The Vow (Lady Quill Chronicles, #2)

The Vow (Chapter Seven)

Chapter Seven

Finan refused all offer of aid, despite the concern of his men. With words of reassurance he sent them back to their beds. One look at his face was enough to tell Esme how much the gesture cost him. Beneath the grime, he was drawn and pale, his eyes holding a slightly glazed expression of pain.

Once in his chamber Esme gave order for her medicine chest to be brought to her. She had taken over the chore of healing from her mother early in life and discovered a surprising aptitude for the task.

The room was cold and she turned her head to see that there was no fire in the grate. Finan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, eyes closed and breathing shallow. Esme ordered one of the servants to rebuild the fire and bring two cauldrons of water.

One she would heat and the other she would use to soothe his burns.

As soon as it was possible Esme sent the servants away. She was only too well aware that Finan disliked fuss, the only reason he was allowing her to help him was because Rafe felt guilty.

Taking a deep breath, Esme wiped her clammy palms down the front of her gown. She felt horribly nervous, Finan had never allowed her to help him before. Now her greatest fear was that she would do something wrong. It did not help that Finan viewed her ministrations as some sort of punishment.

“Are you in much pain?”

Esme bit her tongue and wished her words unsaid. It was obvious that he was in pain, not that he would ever admit to it.

“I will have to wash them first.”

Finan said nothing, he did not even look as though he had heard her words.

“I am afraid t’will hurt... ”

“It is necessary is it not?”

Esme nodded before realising he could not see her with his eyes closed.

“Yes.”

“Then it matters not, proceed with whatever it is you must do.”

She said nothing more but Finan heard her wringing out a cloth. The coolness of the water soothed even as the fabric irritated his already raw skin. She was careful not to touch him, gently manipulating the cloth in her hand with the ease and efficiency of long practise.

After some short while had elapsed and she showed no sign of ceasing in her ministrations he became impatient. He opened his eyes and recoiled a little, for Lady Esme’s face was no more than inches from his own.

“I am sorry, did I hurt you?”

Finan shifted to give her better access to his wounded shoulder and she nodded her thanks.

“You should have said if you needed me to move.”

“I am already causing you much discomfort, besides, I am used to working in less than ideal conditions.”

It was no secret that Lady Esme often healed the servants and the slaves in the village. Finan had never really thought of it before, but now he realised that it must have been hard to work within the dimly lit hovels.

Esme finished cleaning the burns on his chest and climbed on the bed to get better access to his back. Though sore, Esme doubted that there would be too much scarring to his back and shoulders. However, she was almost afraid to touch his arms and hands.

Already large blisters covered his forearms, and his hands were a mess of open sores. She would have to bind them in order to keep them clean, the bandages would be painful but there would be less risk of infection. Unfortunately they would prolong the healing process as well.

She climbed back off the bed and pushed back a wisp of hair from her face, Finan eyed her measuringly.

“Are you tired? I can call one of the men to finish.”

Esme tried not to be resentful of his eagerness to be rid of her and shook her head.

“‘tis only that I do not wish to cause you any more pain.”

As she spoke, she took two large squares of clean cloth and submerged them beneath the cold water in the cauldron beside her. With swift movements she wrung the water from one and draped it across his back. Finan bit back a groan of relief as the fire plaguing his skin eased.

Esme wrapped the second across his chest and for the first time since her ministrations had begun, he was grateful that Rafe had forced him to accept her help.

“Finan?”

Finan opened his eyes at the sound of Esme’s hesitant voice. She stood awkwardly, twisting her skirts in one hand, her brown eyes dark with worry.

“The burns on your arms and hands are worse and I am afraid I have nothing to give you to ease your discomfort.”

Looking into Esme’s pale face, Finan saw the trial that stretched out before him. Lady Esme, unlike the majority of her sex, was not given to exaggeration. If she said it was going to hurt, then it would be best if he was drunk for it.

“In that case I believe I will need a jug of wine.”

Esme nodded and left to fulfil his request. She returned with a jug and goblet filled with the dark wine that Lord Brogan brought from the traders at great cost. She hovered uncertainly at his side but there was no way for Finan to hold the cup himself. She saw the realisation hit as his eyes dropped to his useless hands.

The only outward sign of his rage at the loss of his independence was a muscle that worked in his jaw.

“It seems I must trouble you yet further, my lady.”

Immediately Esme stepped forward and raised the goblet to his lips. It felt awkward to be so close to him, she could not remember the last time she had spent so long in his company. Esme was so used to Finan being strong and silent, without weakness. Seeing him tired and in pain was a strangely intimate experience, perhaps because she knew how few people he allowed to see him so vulnerable.

He drained the goblet and leaned back, breathing heavily.

“May I start?”

Finan’s only answer was an abrupt nod and Esme pulled a low stool closer and sat down beside him. Taking his left arm gently in her hand, she rested it upon a clean cloth stretched across her knee.

By the time she had finished cleaning the weeping and bleeding blisters, her dress clung to her clammily. Finan had made no sound, no protest, but she could feel the tension in his muscles. Submerging another cloth she wound it gently around his hand and forearm before refilling the goblet on the table with wine. Finan drank greedily of the beverage. He was paler, dark circles ringing his eyes with tiredness and his breathing laboured and jerky.

“Would you like another?”

“Best if you just finish it.”

Esme moved to the fire to lift off the boiling cauldron and Finan watched her movements with pain dulled eyes.

“‘tis to steep the Marigold heads in,” clarified Esme, opening a leather pouch and pulling out the bright orange flowers. “It will help you heal.”

She tipped a liberal amount of the dried flower heads into the steaming cauldron, before returning to his side.

Esme was finding it hard to inflict so much pain on him despite the fact that she knew if she didn’t clean the wounds well, infection would set in. She had seen people lose limbs to such an infection and even, on occasion, their very lives. Yet the task was destroying her composure.

Finally it was finished, though Esme could not say for certain which of them was the most relieved. Finan swallowed the last of the wine and she refreshed the cool wet cloths that

covered him. Then she helped him to lay down.

It would not be possible for him to be comfortable. Burns covered both his back and his front and he was forced to rest leaning half on his side. It would be a long night.

Careful not to disturb Finan, Esme curled up on top of the bed next to his still form. She would not sleep, it was her duty to watch over Finan as he had watched over Rafe and she took that responsibility very seriously.