Enchanted Cottage (Avador Book 3, Books We Love Fantasy Romance) (6 page)

The sun was making its eastward trek across the sky.
Colin’s arm ached; his stomach growled, a reminder he should have eaten more than just an apple. Bidding the man a good day, he left the boulder and splashed across the water to fetch his boots and socks. Back on the ground again, he looked toward the river, but the old man was gone. He wondered if he would see him again. Most likely not, for Colin would leave this forest soon to return home.

Despite his defiant talk, he realized that the old man had given him much to think about.
Yet he refused to delve too deeply into the man’s discourse, for then he would have to face his own disquieting thoughts.

And Alana?
If only he could help her.

He sighed.
His arm ached unbearably; his head pounded like hammers beating relentlessly. He lay back on the ground, letting the breeze dry his feet. Dreading the walk back to the cottage, he wished he could stay here by the river and never rise. Countless moments later, he sat up to slip on his socks and pull his boots on. He stood, his head near to bursting. Chiding himself for his weakness, he stopped to rest against an oak tree. He looked ahead to the path that led upward and agonized if he could continue. What had been an easy walk to the river now seemed like a mile long trek before he reached the cottage. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the tree to finish his journey. A few more steps sent him tripping on a tree root, and he fell on all fours. He cursed his clumsiness but finally rose to his feet. The earth tilted. After an eternity, he reached the cottage and staggered inside.

* * *

Hearing the door open, Alana spun away from the counter. “Colin! I was worr—wondering about you, where you’ve been.” Her glance covered the fresh stack of logs by the fireplace. “Thank you for chopping wood for me.”

“I’ll try to do more tomorrow,” he said, his voice slurring.
All but losing his balance, he fell into the chair. He slumped, resting his head in his hands.

She looked at his wound and gasped.
“The poultice—why did you take it off?”

“It fell off while I was walking down to the river.
I looked for it but I couldn’t find it.”

“Ah, no!
And now you have dirt in the wound. I’ll wash it now, then—“

“
I’ll be all right tomorrow.” He groaned. “Just need to rest.” He fell forward, his face on the table, and closed his eyes.

“And I’ll need to prepare a fresh bandage,” she murmured, more worried by the minute.
Thankful she kept a pan of hot water by the fireplace, she dipped a cloth into the hot water and squeezed it. First washing the sore as carefully as possible, she tossed the cloth onto the counter, then rushed outside for a calendula plant. She regretted not keeping a supply of crushed calendula in the cottage.

Back inside, she crushed the petals in a mug and poured boiling water over
. By now, I

should have learned patience
. Yet the infusion would do no good unless it sat for a few minutes. While waiting for the infusion to steep, she poured hot water over a mug of dried willow bark for his fever.

A short while later, she wrapped the poultice around his arm and tied it.
She prayed to the Goddess that this treatment would produce healing and that Colin would recover by tomorrow. She feared that she expected too much. He would sleep in her bed tonight, she decided, where he would be more comfortable. She would sleep on the floor.

She held his head up and urged him to drink the tea, testing her patience to the limit, for she had to continually raise his head.
After he drained the mug, she set it aside.

“Let’s get you to bed now,” she murmured, her arm around his waist to help him stand.
His body felt so warm! Several tries later, she raised him from the chair.

“Sleep here,” he moaned, falling on the floor with a loud thump.
He lay on his side, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow.

For several moments, Alana stared at him.
Despite her worries about him, her thoughts rushed in all directions. She recalled the day she had first seen him, lying on the floor as he was now. Every moment of their time together came to mind, such little time, and yet it seemed as if they had known each other for years. Even now, she could hear his voice, that deep rich timbre she could listen to forever. Yes, he was often arrogant, but was that so wrong? Surely a soldier couldn’t be shy or timid. But soon he would leave, out of her life forever. She tried to drive that thought from her mind.

Aware she could do no more for him now, she sighed and let him remain on the floor.
Perhaps later she could help him to bed. Worry had erased any appetite for food, yet it was too early for bed. She brewed herself a mug of chamomile tea and sat at the table with a library book. As the sun sank below the horizon, she rose to light a candle in its candlestick. Yet she couldn’t concentrate on the story and pushed the book aside. Checking on Colin from time to time, she changed his poultice again. He murmured in his sleep and turned onto his side. His skin still felt so warm.

As darkness fell outside, she carried the candle to her bedroom and prepared for bed.
She would sleep little tonight, that she knew. She kept her bedroom door open, in case Colin would need her during the night.

She had just fallen asleep when Colin’s moans awoke her.
Pushing the covers aside, she jumped out of bed. Her stomach tightened; her heart pounded against her chest. Making her way in the dark, she reached him and knelt down beside him. He was burning up! How she wished it were winter, when snow or ice would cool his skin. She rose to check the water in the kettle, finding it had cooled to lukewarm. She sponged him with a wet cloth, then blew on his skin. She did this again and again, desperately praying his fever would break. Would another dose of willow bark tea bring his fever down? She would try it one more time. After brewing the tea, she knelt beside him and raised his head. Long minutes later, he drained the mug and started to lie back down.

“No, this time you’re going to my bed.”
With all her strength, she raised him to a sitting position. He fell back down, and she cried with frustration. After an eternity, she got him to stand. Her arm around his waist, she led him to bed, matching her steps with his faltering ones. Settling him on the edge of the bed, she eased his upper body down, then swung his legs onto the bed. This man was solid muscle. Leaning across the bed, she pushed the window up as far as it would go. She hoped, prayed that the night air would cool his body.

Returning to the front room, she lay on the hard puncheon floor.
She tossed and turned as the hours crept by, her eyes wide open as she stared up at the ceiling. Tears misted her eyes, and she prayed as she never had before that Colin would be well by tomorrow. She feared that she prayed in vain.

Colin might lose his arm.
Or die. Or both.

Chapter
Seven

Duffrey Estate

Ulaidh, Avador

“How I wish Colin were home now.”

“So do I, son.”
Finian Duffrey studied his oldest son, Leith, across the study. Father and son had gathered in this quiet room with its book-lined shelves and shared a decanter of wine after the evening meal. Outside, night was falling, but countless candles in iron sconces gave this expansive room a warm glow. A statue of the main Goddess Talmora stood in a far corner, and a deep green carpet stretched across the floor. Near an opposite wall stood an oaken desk with drawers trailing down on both sides, papers, pen and ink and an hour glass atop its smooth surface.

In his blue velvet tunic and black leather trousers, Finian looked every bit the patrician.
His dark brown hair was turning gray at the temples, and a face lined with wrinkles made him look older than his forty-six years.

“Colin’s presence would surely give us some assurance in regard to the estate after
… after I pass on.”

Fear and sadness overcame Finian, a stab to his heart.
“Don’t say it, son. Your illness is only a temporary setback. Why, any day now, you will rally—“

”Look at me, Father.
My clothes are hanging on me.” A fit of coughing overcame him, and he raised a handkerchief to his mouth. From where he sat, Finian saw his son’s handkerchief, stained with blood.

“Let’s face it, Father, and the sooner, the better.
We both know I will soon join Mother in the Otherworld—“

”Ah, Leith, that you should pass on before I do.”
He drew a deep breath. “But you are right about Colin. We need to have him here, now. If we both … if we both pass on to the Otherworld, we must leave with the knowledge that Colin will take good care of this estate. Of course, he would need to resign his commission, but I feel sure that would present no problem.” He raised his hand to his face and sighed. “If we only knew where he is now. Recall I attended a reception at the palace in Moytura last nine-day. I spoke with the Elegian ambassador there. Elegia and Fomoria have declared a truce.” He laughed without humor. “How long this truce will last is anyone’s guess. In any event, Colin should be home by now, and why he isn’t worries me more than I can say.”

“And I, Father.
I can’t imagine where he can be unless, unless….”

“Ah, don’t say it.”
Words caught in his throat. He turned away for a moment, fighting his sadness, his very real fear that he’d never see his younger son again. “Just to be sure, I asked the Elegian ambassador if he’d received any casualty lists from the last battle. ‘Not yet’, he said. That’s Elegia for you, years behind Avador. If it had been our country, we would have had the casualty list immediately after the battle.” He reached for his glass on the table and sipped his wine. “None of this talk solves our problem of who will inherit the estate. Son,” he said, his voice choking, “despite what you may think or my brave talk, I’m prepared to face every eventuality. I may soon join your mother….”

“I most likely will pass on before you, Father.
And if…and if Colin never returns…..”

“Goddess, no!
That I should lose both of my sons!”

“Then who will inherit the estate, Father?
I suppose your cousin Kerwin,” he said with a question in his voice.

“Not my cousin, not that one.
The estate
must
stay in our immediate family. Colin
must
return. You don’t know Kerwin well. We seldom see him, since he lives so far away. But I remember him as a child, his selfishness and thoughtlessness of others. He wouldn’t treat our tenants kindly, of that I am sure. Why, he’d tear their cottages down and make them all homeless, just so he could expand the gardens and plant new trees.” He sighed heavily. “I have thought much on Colin’s absence, aye, for a long time. How many moonphases has it been since we last received a letter from him? More than I want to count. Tomorrow, I intend to send a servant to the army headquarters in Elegia, find out if Colin is in that country or where he is now. I would have done this long ago, had my weak heart not kept me in bed for so long. If Colin had been captured by the Fomorians, he would have been released by now, because of the truce.” He drained his wine glass and set the glass on the table, giving him a chance to fight his tears. He mustn’t break down in front of his son.

Leith’s weak voice broke through his musing.
“Colin may surprise us and arrive home tomorrow.”

“Ah, Talmora, let it be so.
And when he does, he must marry, so that the estate stays in the family after
he
passes on.” He smiled. “Plenty of eligible ladies from other estates in Ulaidh. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. I pray that he returns home soon.”

Chapter
Eight

As time passed, Colin felt a bit better every day.
How he hated this enforced idleness; a grown man shouldn’t be so weak, shouldn’t lie in bed like a baby for so long. But he knew, and Alana reminded him, he’d already had a relapse after chopping wood and losing his poultice. As much as he hated this inactivity, he loathed taking advice from a woman. At the same time, he was grateful for all Alana had done for him. She had truly saved his arm and his life. He wanted to repay her, if only he knew how.

Still a bit feverish, he hoped this would be his last day in bed.
Time to get up and moving. Time to return home to his family.

While Alana sat on the bed to apply a fresh poultice, he gazed up at her and saw her inner beauty, into her very soul.
He could listen to her voice forever, loved watching her movements, those little mannerisms he had learned by heart. And oh, her glossy auburn hair. Tempted to run his fingers through the silky locks, he clenched his hands at his side.

That she should suffer so from such an evil curse!
If only he could help her. And if he could, he’d kill the evil sorceress who had brought her such misery. As soon as that thought emerged from his troubled musing, another thought suppressed it. She had never complained, never once mentioned the evil spell. Only after meeting the old man by the river had he learned of the curse.