The Traitor's Daughter (Complete)

Part 24-A Spark

 Jane looked at the sleeping man. Victor's face would scrunch up in pain periodically as he slept. The wound had become infected and resulted in a raging fever. Jane sat down by the bedside and dipped the cloth in the bowl of ice-cold water, wringing it and then placing the cloth on his forehead.

She had thought of calling the doctor but then decided against it. How would she explain his presence to the doctor? The soldiers had been to almost all houses in the village, looking for the fugitive. People would get suspicious of him and might inform the authorities. She couldn't risk that.

Slowly, she reached for the vial containing a decoction of feverfew, and slipped a spoonful into his mouth, then wiped his brow with a cloth. Jane leaned back in the chair to rest her aching back. She had been keeping vigil by his bedside day and night, uncaring of her own hunger or sleep.

In the few days that he had been with her, she found it difficult to believe that she had not known him all her life. She had married Jack, and they had had a good life, but she couldn't remember having such feelings for Jack, God bless his soul, as she had for Victor.

They had talked for hours and he had shared his predicament with her. Of course, she was a simple village girl and had no idea of court politics. Surely, there was some way that Victor could prove his innocence. But before that, she had to help him fight the infection which plagued him.

Jane lifted the corner of the blanket and inspected the wound. It was an angry red color, with other signs of the infection. She needed to drain it, then clean it and apply a paste of herbs. Years of living on the farm meant that she had learned a bit of physicking.

"Hilda...." she called for her maid, who came running from the kitchen, wiping the flour from her hands on the apron.

"Yes, missus...." Hilda asked, casting a glance at their sleeping patient. "It doesn't look good, missus," she said, noting the ruddiness of his cheeks.

"Sit here, Hilda, while I make a paste of herbs to apply on the wound."

Hilda nodded, taking her place by the bedside.

Victor felt a shooting pain in his arm and groaned in his sleep. His eyes flew open and he found Jane bent over his arm.

"What?" he croaked, unable to speak further.

"Shh....it will be over soon," Jane placed an arm on his chest, pushing him back on the pillow.

"There, your wound is cleaned and bandaged with medicinal herbs. That would reduce the pain."

Victor nodded. The medicine had already started to work, numbing his arm, and dulling the pain. The fever had subsided a little too, so that he had awakened after days.

"Can you manage some chicken broth?" Jane asked him, and he nodded.

Picking up the piping hot bowl of broth which Hilda had brought, Jane spooned a bit of the soup into the sick man's mouth. Bit by bit she fed him the bowlful, till she was satisfied. The fever had made him weak and he needed sustenance to be fit enough to fight for his cause.

The next day, he was well enough to sit up in bed, leaning against the pillows. His color had improved and the wound looked promising.

Victor placed a hand on hers as she put a spoonful of porridge in his mouth.

"How do I thank you for everything, Jane?" he whispered, moisture filling his eyes.

Jane smiled at his words, squeezing his hand.

"Just concentrate on getting well first, dear. You can thank me later," she replied, wiping her own eyes too. "Once you're well enough, we have to look for Zena."

Victor had told her about his daughter, whom he had to leave behind in St. Helene when he ran to escape the clutches of his enemy. He had not expected, though, that Prince Lucas would confiscate his estate and Zena would have to run too. Where was the poor girl now, this question troubled Victor every moment. He felt helpless, that he couldn't go out and search for her, instead, had to be in hiding for some time.

Of course, as soon as he was well enough, they would make all endeavors to find Zena. Jane wanted to meet the girl, for Victor had described her as the sweetest child any father could be blessed with. Till then, she could only pray that the girl was safe from the vagaries of a fugitive's life.

They were sitting in the living room, in front of the roaring fire. Victor had been up these couple of days and was raring to go.

"How would you go about looking for her?" Jane asked, thinking hard, but finding no help.

"The last I knew, she had been in St. Helene. She might have left the city, but I'll have to look for the clues there. Maybe, someone knows where she has gone."

"But wouldn't it be dangerous for you to return to the city?" she asked, her heart pounding at the thought.

"That's a chance, I'll have to take, my dear," Victor said, holding her hand, and raising it to his lips.

Jane nodded, knowing that it was inevitable that he would have to leave soon. These idyllic days could not last. He would go away and she would, once again, be left alone, just as she had been after Jack's death.

"Promise me, that you'll return, Victor...." she whispered, leaning forward, an entreaty in her look.

Victor stared at the face of the woman in front of him. She had saved his life from the soldiers and nursed him back from sure death. He was indebted to her for a lot, but it wasn't only gratitude that filled his heart, it was something else too. Something, he had promised himself, he would not let himself feel after Sophia's death.

His mind went back to the royal palace in St. Helene. Sophia had looked at him with such an entreaty in her eyes. She had wanted to run away with him, far away, where King Roman would not find them. Sophia, who had been passionate and childlike. Who had been his best friend, his first love, but who had fallen for Roman, and married him after a whirlwind courtship.

Heartbroken, he had found solace in the arms of Lady Emma, a baron's daughter, whom he had married in a quiet ceremony. He had not expected to fall in love, but soon, Emma's sweetness had won his heart and they had five wonderful years before she left him grieving with a tiny daughter in his arms.

By that time, the chinks in Sophia's marriage had started to show, and she had been disillusioned. Heartbroken, she had turned to him for solace, but how could he oblige her? That would have meant betraying the trust of his king, and he had never been a traitor.

Now, after years, he felt a spark of emotion for this woman who had helped him selflessly, but fate decreed that he had to leave her to look for his daughter. Why had Fate always been so cruel to him?