the mattress, his aches lessened somewhat, and the trembling brought on by violent fever subsided completely. His lids drifted down, and the muted sound of women’s voices rising and falling in conversation soon lulled him into a restless, dream-filled sleep.
MEG WAS PUNCHING DOWN THE bread dough with uncharacteristic violence. Her freckled brow was furrowed deep, and her eyes burned with the strength of her barely suppressed ire. “I’ve never told you what to do! Why should I start now?”
Eben laughed. “C’mon, Meg. You know that’s not true.
When have you ever held back your opinion?”
“When did you ever heed my advice?” Ten years older than Eben, Meg was his foster sister, his confidante—as much as he would allow it, since he tended toward secrecy and self- reliance—and counselor, though he rarely took anyone’s advice. Small and thin, she nonetheless was given to fits of temper that caused most who knew her to walk softly around her. Just now, her fists jabbed and punished the bread dough, and tiny geysers of flour shot into the air, raining down like snow on the ancient wooden table. “Stubborn!” she threw the word out, unable to keep from saying what she thought, though she had just indicated otherwise. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good! If you had a lick of sense, you’d steer clear of that girl! Flame-red hair and grass-green eyes. A hundred years ago, they’d have hanged her for a witch. More’s the pity they abandoned the practice before she came along.”
“You misunderstand her. She’s not at all like that with me.
She’s very sweet.”
“So’s arsenic, if it’s mixed with a like amount of honey.
They’ve a lot in common, her and it. She’s poison, too, and if
you get mixed up with her, she’ll ruin you.”
“She’s just a girl. You give her too much power.”
“Barely sixteen and she’s already been with men. God only knows how many!”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do know it. In fact, everyone in this county knows it, except for the two people who are blinded to her evil ways— Zeb, and you.”
“I don’t want to hear any more of this—”
He would have left the kitchen, but Meg abandoned the dough and took hold of his arm. “Eben, for pity’s sake, will you listen to reason. There are half a dozen girls your age who would jump at the chance to walk out with you—girls of good character and family. Innocent girls with high moral standards who would make you a good wife, and bear you fine little ones, if only—”
“You don’t understand. I love her, Meg. And she loves me.” “Ha! What’s that little rip know about love? Nothing!
She’s selfish, and conniving, and she’ll wreck your life if you let her.”
“No, Meg. You’re wrong about her.” He was so hot. It must have been the heat from the brick oven, and the fire burning steadily on the hearth. Meg had turned away. Her shoulders were stiff, her posture unyielding. “She’s not a whore. She isn’t! She’s in my blood. I’m going—to marry—her.”
Something cool passed over Eben’s face. He sighed, finally giving up on Meg, whose figure was fading away.
Why was he so tired?
His chest felt so heavy, like someone had placed an enormous stone in the center of it. Every breath felt as if it were his last. His heart worked so hard, it jarred his whole body with each beat. He thought he heard murmurings, soft and muted. Meg was somewhere near, just out of sight. She was so angry with him, yet he knew if she gave Ivory half a chance, she’d see that he was right. “Meg?”
“Ssshhh,” the voice said, that single sound so very soothing. “You must rest and get well. You are needed, ma cher.”
Somewhere deep inside him, recognition dawned, though it didn’t quite illuminate the weary, darkened corners of his brain. Softly accented, the voice appealed to him, and so he chose to listen, sinking slowly into a deeper, dreamless sleep.
Seated on the edge of the bed, Raven heard his sigh of surrender and saw him slip out of delirium’s grip. She had listened to his mindless confessions, yet she was curiously devoid of emotion. Indeed, she felt empty, now that the struggle was over. Feeling a gentle hand on her shoulder, she raised her gaze to meet James Galloway’s.
“Mrs. St. Claire, why don’t you get some rest? It looks like the crisis has passed. His fever has broken.”
Looking closely, Raven saw tiny beads of sweat on his brow. She sighed. “Thank God. I truly feared that—well, it doesn’t matter now.”
“I understand.” He took her elbow and drew her to her feet. “Come. Elizabeth prepared the trundle for you. It’s on the other side of the bed, so you can hear him if he awakens.”
“Thank you. You’ve both been so kind.”
“Eben is a good friend. I’ve known him since my army days. He’s been somewhat unlucky in the past. I am much relieved to see that that has changed.”
Raven knew there was a great deal the man held back, but she didn’t ask. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She sat on the trundle and watched as James Galloway left the room.
Changed, he’d said. But had anything really changed? Or was the man sleeping nearby still in love with this Ivory?
Raven closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. His words moments ago reminded her of what he had said when she questioned if he had a wife waiting for him. “I have no wife, nor do I want one.” Since he had not wed the woman, what had kept him from it? And who on earth was Meg?
He’d said that he loved this Ivory woman, but if he truly had experienced the wonders of love, then how could he bring
himself to force her into a loveless union with some man, just for the sake of respectability?
James Galloway had intimated that things had happened in Eben’s past, unlucky things that made him deserve happiness now. And Eben himself had said that he did not trust women. So, what had Ivory done?
Raven fell asleep pondering the question, and when she dreamed, she dreamt of flaming red tresses that curled out like cruel tentacles to choke her, and laughing green eyes that bore not a trace of pity for their unfortunate victim.
