Walpurgis Night by Katherine Kingston Page B

to mutter and occasionally writhed or flailed his arms.
    Henrik came back into the room, bearing blankets, clean linen and a bucket of water.
    He knelt next to her. “How does he?”
    “Holding on. I fear his fever is rising.”
    Henrik took the cloth from her. “I’ll stay with him for a time. There’s food, drink, water to wash with and some fresh clothes for you in the other room.”
    Startled that he would think to do all that for her, she looked up at him. Shadows lurked in the depths of his light eyes, worry and concern for his brother, but there was also a hint of care and concern for her. It warmed her right down to her toes.
    “I won’t be long,” she promised as she stood up.
    No one else was in the other room, but a trencher bearing bread, fruit preserves and strips of dried meat waited for her. The water in the pitcher was warm and bore a light rose fragrance. Fianna splashed it over her face and hands, used a cloth nearby to clean the rest of her body. It felt wonderfully refreshing. A plain, clean linen blouse and skirt hung over a chair. By drawing the ribbons on them tight, she was able to fit them to her body. Even the length was right. Someone had gone to a good bit of trouble on her behalf, and it wasn’t hard to decide who it must have been.
    His kindness and thought for her increased the guilt that unworthy thoughts about his brother had even entered her mind.
    She thought more on that as she ate the food left for her. The Church taught that the devil was ever ready to pounce on one’s weaknesses to tempt one to evil. She’d never faced that sort of temptation before. Was it a weakness that she was coming to care for Henrik too strongly? Possibly, but she had to believe she could find strength there as well.
    She ate quickly, only realizing how hungry she was when she began and could barely get the food to her mouth quickly enough. Once it was gone, she went back into the other room.
    Henrik was swabbing Ranulf’s face while the man tossed and turned on the mat.
    “We need fresh water and more fuel for the brazier,” she told him.
    Henrik nodded and went to get it. When he returned, she prepared an infusion of bark and herbs that was often effective in fighting fever and set it to heat. While the mix boiled over the brazier, she sponged Ranulf off yet again. When he suddenly started shivering, she wrapped a blanket around him.
    “Why do we make him cold with the water then make him hot with blankets?” Henrik asked. “This is good for him?”
    “We’re not making him hot or cold. His body itself does that. We’re trying to keep him from getting too hot or too cold. Those are not good for him. So when he gets too hot, we cool him off, and when he gets too chilled, we make him warm.”
    Henrik nodded. “That seems right.”
    Ranulf was being fairly calm for the moment, so Fianna used the time to change the dressing on his shoulder and inspect the wound. The swelling didn’t look dangerous. The discoloration remained in the vicinity of the injury and didn’t seem to be spreading. The red streaks radiating from it had gotten neither worse nor better. Before she put on a new bandage, she spread more of the salve she’d used yesterday on the wound. The recipe for both the salve and the infusion had come from Marla.
    Henrik wrinkled his nose at the odor of the salve. “What is in that? It smells worse than the pig stocks.”
    “If I told you, you would not permit me to use it. ’ Tis a healer’s secret. But it is often helpful in preventing ill humors from gathering in a wound such as Ranulf has.”
    He looked dubious. “Your infusion smells almost as bad. Must all medicine reek to be effective?”
    “Be glad you don’t have to drink it. It tastes worse than it smells.”
    “It will truly help him?”
    She heard the plea that underlay the question but wasn’t sure how to respond. “These medicines are often helpful,” she answered carefully. “But nothing can guarantee a