Linnet frowned, concerned. “Well, if you are sure, then I shall quickly check on the livestock but when I return, you must drink. I shall tend to that dressing on your leg as well.”
He merely grunted.
She watched him anxiously for a while. Once satisfied that he was merely sleeping, she built up the fire, put more water on to heat, and ate a little bread and butter then drank some milk. She wasn’t particularly hungry but knew she knew she ought to keep up her strength. Wrapping herself warmly, she cast an anxious glance over John before setting off to feed the animals in the barn. Closing the door behind her, she halted. The sight confronting her caused her to gasp.
The snow was splattered red, presumably with John’s blood. There seemed to be so much of it, she was dismayed. No wonder John was desperately weak, not simply from the terrible wounds he’d sustained but also from the loss of so much blood. She fetched the shovel and cleared the blood-soaked snow as far from the cabin as she dared walk, throwing it under the trees then piling fresh snow over the bloody snow to cover it. She didn’t want the smell of blood attracting more predators. She worked steadily, keeping a wary eye out for cougars.
She noticed the musket lying in the snow where John had dropped it the previous night. Picking it up, she kept it close as she made her way to the barn. There had been no fresh snowfall since John had last cleared the path, although it remained slippery.
When she opened the barn door, she found Amber grateful to see her; she swung her head toward her, ears pricked eagerly as she whickered a soft greeting. Linnet went straight to her horse and petted her soft nose, soothing the troubled mare. Both the horses seemed nervous, they had obviously heard the disturbance during the night. The other horse snorted and pawed the ground, determined not to be left out of any reassurance. Linnet soothed her until she, too, was calm.
She mucked out the horse stalls, laid fresh hay and gave the animals a feed. The water trough she filled with snow which would soon melt in the warmer temperature of the barn. She settled down on the small wooden stool to milk the cow. The gentle creature stood patiently while she rested her cheek against the animal’s warm hide and tugged her teats with gentle firmness. Before long, the milk pail was half full of frothy milk. Linnet moved the pail out of the cow’s kick range, covered it with a clean cloth used for the purpose, and went to perch on an empty trough. She watched the three animals contentedly chewing their food.
A small shuddering sob escaped her and soon she was weeping wretchedly. She threw herself down upon the pile of fragrant hay and gave full vent to her misery. When at last she was completely drained, she dried her eyes and rolled onto her back. What on earth would she do if the worst happened and John died?
She shied away from such an unbearable thought. He wouldn’t die, she would make certain of that! She realised that part of her misery was sheer rage with John for making such a dangerous mistake. Yet, he was as human as the next man, so why did she expect perfection from him? Was it because he seemed to expect perfection from her and punished her for her mistakes? The wound he’d received could very likely kill him, the shock alone could do that, and then where would she be?
Fresh tears welled and impatiently she brushed them away. It was strange how important John had become to her, so much so that she could no longer imagine life without him. Yet she had been bitterly opposed to their marriage. She realised that, quite simply, he was everything to her now. He was her life now and without him, she would struggle to go on alone.
Not for the first time since their arrival at the Lammers’ cabin, Linnet felt a wave of homesickness for Lavenstock Hall. She liked this country with its wilderness and wide open spaces, yet she yearned for the softness of England’s rolling countryside, for the temperate climate of that pleasant isle. She wondered how long it might be before she saw her homeland again, if ever.
She found herself wishing for Sarah’s sensible presence. She wondered if she could make the journey back to the farmstead in this snow. Almost as soon as the thought entered her head, she dismissed it, she knew the snow lay too thick upon the ground. She would have to manage alone; she had no choice but to make her man well.
This time she would be the strong one and he, in his weakness, would learn to lean upon her. Other than the vow of obedience that John constantly reminded her of, she had also promised to care for him, in sickness and in health. She straightened her shoulders. Now was the time to leave that spoiled English aristocratic girl behind; she was a woman and no longer the proud, ‘green’ girl that John had married. It was imperative that she succeed in nursing him back to health, for both their sakes—the alternative was unthinkable.
She stood, determined, a new mantle of maturity settled upon her. It was time to get on with the tasks. She had to take on all the chores now, there was no time for her to sit and mope. There was bread to bake, the blood-soaked clothes from last night to wash. John must have some wholesome broth to help him build up his strength. With a new resolve, Linnet petted the beasts one last time and checked that all was as it should be before she locked the barn and made her way back to the warmth and security of their cabin.
John was asleep when she returned, which enabled her to complete her chores. By the time he woke some hours later, the cabin was straight and the aromatic smell of the cooked broth and the homely smell of freshly baked bread wafted about the cabin. Far from whetting his appetite, however, the smell made him nauseous. He lay quietly and watched his wife move efficiently around the cooking stove; she looked beautiful and fully in control.
Her hair, hastily pinned up earlier in the day, tumbled free of its pins, wisps curled damply around her flushed face, pink with exertion, a film of perspiration glistened upon her brow. Who would have thought that the haughty, spoiled Miss Linnet Wainwright—correction, Lady Linnet Wainwright, John grinned—would make such an able and domesticated wife? He praised himself for seeing through her veneer to the potential of her strength. This woman was everything he’d hoped for… and more.
He shifted, wincing; giving an involuntary groan as pain sliced through his damaged leg. Immediately, Linnet was beside him. “How are you, my love?” she asked, placing a concerned hand upon his forehead, checking for fever.
“Thirsty,” he croaked, his voice ragged with pain.
She went at once and fetched him a cup of fresh milk to drink. “When you have quenched your thirst, I have some broth ready for you.”
John pushed the mug away. “No. I’m not hungry.” He lay back against the pillows, his eyes closed.
He was surprised when, a few moments later, he was eased forward as more pillows were tucked behind him so that he was raised almost upright. Linnet settled beside him, a bowl cradled in her hands. She tucked a cloth under his chin and raised a spoon to his lips. “Come now, open your mouth,” she ordered crisply. John did as she bid. To his surprise, the broth tasted good and he found he was able to eat almost the entire contents of the bowl.
Linnet calmly removed it and fetched a bowl of hot water. “What is that for?” John enquired suspiciously.
“For your wash,” she replied briskly. He shook his head. “No, I’ll attend to that in a day or so when I am feeling able.”
She ignored him, pulling the covers back. She unfastened the buttons of his shirt, all the while, his hands slapped at hers crossly.
Finally, she stood. With her hands on her hips, she glared down at him. “Now you just listen to me, John Foster. You will tire yourself unnecessarily with this futile behaviour and then, when you are exhausted, I shall wash you anyway! So let us just make this easy on the both of us and get it over with quickly. I have a lot to do and you are not helping.”
John glowered at her. “I am not a child and I will not be bathed like one!” He glared at her mulishly.
Linnet considered him for a moment or two before dropping to her knees beside him. “Listen to me, darling, when I was sick, you took care of me. Now that you are sick, allow me to care for you. You are
my husband, in sickness and in health, under the eyes of God. Now please, let me fulfil my obligation to you as your wife. Please, do not resist the help that is my duty to give and yours to receive. After all, I allowed you to care for me when I was ill.”
He gave her a rueful look but he finally nodded. “Get on with it then,” he said, resigned, “and you can stop looking so damned smug about it!”
He lay with his eyes closed throughout the entire proceedings, only wincing once, when she jarred his wounded leg. Once he was clothed in a clean nightshirt, Linnet placed the bedcovers over him, turning back the material at the end of the bed that covered his legs so that the air could circulate around them. She fetched a bowl of clean, freshly heated water and more cloths.
John watched her suspiciously. “What torture are you planning?”
She wagged her figure at him then brought him a large pewter goblet filled with rye whiskey. “Here is your reward for being so brave.”
He appeared to cheer up immediately, sipping gratefully at the liquor she handed him. Linnet left him to enjoy his reward in peace. She gathered up the pot of herbal, medicinal ointment that Sarah had given her for healing wounds. Glancing across at her husband, she saw that he finally slept; she hoped the effect of the whiskey would ensure that he stayed asleep while she changed the dressing on his leg. Gently, she wet the bandages until they were soaked and would peel away from the wound easily. Then she very carefully lifted the first of the dirty dressings away from his leg.
“Sly vixen!”
She almost leapt out of her skin with surprise, glancing up into a pair of twinkling grey eyes. “Oh, you startled me! Your wound cannot be left or it will fester, do you wish to take some more whiskey? It might help with the discomfort.”
His gaze held steady as he shook his head. “No, I’ll not take any more liquor. I can see you’re determined on this and so your lovely face will have to distract me from the discomfort.”
“Are you sure? This is going to hurt.” Linnet turned pale, she trembled.
“Do what needs to be done, I know you will be as gentle as you can be,” he reassured her.
“Oh, darling, I promise I will try not to cause you unnecessary pain,” she said as she tried to control her distress. But her hands shook as she continued with her ministrations.
John was very brave and did not move a muscle as she removed the final strip of cloth. His leg was a ghastly sight; the flesh still vibrantly mottled and swollen. The wound seeped but at least it did not smell putrid. Linnet was apprehensive. Knowing that the worst was yet to come, she hesitated to continue.
John encouraged her gruffly. “Get it over with, there’s a good girl… just get on with what needs to be done.” She poured whiskey into the water as she had done the previous night then, resolute, she began to gently wash the wounds.
He flinched, gritted his teeth, beads of sweat standing out on his brow.
Linnet carried out the task with speedy efficiency, then began to coat the wounds liberally with the herbal ointment. John ground his teeth, muttering under his breath. She bound up the wounds and he visibly relaxed.
“Fetch me that damned whisky!” he gasped. She did as he bid and held the jar out. “No, you first,” he said, “you look as though you need it, love.”
She nodded and tipped the jar, taking a large swig. Coughing, she swiped the back of her hand over her mouth then passed the bottle to John.
“I wonder how many married couples have their first year spent in the company of pirates, are shipwrecked, meet natives, and are attacked by wild bears and mountain lions?” she mused solemnly.
“Not that many, I think we might have been singled out for the pleasure,” John rasped wryly before falling back onto the pillows and losing consciousness.
She retrieved the whiskey and smoothed his dark hair away from her husband’s chiselled face. “Who wants a conventional marriage? Not I, at any rate!” She kissed his forehead.
Chapter 18
“What is the date today?” Linnet asked some weeks later.
“The twenty-third. Good grief, do you realise that two days’ hence, it will be Christmas Day!” John exclaimed in surprise.
Over the past few weeks, John’s leg had healed well. Although it was still very painful, the wound had scabbed over nicely and he had no fever or infection even though the scratches were deep. John assured Linnet that this was solely due to her meticulous care and cleansing of the wounds. Mountain cats, he informed her, had very dirty claws, and most who survived their initial attack died later from the infection that followed.
He sat in a chair, whittling himself a pipe and marvelling as he watched Linnet competently kneading dough for bread. He still found it astonishing that his defiant girl had become such a domestic and efficient wife.
“Christmas will seem strange with only the two of us. I loved Christmas at home with all the spicy smells, the dancing and the giving of gifts. The balls…” Her voice trailed away wistfully.
John rose awkwardly and hobbled over to her. Slipping an arm about her waist, he hugged her. “Our first Christmas together, and we shall make the most of it because it may be the last we ever spend alone together.”
He arched his brow, and Linnet blushed and sighed. He knew how much she wanted a baby. “John, we could visit Hans and Sarah!”
He hated to disappoint her. “I’m sorry, darlin’, but quite apart from the snow, there’s my darned leg.”
She nodded, crestfallen. “Oh yes, your poor leg, I’d quite forgotten but never mind. You are right, it might just be the last Christmas we spend alone together. We shall make it special! This afternoon, I will start baking some tasty cakes and tarts.”
He chuckled, relieved by how well she had taken his refusal to travel. “I’ll fetch some greenery to decorate the cabin. I want it to feel like a proper Christmas for you.”
She hugged him. “Are you sure you want to risk your leg walking outside?” she asked with concern.
“Yes,” he affirmed. He was tired of being an invalid, cooped up inside all day.
She kissed him on the cheek and danced away coquettishly. “I must go and tend our animal friends. I have named the pony Pickle because she’s so very naughty. At home, Cook always called me Pickle.”
“I wonder why?” John answered facetiously.
She ignored his comment. “Do you know that Pickle crept up behind me yesterday and pushed me flat on my face with her nose?”
He chuckled. “That’s because you spoil those darn horses.”
“I treat Amber and Daisy the cow in exactly the same way as I treat Pickle, and they are perfect ladies! I’m sorry, but Pickle is a monster!”
Linnet left to make her way over to the barn to begin her daily chores, which always started with mucking out, then milking. John waited a moment before going over to the largest chest, where he had hidden the small wooden casket that he was carving for Linnet’s Christmas present: a box in which to keep her jewellery. She’d lost most of her finery aboard the ship, but the best and most valuable pieces they had saved. Hans had tutored John and he had carved the top of the casket with fruit and entwined leaves. He was pleased with the way it was coming along, and hoped he would be able to finish it in time for Christmas Day.
Linnet, meanwhile, had finished milking Daisy, covered the pail of milk, and gone to a pile of hay in which she had hidden her Christmas present to John. She’d taken some of the green velvet that John had given her for her dressmaking and was in the last stages of making him a fine waistcoat. She’d almost finished the embroidery work on the front panels of the garment. When that was complete, all that was required to finish it off was the addition of five buttons. It was the buttons that caused her the most concern. She had no spares available, and she couldn’t take any from John’s clothing without him noticing. What to do? She would just have to give him the gift minus buttons, he could choose which of his garments to take some buttons from or wait until they were in Boston and able to purchas
e some.
After an hour of sewing, her hands felt frozen. She’d had enough of sitting in the chilly barn. She petted the horses and left them to their hay, closing up the barn. She stepped into the warm cabin, the wonderful astringent scent of wet woodland wafting over her. Tangy and fresh, the smell of spruce and ivy mixed with the heavier lingering smell of wintergreen and fir. John stood over a pile of freshly cut greenery, obviously trying to decide where to place it all.
“It smells heavenly!” Linnet exclaimed, delighted.
He looked up from his labours. “Thank goodness you’re back. I have absolutely no idea where to put the stuff,” he confessed, wiping his brow.
She could tell that it had been a little more tiring than he’d care to admit, cutting and dragging back branches. He rubbed his leg and she realised it must hurt. She hung up her cloak and examined the fragrant heap of greenery. “Let’s keep some outside to replace the dead as it dries out,” she suggested. Gathering up an armful, she placed it beside the door, ready to store outside.
Linnet pulled out a chair, clambered up and John handed the greenery up to her. Once they’d finished, she thought the cabin looked quite festive. She dug out some red ribbon from amongst her sewing then tied bunches of greenery together with it; the splash of red enhanced the green foliage. Then she and John spent a busy couple of afternoons preparing for their special Christmas Day. Linnet baked and cooked while John stocked up the firewood and melted snow over the fire for their water supply.
Christmas morning dawned. They made slow, sweet love, wishing each other a Happy Christmas in their own unique way. After breakfast, John said a prayer for their family and friends. He asked the Lord to keep them safe and in good health. They even sang a carol, but then decided they should complete all their morning chores. Survival meant their routine was as any other day and certain tasks, such as tending to the livestock, still needed to be done, even though it was Christmas.
Later, Linnet changed into her newly finished, green velvet gown. She had set a hunk of venison to roast, taken from the kill that John had made when the natives had appeared. The icy weather had kept the meat fresh. She’d made an herb suet crust to accompany the meat and soaked dried peas overnight to prepare them to have with the meal. John changed into in dark breeches and a fine lawn shirt.
Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master Page 24