The horse plods slowly along the hard packed road, meandering from time to time towards the edge to nibble on some grass. His ears twitch as the sounds of the forest reach them. The rider on his back had long since ceased to command him and lies almost motionless over his back except for his slow, labored breathing. The scree of a hawk high overhead rouses the rider and he moves, clutching at the horse's mane briefly with a groan. With considerable effort, the rider sits up, clutching weakly at his right side as an almost black trail of blood down his white and blue coat receives a new burst of redness from the movement. The fresh blood trickles down the rider's leg, only to drip onto the ground with a steady tic tic tic, as if counting down the seconds of his life remaining to him. With a weakly mustered voice and an even weaker kick, the rider rasps out his last command.

"Hep, hep!" At the first movement of the horse as he lurches into a fast walk, the rider groans and clenches his teeth. Almost there. He is almost there… and then he can rest. Before the first house on the fringes of the town of Davenport comes into sight, Connor has collapsed on his horse once again.

"Dr. White! Dr. White! Diana!" Lance shouts as he leads the horse up to the Doctor's residence. No one answers so he continues at a jog, looping the reins of the horse that carries his friend tighter over his hand. Closer to the Davenport Manor, he encounters Myriam as she is walking back with a brace of rabbits slung over her shoulder.

"Myriam! Fetch the Doctor! Find anyone! Tell them I'm bringing Connor to the manor. I pray we aren't too late."

"What's happened to him?" she cries, lowering the rabbits from her shoulder as she runs toward the horse and Connor's prone and lifeless figure on it.

"My god, did someone shoot him?"

"Myriam, hurry, I'll need help getting him inside." Myriam runs off toward the nearest house as Lance carries on toward the manor.

At the door to the manor Lance works at unhooking Connor's feet from his stirrups and removing the weapons from his belt that could snag on the saddle, dropping them onto the ground unceremoniously. Before long, Big Dave comes running up, out of breath and sweating.

"Myriam said Connor's been hurt, shot! Let me help you get him inside." Together, the two men drag Connor from the horse. They breathe a sigh of relief in unison when Connor groans and fights them for a moment.

"Connor, you're home. We're gonna get you fixed up, alright? You're gonna be fine. The Doctor's on his way right now." The men each take an arm and there is nothing else to do but carry him into the house with is feet dragging behind him. They get him onto his back on Achilles' old bed and both of them stand there looking at him.

"Jaysus, he's losing a lot of blood." Lance mutters. The silence stretches on until at last the sound of running footsteps brings them Doctor White with Diana hard on his heels. Not a moment later come Prudence and Warren.

Dr. White crouches down beside Connor and he looks at the gaping hole in Connor's side. It has been left untreated for at least a day, maybe longer.

"Connor! Can you hear me?" There is no change in Connor's breathing; it remains slow and shallow.

"Connor!" Diana touches the filthy skin of Connor's cheek.

"He's burnin up, doctor."

"Diana, my bag." Diana had anticipated his need and she holds the bag out to the Doctor immediately. He sets it between Connor's knees and starts to unbutton his bloodstained coat.

Help me get his things off. Lance and Dave stand back to allow the Doctor and Diana to do their work. Prudence calls from the hallway.

"What can I do to help?"

"Get some pots of water boiling on the stove. And find me as many rags as you can. This is going to be a messy business. Warren, Connor was no lover of spirits, but see if you can't find a secret stash Achilles might have kept. Bring me the strongest stuff you can find." Prudence and Warren hurry into the kitchen and Diana unties the sash from Connor's waist, dragging it out from under him. The Doctor and Dave roll Connor onto his right side so she can pull the sleeve of Connor's jacket off his arm.

"I had no idea he was this heavy!" Dave complains.

"That's because he's all muscle. Unlike some of us…" The doctor attempts to inject some levity to the situation but Diana harrumphs at him as she pulls on Connor's elbow to get his wrist and hand out of the sleeve of his white shirt. She rolls up Connor's jacket and shirt lengthwise and shoves them as far under his right side as she can.

"Alright, lay him back and roll him up to me." Lance joins her on her side of the bed to help her hold Connor while the doctor and Dave take his jacket and shirt the rest of the way off. With Connor up on his left side and the wound exposed, the doctor examines it closer. A tear deep in Connor's flesh at the side of his abdomen implies impalement, but whatever had been in him had neither pierced the other side of him nor remained in him. The doctor moves his hand close to the wound and then stops.

"If anyone of you has a weak stomach, you'd best leave now." No one moves so the doctor shrugs and delves his finger into Connor's wound to assess the injury. Connor's knees bend up and he moves his right arm as if to swing. Diana catches it and pins it to the bed as he starts to groan and wince.

"Jaysus!" Lance covers his mouth with his hand but stays beside Diana to keep Connor from falling onto the bed. Dave leaves the room quickly with most of his dignity intact. The doctor digs in his bag and pulls out a pair of forceps. He slides them into the wound beside his finger, eliciting another twitch and moan from Connor. With a steady hand, he slowly pulls out a long splinter of wood from the wound, unleashing a large gush of blood that spills over both the front and back of Connor's abdomen.

"Prudence! Prudence, come quickly with rags if you have them, please!" He calls over his shoulder. She runs into the room and freezes with a cry for only a moment before she is at the Doctor's side, taking the splinter in a rag from him and handing him a second one to staunch the bleeding.

"Are there more in there, doctor?" Diana asks with trepidation.

"Aye. I'll have to get them all or his wound will fester and it will kill him. We need to open his side."

"I was worried about that the minute you found that." She nods toward the splinter Prudence holds in the rag. The wood is saturated with Connor's blood and has left red streaks on the rag. The doctor leans in close and sniffs carefully at the wound.

"It didn't pierce his intestines. He is lucky that he is so muscular. For a smaller man, this type of injury would be a death sentence. Since we have to open, let's just let him rest until the water boils." They lay Connor back onto the bed and Prudence and Diana straighten his legs out and remove his boots and leggings, leaving him in just his pants. Connor groans once and then is still. Lance passes Myriam, Corrine and Ellen as they rush in the front door. Ellen clutches her hands to her chest as she quietly kneels beside the bed. Connor's right hand dangles from the side of it and she gently lifts it and places it on the mattress. Blackened, crusted blood flakes off his knuckles and from between his fingers. His hands, wrists, neck and face are filthy with blood and grime and fresh trickles of blood run in lines across his stomach, pool in his navel and stain the bed linens. Ellen stares at what came off on her fingers and then over at the man who singlehandedly changed the lives of every person in the room and the entire town. His face is turned toward the left and the hair is gone from the sides of his head. Three smudged lines of paint mark the cheek that is visible, making him look like a true Indian warrior. Gone is his prevailing innocent appearance that hinted at boyish embarrassment or awkward shyness. It is a man who lies before them all, marked by anger and bearing the aged appearance of tribulation, pain and suffering. What would ever push a quiet person like Connor to alter his appearance in such a drastic way intentionally? They had all witnessed his anger in defense of the town but he had never before done such a thing as this… and come back nearly dead because of whatever had transpired.

"Ellen, I'm glad you're here. I may need another set of skilled hands for stitching him up. Do you think you can help?"

"Of course." Ellen nods and gets up to join Prudence in the kitchen. She picks up the bottle of whiskey and looks over at Prudence questioningly.

"It's for Connor. To keep him asleep, I assume." Ellen nods and places the bottle down once more. If only alcohol sedated all men, she and Maria would never have gone through what they did with her ex husband. Hopefully Connor isn't an angry, violent drunk like Quincent.

Everyone speaks in hushed whispers as news of Connor's grave circumstances spreads. Newcomers to the home are updated on his condition and much speculation as to how he came to be so terribly injured arise. At last the time comes for Dr. White to operate. Godfrey and Terry take over for Lance and Dave in the room that has now become a surgical ward.

"I've seen my share of severed limbs, blood and the like working at a mill. I can take a bit of blood in my sight." Terry says.

"First, let's get as much of that whiskey in him as we can." Diana touches her husband's shoulder and looks up at him with worry in her eyes. Terry nods and hauls up on Connor's shoulders to get him into a sitting position.

"Come on, you giant ox, up you go!" Connor moans and slumps against Terry. Diana hesitates but then takes a handful of Connor's disheveled crest of hair and tips his head up. His mouth hangs open and she pours a little of the whiskey into it. It runs right back out, over his chin and onto Terry's shoulder.

"He isn't conscious enough to drink it." Diana laments. Dr. White folds his arms over his chest and considers the situation. He makes eye contact with Diana and then reaches to Connor's side to touch the gaping wound. He presses against it until Connor stirs. Diana tries again with the bottle and Connor swallows the alcohol down but suddenly begins to struggle. He roughly pushes Diana away with his left hand and Godfrey grabs his arm. Diana administers more of the whiskey and Connor seems to come awake at last. His eyes open blearily and he coughs, groaning afterwards as he attempts to shove away those who restrain him. Terry is hard pressed to hold him and he shouts toward the doorway.

"A little help! Now!" Warren, Dave and Lance come running in. Warren jumps onto the bed and sits against on Connor's back with his feet braced on the headboard to keep him sitting up and Dave and Lance each take a leg. Diana gets a tighter grip on Connor's hair and coaxes more of the alcohol into him.

"Come on, Connor, just drink it. That's it. Drink it. A little more. No! Hold still! That's it. That's it. Let us help you. That's it, Connor." In between swallows, Connor either slips into partial unconsciousness or fights against the men. Though his eyes open from time to time, it's obvious he is unaware of where he is or who is talking to him. His combative bouts, though sporadic, are surprisingly powerful. When nearly a third of the contents of the bottle are in him, he begins to fight less and less. Dr. White taps Diana's arm.

"I think that's enough, Diana." The men lay Connor back onto the bed and the Doctor tucks some cloths under his body below the wound. Prudence brings in a pot of the water and Dr. White dips a rag into it to clean around the torn flesh. Connor only twitches and turns his head. Looking up at Terry and Godfrey, the doctor motions toward Connor.

"Godfrey, hold his shoulders. Terry, sit on his legs. He may seem sedated now but as soon as I start cutting he'll fight." True to his word, when Lyle takes his scalpel to Connor's side, his groans turn into screams and he thrashes on the bed. Diana grabs his right arm and keeps it away from the doctor. More blood seeps steadily from the incision as the doctor cuts deeper through layers of muscle. At last he reaches the damaged portion of Connor's body and exposes the path of ragged and torn tissues where the injury occurred. Dr. White holds his hand out toward the forceps on the bed while staring deep into the wound.

"Diana… oh." Diana is completely occupied with holding Connor's right arm as he thrashes on the bed. Ellen steps out of the room and drags Lance back in.

"Hold his arm for her. Lyle needs her help!" Lance takes Connor's arm and studiously looks away from what the doctor is doing. Blood runs down the side of the bed and drips onto a pile of saturated rags on the floor. Diana settles herself next to the doctor and holds the edges of the long, deep incision open.

"Is everyone ready? This will get rough." The doctor makes certain all the men holding Connor down are prepared. Warren joins them and takes Connor's left arm so Godfrey can concentrate on holding his upper body down. The doctor dips a rag into the steaming water and squeezes it out over the wound. Connor's screams become broken and guttural as he writhes on the bed. He manages to drag Lance and Warren a good amount as he attempts to raise his arms, and Terry has to roll over onto his stomach and grip the side frames of the bed with his hands and feet to keep Connor from kicking his legs. Myriam, Prudence and Ellen gather together in a corner as they watch the terrible scene. Prudence and Ellen have their hands over their mouths and Myriam stands between them, holding their arms in hers tightly. Ellen sheds silent tears as she watches Connor's agony unfold endlessly.

Doctor White works quickly, plucking out splinters of wood from the wound and even a scrap of fabric from Connor's shirt. Some of the splinters are minutely small and are only revealed for the briefest of moments when he pours more water over the wound. When he believes he has discovered and removed them all, he washes out the wound several more times with a fresh pot of boiled water to wash away any he might have missed and sanitize the injury. Connor continues to fight through his pain and fevered state, though his strength has been sapped considerably. Diana attempts to hold edges of Connor's exposed muscles closed as Dr. White stitches them but Connor's continued thrashing tears the stitches free.

"Dammit! I can't sew him closed if he keeps ripping the stitches out. I'll have nothing left to work with!" Ellen wipes her tears and breaks away from the women.

"I'll sew it."

"Yes, that will be good. We can both hold the edges together and keep them from separating while you sew. Use a running stitch and leave the ends long. I have to be able to remove them later without opening his skin." Ellen's hand shakes as she takes the needle from the doctor. He pinches the muscles together and Ellen pushes the needle through. Connor's muscles have a strange resistance and it makes her clench her teeth. With the Doctor keeping everything together, she is able to work quickly, though, and after only a few minutes she has closed the muscles tightly.

"Now the skin. Tie each stitch individually and keep them as small as possible to minimize scarring, though at this point… He'll have a huge one anyway. Don't forget to let the inner stitches' thread ends remain outside his body." Ellen nods and works silently. Half way through the skin stitching, Connor finally falls completely unresponsive. When she is finished, fifty seven individual knots keep the ragged original wound on the front of his abdomen and the straight incision that runs across Connor's side closed. They are almost perfectly spaced and exactly the same size. Dr. White uses a fresh rag to wipe off the blood that had smudged over Connor's skin from Ellen's fingers. He takes the needle out of her shaking hand and replaces it with a dampened rag.

"That's some great work, Ellen. I couldn't have done them better myself." He nods at her reassuringly and Prudence and Myriam help her to her feet and lead her away. They sit her down at the table and clean off her hands and a smudge of blood that marks her cheek where she had brushed away a bit of her hair at one point. Diana helps the doctor wrap a long length of bandage around Connor's stomach with the help of Terry and Godfrey rolling Connor onto his sides so they can pass it underneath him and bind it tightly. When it is done, Dr. White sighs and cleans off his tools and hands carefully.

"Now we wait… and pray that his youth and vitality can carry him through the next few days. If he can survive the week, he'll live. He'll need to be watched all the time until he breaks from this fever." The women come back with some soap and clean linens and they wash Connor's face and hands until he is as clean as they can reasonably get him. The men aid them in changing the wet and bloody sheets until they are satisfied with his relative comfort and he appears to be resting. No one is sure whether he is actually asleep or if he is merely unconscious from weakness, pain, blood loss or the alcohol he was dosed so heavily with. Almost everyone stands around the bed looking at him in awkward silence. There isn't a single person present who hadn't been aided by Connor and a heavy cloak of fear for his life stifles them all. Diana breaks the silence.

"I'll sit with him first." Myriam shakes her head and steps over to her.

"No. You've done so much already. I'll stay. Tell Norris to find me here when he comes from the mine."

"I'm here, Myriam!" He calls from the hallway and makes his way through the crowd to his wife's side.

"I'll stay with you." With the decision made, everyone else files quietly out and loiters outside the manor. No one knows what to do but Corrine invites them all to the inn to talk about it without disturbing his rest. Some speculation arises once more but for the most part, everyone is lost in their own silent thoughts. The atmosphere is hushed and tense despite Corrine distributing ale to all. Eventually, everyone drifts back to their own homes as the sun sets.

Ellen can't sleep. She is certain she isn't the only one, either. At the very least, her daughter is passing the night uncomfortably but she is old enough now that she shouldn't be rushing to her side all the time. Maria is a young woman now and should be treated as such, not a little girl. As badly as she had wanted to embrace her when she had had to tell her what happened to Connor, she had refrained and Ellen had felt somewhat rewarded by her daughter's stoic and ladylike handling of the news. Her only question had broken Ellen's heart because she couldn't answer it.

"Will he die, mother?"

"I don't know. We have to wait and see but I trust Dr. White." Maria had merely nodded and turned her head aside to look at the floor. Only the furtive movements of her clasped hands betrayed her disquiet. She had dismissed herself and not left her room since. Maria has great affection for Connor. It had become almost hero worship in the early days of their move to Davenport but as she had grown into a young woman, she had managed to temper her opinion of him somewhat.

In the morning, Ellen rises early and leaves a short note for Maria. She gathers a basket with some sewing projects and walks to the inn to see about any updates on Connor that may have come in the night. Corrine greets her warmly.

"Have you heard anything more about Connor's condition?" Ellen asks.

"Nothing other than he had a rough time of it in the middle of the night. Norris has a broken finger from holding him down and keeping him from tearing his bandages off."

"Oh, dear." Ellen rethinks her decision to take over the watch for the morning. She wouldn't be able to stop Connor if he decided he wanted to get out of bed or remove his bandages.

"Dr. White went over and helped Myriam secure him so he can't do it again."

"Oh…" Ellen gives Corrine a sidelong glance as a strange sense of anxiety fills her. She brushes it aside and changes the subject.

"I was thinking I'd like to bring something for him to eat… in case he wakes up and is hungry. He needs his strength to recover." Corrine laughs.

"He's sure got plenty of strength, I'll wager. Norris can attest to that! But let me get some soup from the kitchen. I was thinking I'd like to send some over anyway so you can take it with you." Corrine disappears into the kitchen and returns with a lidded teapot filled with soup. Despite the cork stopping the spout, a strong smell of beef stock and hearty vegetables fills the air around them when she carefully sets it into the space Ellen has made in her basket.

"There's a bit of meat and vegetables in there, but it's mostly broth. I doubt he'll be up for a full meal just yet."

"No matter. If he is, I can make something else at the manor for him."

"You let me know if you need anything. Anything at all."

"I will, Corrine, thank you."

The walk to the manor isn't far and Ellen is soon at the door. She knocks softly. Norris opens the door and ushers her inside. Two of his fingers are splinted together and wrapped in bandages.

"Ellen."

"Norris. I heard about your hand from Corrine." Norris raises his bandaged hand up and turns it as he looks at it.

"It looks worse than it is. He didn't mean it. I think he thought he was being attacked or something. The way he shouted and fought… I thought we were both going to fall on the floor but I managed to hold him down until Myriam returned with Dr. White. It was a good thing he was so worn down from his surgery or I wouldn't have been able to." As they talk, they walk into the kitchen to set down Ellen's things. Myriam joins them.

"Myriam, Ellen brought some soup from Corrine for Connor."

"How kind! He's still unconscious. I don't know how much of it he'll eat."

"It's alright. I was thinking I'd take over the watch for a while. You've been here all night and must be exhausted." Myriam and Norris exchange a brief glance.

"Maybe you should see him first." Ellen's stomach drops and she follows Myriam back into the downstairs bedroom. Connor is asleep but ropes extend from the four bedposts. The rope is doubled up and the ends are passed through the loop and secured tightly around Connor's ankles and wrists. If he pulls against them, the rope will tighten automatically. His right arm is up above his head and resting on the pillow next to his face. That length of rope is too short to allow his arm to be at his side like his left.

"He tried to tear his bandages off last night. When I grabbed his hand… that's when he caught my fingers and twisted. Ellen. No matter what happens, stay away from his hands. He isn't aware of what he does or who is around him because of his fever and I don't want you getting hurt.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."

"We can send someone else over to sit with you, if you like."

"I'll be fine. I brought some mending with me and others will probably come by."

After Myriam and Norris leave, Ellen approaches the bed slowly to look closer at Connor. She kneels and lowers the blanket enough to look at his bandage. It is reddened with blood but not as much as she was fearing from his struggles. She hopes he didn't tear out any stitches in his struggle during the night. Ellen pulls down gently on the bandage until she can see the top of the incision. His skin is burning hot. Everything seems to be together so she smoothes the bandage back. As she is covering Connor with the blanket, he turns his head toward her and opens his eyes. He seems to look right through her with his striking, golden irises.

"Connor?" Ellen speaks softly to him, resting her hand lightly on his chest on top of the blanket. He doesn't seem to hear her so she says his name again, louder.

"Connor? Are you hungry?" He changes the position of his head and abruptly attempts to sit up. His hands strike out toward Ellen and are stopped short by the ropes holding him in place. Ellen screams and falls backwards away from him onto the floor. Connor is groaning through clenched teeth with his exertion and the muscles in his neck, arms and shoulders are bunched tightly as he pulls against his restraints. The rope and bedposts creak under the force of his struggles and Ellen pictures them snapping, releasing a blind, feverish and enraged man more than twice her size and several times her strength onto her helpless form. They hold, however, so Ellen sits up and watches Connor as he strains against them. His arms shake from the effort and his hands clench and unclench. The ropes are so tight around his reddened wrists that his irritated skin is bunched into uneven wrinkles. His groans materialize into slightly garbled words.

"Let me go! Stop this!" At last he falls back onto the bed, panting and sweating. The Connor Ellen knows would never hurt her and it is only his fever confusing him but nevertheless, she is terrified of him.

Ellen creeps back from the bed and sits in the chair Myriam had previously occupied, clutching her hand on the knot of her shawl. Connor's partially bent knees drop down onto the bed and as his breathing slows he seems so fall back into deep slumber. The blankets had slipped partially off of him and he is shivering but Ellen is hesitant to go anywhere near him now. Only when his breathing becomes slow and deep does she tentatively rise from her chair and approach the bed. With the lightest touch she can manage, she covers him with the blanket once again. He takes one slightly deeper breath and whispers two words in his sleep.

"Thank you." Ellen looks down at him. Instead of the frightening man she had seen only a short time ago, he is once again the caring person they had all come to know and love. She reaches her left hand to his face and touches his right cheek. His fever has made his skin burn with heat and at the touch of her cool palm he turns his face away with a soft moan. His right arm pulls briefly at the rope holding it up near his head. It isn't an aggressive one and Ellen gets the feeling he had been attempting to reach for her hand. In order to let him rest, she takes her hand away from his face and retrieves her sewing from the kitchen.

A short time later Dr. White comes by. Ellen sets her mending aside and looks up at him as he speaks from the doorway.

"And how is our patient?"

"Resting relatively comfortably… now." The doctor turns to face her at her words.

"Was there another incident?"

"He… became aggressive for a brief moment. If he hadn't been restrained he might have hurt me, accidentally." They both look over at the bed when Connor stirs in reaction to their voices.

"Did Norris and Myriam warn you to keep your distance?" Ellen nods.

"They did. It was fine Doctor." He looks sharply at her for a moment before approaching the bed and boldly reaching to touch Connor's forehead.

"The fever is slightly worse, I do believe." Dr. White frowns and then crosses his arms as he looks down at Connor.

"Connor. Connor! Can you hear me?" Connor turns his head and seems to rouse himself slightly.

"Connor, I need you to wake up. Ellen is here. You're being quite rude…" Ellen shakes her head and covers her mouth, worried. Dr. White tugs the blankets down to Connor's waist, uncovers his legs up to his knees and waits. When he resumes his irregular shivering the doctor tries again to wake him.

"Connor! Wake up!" Connor's arms move as he attempts to reach for the covers.

"No. You have to wake up first!" Dr. White is stern with his response and Ellen has to lean against the wall to prevent herself from pushing him aside and covering Connor as his shivering intensifies.

"Doctor! He's freezing!"

"I can see that, Ellen. He needs to wake up though. I can't have him slipping away from us into a coma." Dr. White reaches down and rubs his knuckles forcefully on the upper portion of Connor's sternum. His eyes open wide and focus for the first time. They dart around the room and then move from Ellen to Dr. White and back again. He attempts to sit up and then falls back onto the pillow with a wince. He tugs against the rope with his right arm and appears bewildered at his restraints.

"Aah, Connor." Connor looks up at Dr. White.

"Why am I bound to the bed?" His teeth continue to chatter as Dr. White speaks patiently with Connr.

"You were badly injured and you have a fever. I had to operate on you so you need to stay in bed. Your fever is disorienting you and you got combative. We had to keep you from hurting…" Ellen interrupts the doctor.

"Yourself! We had to keep you from hurting yourself." Connor squints at Ellen and attempts to touch his face.

"Connor. What happened to you?" Connor doesn't answer the doctor. He fights his restraints and thrashes on the bed.
"No! No, save her! Save her!" He starts screaming in his native tongue and fighting his restraints.

"He's gone again." The doctor waits until Connor exhausts himself and falls limply to the bed, unconscious.

"What was that?" Ellen sits in the chair in an effort to hide her shaky horror.

"A fever dream. He's hallucinating." The doctor doesn't look up from his work. He examines the stitches on Connor's side and tucks some additional clean rags against his skin under the bandage around Connor's body. When he is done, he examines Connor's wrists and ankles.

"Hmm. If he keeps on fighting these restraints, he'll injure himself. Ellen, do you have any fabric or rags you can spare?" Ellen nods and reaches into her sewing basket.

"I washed the ones you used yesterday in case he kept bleeding."

"Perfect. I want to wrap his wrists and ankles with them to prevent any further damage to his skin." Together, Ellen and Dr. White loosen the ropes and bind Connor's ankles and wrists with a few layers of soft fabric. Ellen is still sitting on Connor's left side when Dr. White stands and puts on his hat.

"I must see to some other patients today. His stitches have held, thanks to your skill. Ellen… I would recommend that you don't hold his hand much. Maybe when he's deeply asleep, but it's too dangerous for you to be within his reach if he has another dream."

"I'll be careful, Doctor. Thank you." The Doctor nods and takes his leave. Ellen drags the rag down that she just wrapped around Connor's wrist and softly touches his reddened and abraded skin with one finger while holding his left hand in her lap. His hand is huge compared to hers and there are many scars and calluses that cover its surface. Connor breathes slowly and deeply in his rest now but the panic in his eyes had been genuine and Ellen wonders what he had been saying when he had switched to the language of his people. Connor is a tortured soul; that much everyone knows despite his reluctance to speak of much, if any of it. He has seen and experienced a great deal in his relatively short life. Then again, so has she. Before she can stop herself, she raises his hand to her lips and kisses the backs of his fingers once quickly before lowering his hand to her lap again.

Ellen has never felt she could speak to anyone about what went on between her and Quincent. Maria witnessed some of it… the marks and bruises, the time when her lip was cut and bleeding from one of her husband's more vicious attacks with a riding crop… and she knows Maria would not deny hearing their confrontations if she were to ask her. Thank God he never laid a hand on their daughter. He hadn't attempted to bother them since Connor and her neighbors had run him out of town. Ellen sighs. This world can't afford to lose such a good man when there are so many bad ones out there.

Connor's hot hand moves in hers with a stronger than usual shiver of his body and Ellen reluctantly winds the rope over his cloth wrapped wrist and tightens it. She lays his hand down gently and decides to find him another blanket with the hope that his fever will break and he will get well.