***
"It's no use Gareth! The rivers is too swollen," Cynan shouted over the roar of the Dovey River. The steady downpour of the last hour had filled the narrow stream until it was spilling over its banks and the shallow ford that the men had sought to cross was now impassable.
"We'll have to backtrack and try to cross higher upstream," yelled Bryant.
"Damn!" Gareth bit out. They had made slow progress all day because Bryant's horse had thrown a shoe. Now with this delay, they would be at least a day late reaching Aberystwyth. He wheeled Isrid in a tight circle and led the way back up the muddy road.
***
The rain was no longer refreshing. It was cold. Elena was soaked through and she could scarcely see a few feet in front of her as she waded through the bog that was the road. She pushed her wet hair out of her face. She was suddenly as hot as she had been when the sun had been beating down on her. Gasping for breath, she stopped and raised her face to the downpour. The next minute she was freezing again, shivering in an effort to warm herself. Without realizing it, she resumed her wobbly way along the road, oblivious to everything but the steady drumming of rain on her head as she vacillated between being hot and cold in the downpour. Suddenly, the way ahead of her was no longer dark grey--it was pitch black and her knees buckled as she slid to the ground, unconscious.
***
Isrid reared suddenly, nearly throwing Gareth who was caught unaware. "What the hell?" he yelled and was about to jerk Isrid back down when he saw what had startled the animal. Huddled in the middle of the road, not a hoof's stride away was a crumpled form. Bryant and Cynan reined in and Bryant yelled, "What is it?"
Gareth dismounted and pointed. He approached the still figure, saw that it was a woman, and crouched down to determine if she was still alive. When he rolled her over and wiped the mud from her face, he felt as if someone had kicked him sharply in the stomach. "Blessed Christ!"
"Gareth?" Cynan yelled.
"It's Elena!" he called back as he scooped her up and carried her back towards Isrid.
"What? How could it be?"
"I'll be damned if I know. Here, hold her!" Cynan jumped off his horse and took Elena's bedraggled form as Gareth quickly mounted. Settling her as gently as he could in front of him, he brushed her tangled hair back from her face, the back of his hand grazing her cheek.
"She's burning up with fever! We've got to get her inside somewhere!"
"There's not so much as a hut for miles, Gareth, much less a town that might boast a healer," Cynan said.
"Yes there is. In Machynlleth."
"Machynlleth? Are you mad? In case you don't remember, we turned back from that ford because we couldn't cross it. Machynlleth is several miles on the other side. We'll never make it!"
"We'll have to make it," Gareth said implacably. Every moment they argued his stomach clenched into tighter knots. Elena had not made a sound since he had found her.
Bryant was staring at Elena's huddled form. Turning to Cynan he said, "Our horses are strong. They can swim the ford. We'll tie lines onto each other so we won't get swept away."
"Not you too, Bryant! I thought at least you'd have some sense. The best we can do is find shelter in the trees and try to build a fire."
"There isn't a dry stick to be had in all of Wales, right now, I'll wager," Bryant argued.
Gareth had had enough. Urging Isrid up against Cynan's mount he grasped his friend's wrist. "She'll die if we don't get her dry and warm soon. We must try to cross the river." When Cynan started to shake his head, Gareth continued more urgently, "What if this was Enid, Cynan?"
Cynan glanced at Elena's pale face and then back to Gareth's eyes, wide with fright and filled with desperation. "Enid will have your head if you get me killed, Gareth. Let's go."
Gareth had never felt such relief before. Spurring Isrid vigorously, he headed for the flooded river. At least the accursed rain is slowing, he thought frantically as they approached the swollen banks of the Dovey. The river had risen several inches since they had left and it was traveling as fast as a horse could run.
Cynan shook his head but said nothing. Bryant pulled a length of rope from his pack and quickly secured it round his waist. He tossed it to Gareth who wrapped it around himself and Elena before finally handing it to Cynan. Bryant urged his apprehensive horse into the quickly running water. As Gareth followed, Elena awoke and grabbed at his drenched shirt. Gareth glanced down quickly and in the grey light of the storm, her eyes were dark, sparkling with fevered intensity.
"They're after you," she whispered hoarsely.
Gareth had no idea what she was talking about but knew that he needed every bit of concentration for guiding his horse across the river. "'Tis alright, my lady. We're safe now," he soothed. "Just go back to sleep and I'll wake you when we're home."
"At Eyri Keep?" she asked as her lids drooped closed.
"Yes."
Wrapping his right arm more tightly around her, Gareth wiped the rain off his face and guided Isrid into the dark water with his left. The bank of the normally shallow ford dropped instantly into water that easily reached Isrid's chest. Gareth felt the swift pull of the water as is swirled around his feet and he wondered fleetingly if Cynan hadn't been right after all. The water quickly deepened and Isrid was soon swimming. Gareth prayed his horse would not tire before they reached the other side.
Gareth could hear Isrid's loud breathing over the roaring rush of the water. He looked behind him to see Cynan patting his horse's neck, shouting encouragement to the frightened beast. Looking down at Elena, Gareth prayed they would make it across. Branches and bits of debris pelted his legs and Isrid's sides with the force of arrows as the river shot them downstream. Squinting through the steady downpour, he guessed Bryant's horse would reach the far bank in a few more strokes and for the first time, he began to believe they would make it. Bryant's horse was not ten feet from the bank and had just got its feet on the river bottom when a huge log slammed into it, throwing it off balance. The horse screamed and scrambled clumsily to regain its footing. As soon as it was on its feet it bolted for the shore. Bryant held a tight rein on him but the horse refused to be stayed. Gareth felt the rope lurch and nearly lost his balance in the saddle. Elena moaned as the wet cord cut into her waist.
"Bryant!" Gareth yelled. "Pull back! Pull back!" Isrid strained against the pull of Gareth on his back and Gareth and Elena were suddenly pulled off the horse. Though the rain was cold, the river was freezing. Gareth struggled to the surface, pulling Elena up with him. Her full skirts caught in the current, trying to pull her away from him and still unconscious, she was a dead weight, dragging Gareth under. Just as he got both their heads above water, he felt another abrupt lurch as the horse reached the opposite shore and tried to run. Bryant quickly jumped off and began hauling in on the rope. Gareth's feet had just touched bottom when Cynan splashed up and helped them to shore. Gareth collapsed in the mud until his gasps for breath slowed. He quickly reached for Elena, convinced she should be dead after such a trial. Her pulse still beat strongly but despite the dunk in the cold water, her skin still burned to the touch.
"We've got to get her to shelter," Gareth yelled over the roar of the water. Both Bryant and Cynan nodded grimly. Cynan untied the swollen rope from Gareth and Elena while Bryant chased down his still-jittery horse. Within minutes they were tearing along the muddy road to Machynlleth.
Two hours later they rode into the small town, exhausted and mud spattered. Gareth stopped at the first inn they came to. With Elena in his arms, he kicked the door open and strode across the small room.
"I need a room. Now," he gasped. "My wife is ill. Get a fire going immediately."
The innkeeper and his wife stared at him as if he were Lucifer himself until he bellowed, "Move!" Quickly jumping up, the woman ran upstairs while the man gathered an armload of wood from a box in the corner of the room. Gareth followed the man upstairs, willing his legs not to collapse until he reached the bed. As soon as
the innkeeper had a fire going, Gareth said, "Get out. No not you," as the wife moved to follow her husband. "I need your help undressing her. She's soaked through and burning with fever.
Although the woman had first seemed as timid as a field mouse, she soon proved both competent and wise as she deftly pulled Elena's kirtle and chemise over her head. "There's a cloth on that wash stand," she said, gesturing with her chin as she laid Elena gently on the bed and began pulling off her boots. When Gareth handed her the cloth, she briskly rubbed Elena dry and quickly pulled the covers up.
"I'll prepare a compress," the woman said as she spread Elena's clothes in front of the blaze. "You'll want to add a few more logs to that fire and get out of your wet clothes. You'll do your wife no good if you catch the fever yourself."
Gareth stared at the closed door for several moments before rousing himself enough to unlace the cuffs of his shirt. He paused with his hands on the waistband of his chausses and glanced at Elena. Perhaps he shouldn't even be in here. At the time, saying she was his wife had seemed like the best reason to have an unchaperoned young woman with him. Now he wondered what Elena's reaction would be should she wake the next morning to find him in the same room. He was about to grab up his shirt and join Cynan and Bryant when the innkeeper's wife returned.
"Here, you may borrow this shirt while yours dries. It belonged to my brother. He died last spring. Your friends are settled in the small room downstairs." She set a large wooden bowl on the floor beside the bed and began applying a wet cloth to Elena's face. The smell of chamomile filled the room as she dipped the cloth back into the bowl.
"Perhaps I should sleep with my friends downstairs and allow you to tend to her," Gareth said, easing towards the door. When the woman shook her head he said, "I'll pay you well. You obviously know much more of healing than I do and--"
"And should she wake up in the middle of the night how do you think she'll feel to have a stranger here instead of her husband. No, come here and I'll show you what to do."
Gareth pulled the borrowed shirt over his head and crossed the room apprehensively. The woman stood and motioned him to sit on the edge of the bed next to Elena who appeared deathly pale in the firelight.
"Just wring that cloth out and wipe her face and throat gently with it." When Gareth did as she instructed, she leaned over and pulled the rough blanket down. "She's got a bit of a rattle in her breath. You'll want to put the compress on her chest as well to ease her breathing."
Gareth swallowed and concentrated on keeping his hands steady as he drew the pungent cloth between Elena's silken breasts.
"No not like that. You won't do her any good to just sponge her off. Here," she took the cloth from Gareth and dipping it back into the bowl, took his hand in her and pressed it over the cloth to Elena's chest. "Just hold it there for a few minutes and then rewet it. I'll go and see if there's anything to feed you."
Gareth looked studiously at the wall above the bed while he held the cloth against Elena's chest. When he removed it he carefully avoided looking at her and concentrated on meticulously dipping the cloth in the fragrant water and wringing it out. How long did he have to continue this, he wondered as he changed the cloth pressed to her forehead.
Elena inhaled suddenly and began tossing her head. Gareth froze, afraid to touch her. "Gareth!" she called. Gareth's eyes widened. What if she'd been conscious while he'd applied the cloth to her--
"Gareth," she called again. "They know, they..." Her words faded into an incoherent mumble.
"Shh," he whispered, awkwardly stroking her hair. "I'm right here."
Elena's eyes opened a little. "Gareth?"
"Yes. We're in an inn. Can you tell me how you came to be in the middle of the road? Elena? Why were you following us?"
Elena seemed not to understand what he was asking. "Promise," she mumbled.
"What? Promise what, Elena?"
"Don't...don't leave me again..."
"Don't worry," Gareth assured. "I'll be right here until you feel better."
"Promise," she whispered as her eyes closed again.
"I promise," he said, and since she seemed to be asleep, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on her fever-hot lips. Gareth leaned closer. Despite the fever, she was so pale he could make out a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose. He ran his finger over them lightly, smiling. He jerked his hand away quickly when a light tap on the door was followed by the innkeeper's wife carrying a tray.
"Since we've not had visitors for several days, I'm afraid there isn't much food ready, but I brought a bit of bread and some broth," she said apologetically. "You should try to get some liquid down her throat." When Gareth reached for one of the bowls to feed Elena, the woman shook her head. "If she's sleeping now let her be. Besides, you look exhausted. Why don't you eat while I change the compresses and then you can try to wake her."
Gareth nodded and took the steaming bowl of broth. He drained it in one long gulp and began gnawing on the thick dark bread. When he had finished eating, she took the empty bowl and said, "If she should take a turn for the worse, just pound on the floor. Ours is the room right below this one and I'll be right up. Now just keep changing those compresses until she starts to sweat. When that happens, keep her covered and warm. If the fever doesn't break by morning, I'll fetch the healer."
Gareth thanked the woman who closed the door softly behind her. Taking a deep breath, he moved back to Elena's side and took up the compress. Against his will, his eyes strayed to her bare breasts, which were the color of warm ivory in the light of the fire. Quickly turning his head he busied himself wringing out the cloth. When he had replaced it on her chest, he drew the covers up and reached for the full bowl of broth.
"Elena?" he said softly. "You must try to get some of this down." With his free hand he shook her gently until her eyes opened. "Try and drink, Elena."
Gareth lifted her head and held the bowl to her lips. She only drank a few swallows, and he spilled just as much down her neck, but he felt a great sense of accomplishment. "Good girl. Go back to sleep now." But she was already out.
Chapter 12
Gareth awoke to dim sunlight filtering through the downpour. He sat up abruptly, his muscles sore from their awkward position in the hard chair in which he had fallen asleep. Moving as fast as his cramped muscles would allow, he crossed the room and felt Elena's face. It was still hot, but she was now drenched in sweat, the covers bunched around her waist. "Damn!" Gareth said. "I should have covered you hours ago." Cursing his stupidity, he drew the blankets up to her chin, tucking them around her shoulders. He then sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed her damp hair off her face.
Despite her illness, Gareth thought, she's still the most beautiful woman I've seen. Her normally chestnut hair, now wet with sweat, was a dark red, her lashes russet fans against her cheeks, her eyebrows arching softly above. Without thinking, Gareth raised his hand and traced the curve of her cheek, the line of her mouth.
At his touch, Elena's eyes opened and she whispered, "Water." Gareth was instantly on his feet, searching for a bucket or pitcher. "Where could it--Oh damn it all to hell!" Gareth bellowed as his foot kicked over the bucket of water near the foot of the bed. He quickly righted the bucket, but not before all the water drained out.
"I'll be right back," he told the dazed Elena, and jerking the door open, he bolted down the narrow staircase. Cynan and Bryant jumped up when he entered the main room.
"Where is fresh water?" he asked the startled innkeeper.
"I took a bucket up to your room last--"
"I spilled it. Where do I find more?" Gareth turned as the door opened, letting in a blast of rain and the innkeeper's wife who was lugging two buckets.
"Is that fresh water?" he demanded.
"Aye," said the woman as she handed him a bucket. "Is she worse?"
"I don't think so; her fever is starting to break." Without another word, he grabbed the handle and dashed back up the stairs. Cynan and Bryant stared a
fter him in surprise for several seconds.
"An unlikelier nursemaid I've never seen," Cynan said sardonically.
Bryant glanced at their hosts before turning to Cynan and lowering his voice. "Do you think 'tis quite proper for Gareth to be in Lady Elena's room like that?"
Cynan looked at his friend with a suspicious smile tugging at his lips. "Since when are you so worried about propriety, especially with an English lass?"
Bryant flushed deeply and shrugged. "I just don't think Lady Elena will be pleased 'twas Gareth who spent the night with her."
"And who do you think she would have rather had with her last night?" Cynan asked, all pretense of a straight face vanishing as he laughed.
"That's not what I meant," Bryant denied hotly. "I meant I don't think Lady Elena would prefer to have any man tending her whilst she's ill."
"'Tis a common enough excuse, claiming to be ill," Cynan gibed. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than tormenting Gareth, it was making Bryant blush.
"Have you no decency, you clot? You'd best keep your mouth closed, lest I be tempted to repeat some of your remarks to dear Enid."
"Now you don't play fair, Bryant," Cynan said. "You go telling her such things and 'twill be she claiming illness every night for a month!" When Bryant looked unimpressed, Cynan relented. "All right, all right, I'll stop hounding you and our fair English visitor."
"She's Welsh," Bryant said.
"Who is? What are you talking about?"
"Lady Elena. She's not just English, she's Welsh, too. Her father's mother is from Glamorgan."
"And how do you know this? Gareth never made mention of it to me."
A smug look crossed Bryant's face. "She told me when we went for a walk a few weeks ago at Eyri Keep. Shortly after we arrived."
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