“Marian,” he whispered and was surprised when his voice worked.
She drew in a quick breath. Her fingers pressed his wrist and then his neck. They were warm but trembling.
Again, as before, he tried to open his eyes. This time his lashes rose, and he found himself peering up at her face. She was sitting in the chair next to his bed. The room was bright with daylight highlighting the dried streaks that ran down her cheeks, the paths of her tears. Tears for him?
He lifted his arm and realized he could do so easily. It stung with the pain of one of his wounds—although not nearly as excruciating as he’d expected it to be. He mentally touched each of his injuries. None of them hurt the way they had during the ride home. How was that possible? He’d suspected one of his wounds, the one he’d taken to his side, had been a fatal blow. The dagger had pierced deep into his innards. But even that particular injury felt warm and tight.
Marian was watching his face expectantly, her long hair hanging over her shoulders and resting upon his bare and bandaged chest.
He lifted his fingers to her cheek and caressed it with his thumb. “You disobeyed me.” His voice was raspy and harsher than he intended.
Tears swelled to the brims of her eyes, and she smiled tremulously. “Go ahead and be mad at me. But I couldn’t leave you.”
He wouldn’t tell her, but he was glad she was there, even if she was still in danger from anyone who came seeking revenge. His arm grew weak, and he had to drop it to his side. “The others?”
“Thad returned at midday. They made it to Dover and began the crossing without any incidents.”
Relief rolled through him with the power of a spring storm on the open sea, and he had to close his eyes even though all he wanted to do was stare at Marian’s face.
She pressed her hand against his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Weary.” He touched his side. Linen covered the wound, but the burning torture was no longer present.
Her fingers slid into his hair, and the touch was cool and soothing. “I didn’t think the holy water was working, but your color is better and pulse stronger.”
His eyes flew open and collided with her big brown ones. “What holy water?”
“Sir John took me to the crypt, and I retrieved one of the ampullae you put there.”
Will hadn’t believed the holy water could work miracles, had assumed the water was a token of faith, something to comfort the dying. But at the absence of the pain that had racked his body for the past long hours, was it possible he’d been mistaken?
Was it truly miracle water after all? If so, then it was a rare gift—a gift Marian had bestowed upon him at the expense of saving her sister. “What of your sister’s life?”
“The other ampulla is still there for her.”
“Then she has no need of two?”
Marian shook her head and didn’t meet his gaze. “She’ll live if she drinks just one.”
She was withholding something from him. His relief fled, leaving a churning path of worry in its wake. “Who was the other ampulla for?”
For several slow breaths, she hesitated in answering. Finally, she dropped her sights to his. “For me.” The resignation and sadness in her eyes brought a fresh wave of pain—this time to his heart.
“Are you ill?”
“In a way. But it’s nothing to worry about now.”
He couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. But one thing was certain. She’d sacrificed herself for him. “You must avail yourself of the ampulla in the crypt, and we shall seek another for your sister.”
She shook her head. Her eyes contained a determination that told him her answer. She would not abandon her sister even if it meant she must die in the process. He understood how she felt. How could he begrudge her this desire when he’d once felt likewise about Thomas? If he’d been able to exchange his life for Thomas’s, he would have done so faster than a hare could slip into its hole.
“Then we shall begin the search for another ampulla. There must be more.”
“Perhaps.” Marian’s fingers combed through his hair, once again soothing him.
Something was amiss. He could sense it. But another wave of weariness crashed over him, and his eyes drooped closed.
She cupped his cheek. “All that matters is you’re alive.”
He wanted to protest that she mattered too, and that he couldn’t imagine living without her. But drowsiness descended upon him as thick as a heavy coverlet, and he could do naught but yield to a deep and healing sleep.
~ 26 ~
MARIAN KEPT HER VIGIL at Will’s bedside all through the rest of the day. He slept so soundly that when the surgeon returned to check his wounds, he barely stirred. Marian had been awed just as much as the surgeon to see the once jagged bloody gashes now fusing together, the skin clean and pink with very little scabbing or scarring. Not only would Will live, but he wouldn’t have any permanent damage.
She marveled that the holy water had the power to cure so thoroughly and completely. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the healing. After all, she’d already experienced the effects of the holy water for herself with its amazing ability to transport her to another time period.
But by watching it work to restore Will, she’d gained an entirely different perspective. She understood in a way she never had before the implications of the ultimate cure. The line of sick waiting for a dose would stretch for endless miles: veterans with painful war wounds, cancer victims who were pale and bald after months of chemotherapy, quadriplegics who were bound to their wheelchairs, and people with every conceivable disease from around the world.
While Marian could imagine the joy brightening each face as health returned to their bodies, she couldn’t keep at bay a ripple of unease—the same unease that had plagued her before. In the short term, the holy water would bring happiness to countless people. She’d experienced that happiness in saving Will, in watching him return from the precipice of death.
But in the long term, what would such a miracle drug do to their society? What would happen if people could potentially live for hundreds of years? Would they face overpopulation problems? A shortage of food? Mass starvation? More conflict and hatred and war?
In all her work testing new drugs, she’d learned that negative side effects always existed—sometimes dangerous ones. Before a pharmaceutical company could move forward with any medicine, they had to discern whether the benefits outweighed the risks.
Even so, she couldn’t deny that if she had to do it over, she’d still give Will the holy water. No matter what happened to her or what her future held, she was determined to make the most of her time with Will.
Maybe after a while, she’d forget about twenty-first-century conveniences. The tastes, scents, and textures of her new life would surely begin to feel normal. And maybe she could endure the unpleasant aspects so long as she had Will by her side. After all, her other life in the present wasn’t without discomforts and displeasures either. She’d had her fair share of disillusionment and regrets there too.
Even with all the rationalizing about making the best of living in 1381, the reality of what she’d done by giving Will her ampulla made her stomach twist. Would she eventually grow unhappy with her choice? And more importantly, how long would she live in a coma in the present day? She might survive years, but she also might have only days.