Hey hey hey,
Here's the next part! Let me tell you guys, I am just getting more and more excited about this story as I go. It's just really starting to get into the thick of things!
That being said, please vote and comment, I love hearing your responses, and as you know, the more feedback I get, the quicker I update! (In case you haven't noticed the increased frequency in the last few updates :P)
Anyways, you guys are uh-ma-zing!
P.s. if you like this story and haven't read my other story The Rivalry yet, I highly encourage you to, if you love this story you'll love that one as well!
That's enough chit chat - let's get on with the story!
<3
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"These wounds look slightly red and inflamed, a small infection may be setting in. I'll need to apply a poultice," the doctor, Robert Mattson, spoke the next morning after he had removed the bandages on Rebecca's legs.
I hadn't slept a single minute throughout the night. I had stayed by her side, wiping down her face, waiting to see if she would wake. She hadn't. She hadn't stirred at all, she hadn't moved an inch. The only sign of life she had at all was her chest slightly, slowly, rising and falling.
"I have herbs in my bag," the doctor mumbled as he pulled out a mortar and pestle and began mashing up green herbs of some kind, adding water to it when he was done to make a thick paste.
He applied it generously to her shins, stopping just below the knee. Her knees were still slightly swollen but they seemed to have shrunk in size, if only just a little bit.
The gashes on her legs did look worse than they had when he first bandaged them. Some of the spots where dirt and rocks had embedded into her legs were rimmed with red, sign that infection was in fact beginning to set in.
After he applied the paste he bandaged her legs once more.
"We will need to check these again halfway through the day and again once before the bedtime hour," he explained as he put his things away. He placed his hand on Rebecca's forehead and lightly felt her face. He took out his baton stethoscope and listened to her chest. A slight scowl set itself upon his brow.
"Does the poultice always help?" I asked.
"Many times, yes. It depends on how far along the infection gets before you catch it. Her legs are in good shape yet, just the beginnings of infection. She doesn't seem to have broken a fever. Have you noticed her break out in a sweat at all?" he asked, turning to me.
"No, I tended to her all night, I noticed no sign of sweats," I responded, running my hand over my face as I sighed. I was exhausted.
"Good news. I only hope she wakes soon so she may eat and drink something. I fear she loses more and more strength the longer she remains in this state. When she wakes, she will need to drink and eat. It's likely she will barely have the energy to do that for a while but we must insist. For her to gain any strength back she needs rations as well as rest," Robert explained.
"Yes. How long can she remain like this?" I asked. I knew what would happen if she didn't wake to eat or drink.
"Unfortunately, only a day or so more. I'm assuming that they had her for a few days?" he asked, referring to the mercenaries.
I only nodded to answer him. A day or so, that was so little time. If Rebecca didn't wake in a day or so, it was possible that she would never wake.
My heart dropped into my stomach just imagining the possibility that she may not wake up. How had I allowed this to happen? She was with me the day she was abducted and I wasn't able to protect her from the ambush. She had dreaded marrying me, a life forced upon her that she never wanted. And now I possibly gave her not only that but an early death. What a poor excuse for a husband I had been.
"Stanton," I was brought back to reality by the voice of one of my most trusted knights, Haythem. I had forgotten he was at the inn. He must have rented his own chambers.
"Go get a meal and come back to rest. I know you haven't gotten any sleep," he spoke, his voice gentle but unwavering.
"He is right, you must rest too. Harming yourself will not help her," the doctor spoke, agreeing with Haythem. "We've done what we can, the rest is up to her."
I looked reluctantly at Rebecca, the woman I called my wife, laying on the bed before me. Her skin was pale and her cheeks looked almost sunken, dark circles had formed under her eyes.
Reluctant to leave her side, I stepped out of the chambers and walked towards the tavern. The upbeat tune of the music playing from the bard did nothing to raise my spirits. I walked to the barman and asked for a meal, he gave me a bowl and pointed me to the cooking spit, along the far wall.
There were many men and a few women seated at the numerous tables scattered within the room. Some of the men stood with their backs against the walls, women purring in their ears. I used to be one of those men, who always had the attention of women. The idea of women I didn't know advancing on me seemed strange now, as if those were foreign times and I was a different man. I shook the thoughts from my mind.
I filled the wooden bowl with stew and walked back to the barman, getting a goblet of mead as well. I was just about to take the meal back to the chambers when I was interrupted.
"Well, if it isn't Stanton Holwell!" I heard a loud voice holler from behind me.
Turning, I saw one of the numerous men I had trained in battle.
"Hello, Zachariah," I replied.
"What're you doing here? Sit down, we'll have a brew for old times sake," the short, stocky man said. I had trained him years ago, he was sent off to become part of the guard in a town far to the east.
"Thank you for the invitation but I'm afraid I must turn down your offer, I'm needed elsewhere," I responded, anxious to return to Rebecca.
"Holwell, turning down an ale, that's unheard of," he quipped, one eyebrow cocked.
"Yes, it seems many things have changed as of late," I murmured.
"What is it that you're itching to get back to?" he asked. He always did have a habit of meddling around in other people's affairs.
"My ailing wife," I replied shortly.
His eyes grew wide and his jaw opened slack, "Wife? You've gotten married?"
"Indeed. Really, I would like to catch up on the times but I must go," I said as I bid the man goodnight.
I rushed back to the room, half expecting Rebecca to have waken in my absence. I was met by Haythem and Robert whispering to one another and Rebecca in the same state as I had left.
I sat on one of the cushioned chairs in the room, pulling it next to Rebecca on the bed. I could hardly get myself to swallow the food as I ate, knowing that Rebecca lie mere feet from me, slowly wasting away.
The mead, which should have been sweet, tasted bitter as I swallowed. I couldn't help but feel guilt with every action I was able to take that she was not.
"Stanton," Haythem spoke once I had finally finished my meal. "You must rest."
I was reluctant to rest. I wanted to be awake if she woke. The doctor got very stern with me then.
"If this woman wakes, she needs you to be able to take care of her. Besides, you're ailing yourself, you need rest for your shoulder to heal as well," he chided.
I nodded. "Fine. But I will rest right here, I will not leave this chamber."
I could tell that they were displeased but accepted my terms nonetheless. I leaned back against the cushioned back of the chair that I had pulled alongside the bed, folded my hands in my lap and closed my eyes. Pictures of the mercenaries flashed through my mind. Haythem's arrow piercing that man's chest and my blade slicing through the throat of the second man, ending his life in seconds.
Were those men so lowly that they would really end a woman's life, even for coin? I already knew the answer to that. They would have done anything for the right price.
I sat there and began to drift off multiple times but just as I was on the verge of sleep, my imagination would trick me into thinking I heard Rebecca stir. Every time I would open my eyes and she would be there, in the same position. The doctor had said that he would comeback at midday and again in the evening. He had not expected me to still be awake when he returned midday.
He pulled off her bandages and checked the poultice, putting a fresh layer on her wounds. Again, he convinced me that I needed to rest.
Finally, I felt unconsciousness tugging at me and I allowed it to take me, if wanting the escape for only a small slice of time.
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My entire body throbbed with pain I had never imagined having to endure. I had hoped that if I was ever to die, it would be quickly.
My chest felt as if it had a thousand pounds set upon it, I could feel my breaths dragging in slowly. My back, chest and sides were radiating in pain, as if they were so tender that the air itself was causing pain. My knees were aching a constant, dull ache and my shins were burning, they felt as if they were on fire. My head was pounding so badly it made me nauseous.
Where was I? I was alive, for there was no way there would be this much pain in death. I wanted to faint, to fall unconscious, so that I didn't have to feel it anymore. I was so aware of the pain, every breath sending new tendrils of agony through my entire body.
The last thing I remembered was being in the cellar with Garon. Ed had not returned yet. But wait, I remembered a man I had never seen before making his way down to the cellar. And Stanton. He had come for me.
Or had he? Had I finally gone so delirious that I was seeing things that did not exist? Surely, I could not have been rescued if I was in this much pain. The mercenaries had to have inflicted some sort of torture upon me when I lost consciousness. Perhaps they had thought they had finally beaten me to death or I had finally withered away. Perhaps they had drug me somewhere desolate, to rot.
But here I was. Maybe if I held my breath long enough, I would pass out. I didn't want to be awake. I sucked in what shallow breath I could gather and held it. I hadn't been saved. I hadn't been rescued.
I soon became aware of tears sliding down my cheeks, the first sensation I could feel besides the pain. But what was that? I could hear something, it sounded like footsteps. And music. I could hear music, a string instrument playing an upbeat tune, somewhere off in the distance.
I slowly let the breath hiss out of my lungs. My thoughts were so scattered I could barely make sense of anything. One second I was sure that I was still in the presence of the mercenaries, convinced that I was going to die. And the next I could hear the music, though it faded in and out as the other thoughts continued to prod their way into my consciousness.
And then I opened my eyes. It took a few moments to focus, the world spinning slightly before me. I scanned the dimly lit room. To my right I saw a large wooden chest and a small table with one chair. There were random items thrown upon the table that I couldn't decipher in the meager light.
I came upon a small fireplace, with a lantern lit upon the mantle, giving off the only light in the chamber. And then finally, my heart seized at what I saw next, tears began rolling freely again down my cheeks.
There he was, slumped back in a cushioned chair just feet from me. His shaggy blonde hair fell to either side of his face. His eyes were shut and his mouth closed in slumber. His right arm cradled the hand of his left, the side of the arm that sat in a sling due to his injury. I hadn't imagined it. He had come for me. Stanton, my husband, had saved me.
And just then, as I studied his face more, his eyes shot open, eyes that I knew would be dazzling blue in better lighting, locked onto mine, his gaze piercing through me.
"Rebecca," he whispered, as if it pained him just to say my name.
I couldn't find any words to say as he slowly leaned forward, as if he was unsure of what he saw before him. His right hand still cradled the arm of his injured shoulder. His eyes were cautious as he spoke, "You're awake." He was still whispering, as if he was afraid to speak, as if he thought his eyes were deceiving him.
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice but failing. I only blinked and nodded ever so slightly, my stiff neck screaming in protest. Just then he released his injured arm as his hand slowly came towards me. He cradled my face in his large hand as his thumb gently brushed the tears from my eyes. And then he pushed himself from the chair and slowly, without ever touching my body, he dropped to one knee, leaning over the bed. I studied him, his eyes darted over my face, watching me. His lips had parted slightly as he concentrated. He slowly leaned over me, gently resting his forehead on mine before whispering,
"And you're alive."
I nudged my head up and to the side slightly so that my cheek was resting against his as I fought for my voice, forcing my body to cooperate with me as I quietly, almost inaudibly whispered back,
"I'm alive."