Chapter Fourteen: Healing
The tunnels were dark and damp, lit every now and then with small torches. The five warriors walked silently, the only sound the dripping of water from a roof into a pool somewhere and their leather boots on the floor. There were several different branches of tunnels, but Daphne never hesitated in which one to take. Whether the tunnels were marked or Daphne just knew where to go, Jarrod didn't bother to ask.
It seemed as though they had been walking in the tunnels for forever when they approached a set of stairs.
Jarrod began to climb, his head feeling light from loss of blood. His hand was cold with blood and starting to cramp from holding his arm so long.
He stumbled on one of the stairs, but caught his balance before he fell down.
"Are you alright?" Fiona asked him, laying a hand on his arm. Jarrod involuntarily sucked in a breath through his teeth when she accidentally touched his wound.
"My god," Fiona said, holding her fingers to the light. They shone with what could only be blood. "You're hurt! Why didn't you say anything?"
"What could you have done?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"We're here," Genevieve said, pushing open a door at the end of the stairs. It opened up into Annabelle's room.
Fiona sat Jarrod down in a chair and peeled his hand away from his forearm. A long gash ran from just above his wrist to his elbow. It was clean in the centre, but quite ragged on the ends. She figured the arrow had nicked him and the fall to the ground had pulled it open.
"Get the physician," she said to Nia. "He needs stitches."
Nia shook her head. "Today's the day he goes out to visit the farms," she replied. "He won't be back until tomorrow."
"Damn!" Fiona swore. Jarrod was looking quite pale. "I'll have to do it myself."
If anything, Jarrod's face became paler at this announcement.
"Get me some cloths, my sewing kit, boiling water, and a container of brandy," she snapped at no one in particular. The sisters ran out to get the items she listed. Fiona stripped off her cloak.
Jarrod was feeling so tired. It would be so easy to just lay his head on his chest and sleep.
"Jarrod," Fiona said sharply. "Don't you fall asleep on me."
He managed a faint grin. "Never that, my lady."
Nia entered baring a pot of boiling water and a crystal decanter of brandy. Genevieve was carrying her sewing and Daphne, cloths.
"Here," Fiona said shortly, thrusting the brandy at Jarrod. "Drink this."
Jarrod lifted the drink to his lips with his good arm, feeling the burn all the way down to his stomach. A little bit of his strength returned.
"What are you planning on doing?" he asked her.
"I have to sew this gash together," Fiona said, "or it will just keep on bleeding, and probably heal wrong."
"Have you ever done this before?" he asked.
"Well," Fiona admitted, "not on a person. But I've mended my fair share of clothes."
Jarrod looked at her seriously and she didn't waver from his steady brown gaze. Something seemed to pass between them and he gave a slight nod before lifting the brandy to his lips again.
She soaked a cloth in the water and carefully wiped all the blood and dirt from his arm. Jarrod flinched once or twice, causing Fiona to wince herself, as if she were the one feeling the pain instead of him.
When his arm was as clean as she could get it, as it was still bleeding slightly, Fiona selected a needle and some thread, pulling them through the hot water, careful not to burn her fingers.
"What are you doing that for?" Nia asked.
"I always feel better after washing in hot water," Fiona said. "I figure that it makes the needle and thread cleaner."
"Ah," she said, her face blanching until she was almost as pale as Jarrod.
"Nia, let's go, er, somewhere else," Daphne said, also looking a little green. Nia nodded and the two of them left.
Fiona was slightly relieved to see them go. She was feeling slightly queasy about the whole mess herself and didn't have the energy to keep her sisters and Jarrod calm.
She figured she better get started. "Here we go," Fiona muttered to herself under her breath. "Just like sewing a dress." Unfortunately, none of the dresses she had sewn had ever looked so pink and so alive. She took a deep breath and stuck the needle into his skin.
After a few stitches, Fiona guiltily admitted to herself that it was rather like hemming a dress. Jarrod never made a sound, but she didn't dare look at his face, as she was afraid of loosing her nerve. She could feel Genevieve's calming presence at her side and was grateful for it. She kept her head bent over his wound and soon Jarrod had a row of neat stitches up his arm.
She tied off the final stitch and bit off the last little bit of thread. She finally looked up at Jarrod. He was staring a point above her head, but his complexion didn't look nearly as pale. In fact, it looked almost rosy.
A thought struck her and she looked at the brandy decanter in his hand. It was full when she gave it to him, now only about a quarter of it was left.
"This is some nice work," he said, his words slightly slurred as he examined his arm.
"Thank you," she replied. "Can you stand?"
"Of course," he snorted. He managed to make it to his feet with only a little bit of a wobble. Fiona put her arm around his waist to steady him.
"If you rip out those stitches, I'll kill you myself," she muttered under her breath.
"That would kinda be a step backwards, wouldn't it?" Jarrod asked, his hearing still sharp even though he was obviously drunk. "I mean, after you went t' all that work…"
Fiona thought the best thing to do would be to get him to lie down. He was leaning on her quite heavily.
"Are you okay with him?" Genevieve asked.
"I think I'll just take him back to his room," Fiona answered. "Before he hurts himself."
"I won't hurt myself," Jarrod snorted indignantly. "I'm quite capable of makin' it t' my room." He started to take another swig of alcohol, but Fiona took the bottle away from him.
"I think you've had enough of that," she said sternly.
Jarrod glared at her, but Fiona managed to stare him down. He said nothing.
"Then I will go do some damage control," Genevieve said, taking the brandy from Fiona, "and maybe try and find something to eat."
"Find something for me too," Fiona said.
"How did I know you were going to say that?" Genevieve teased as she walked out the door.
Fiona rolled her eyes. "Alright, my lord," she said, shifting his weight, trying to get comfortable, "let's go to your rooms."
"Yes, let's," Jarrod said, leaning on her as they walked through the door into the hallway. "I'm eager t' continue that 'discussion' we started in the garden." He gave her a drunken grin. Fiona turned beet red.
His face appeared inches in front of hers. She gave a little shriek of surprise and backed away, causing Jarrod to stumble and fall on his rear.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.
Jarrod would have looked very superior except for the fact he was still sitting on the floor. "I'm trying t' kish, er, kiss you."
"This is neither the time nor the place, your majesty," Fiona hissed at him, pulling him up again before he embarrassed either of them.
"Nonsense," Jarrod said, throwing out his arm, nearly causing both of them to fall over. "There's no one here, an' you saved my life. That's two good reasons t' kiss you."
"You saved my life too," Fiona said.
"Another good reason," Jarrod smiled.
"No, my lord," Fiona said. "I don't want you hurting yourself after I just finished stitching you up."
"An' a marvellous job, I might add. You deserve a thank you kiss."
Fiona would have laughed if she weren't so irritated. "No, my lord. You're going to lie down and not pull open your arm again."
Jarrod looked mighty disappointed. Fiona had to laugh. Jarrod frowned at her, and she laughed harder. She laughed so hard, her sides started to hurt and tears started in her eyes.
She couldn't stop, and after a few minutes she realised she wasn't laughing anymore, she was crying.
"Fiona, what's wrong?" Jarrod asked, instantly sobering, concern written on his face.
She pressed her hands to her mouth in an effort to keep in the sobs, but to no avail. "I don't know," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hands were shaking terribly.
"It's just shock," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. He drew her close into his chest. He had a feeling that Fiona did not cry very often, and she must be extremely rattled to have let her guard down in front of him.
Fiona resisted for a second, then allowed herself to be comforted, burying her face in his chest. She could feel Jarrod stroking her hair, not saying anything, just being there with his strength. After she felt a vestige of control return, she looked up at him.
"Some healer I turned out to be," she said with a little laugh. "I can't even see blood without crying." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed.
"You're just a little overwrought," he soothed.
"Yes, a little," she said. She wrinkled her nose and smiled faintly. "I must look a fright."
"A bit messy, perhaps," Jarrod said, wiping some dirt off her forehead, "but not a fright."
She looked up at him with those huge blue-green eyes, her lashes still damp from her tears, and Jarrod was hard pressed not to take her back to Castle Fer Drewery and lock her up so no one could ever harm her. He pulled her closer to him, cupping her chin lightly in his fingers.
"May I kiss you?" he asked softly. Fiona's eyes widened as she regarded him seriously. She realised that this request was different from the ones earlier.
"Please?" he whispered, his lips scant inches from hers. He felt her nod once; then he captured her mouth with a ferocity that surprised them both.
Fiona discovered that brandy tasted better than it smelled. A lot better. So she had no objections when he pressed on her mouth, demanding entrance. She gave a little moan and reached her hands up to his shoulders to anchor herself when his tongue ran over the softness of her lower lip.
He was lost in the taste of her, the smell of her. He was lost in her. He tugged at her tightly bound hair until a tendril of the russet locks came free and lay in a seductive curlicue on her collarbone. He followed the line of hair down her neck with his lips, admiring the silky feel of it. He started to bend his knees, when she wrenched herself away.
"I'm sorry," she blurted, tugging at her neckline, although it wasn't the slightest bit out of place.
"You're sorry?" Jarrod asked with a raised eyebrow. His mind was already progressing forward, playing what would have happened if she hadn't have stopped.
"Mine was a figure of speech," she said, snapping him back to the present.
"What?"
"Your 'I'm sorry' was an apology," she clarified with a firm nod. "Mine was merely a figure of speech, something used to fill the silence." She sounded remarkably governess-esque for someone who had just been so thoroughly kissed.
"And you felt there was a silence that needed filling?"
"Yes," Fiona said, "there was."
"I felt we were filling it quite nicely," Jarrod replied with a half-grin. Fiona's face flamed.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Now, stop trying to embarrass me."
"Tell me, Fiona," Jarrod said, pulling her towards him again. "Are you going to lecture me after every kiss?"
"If the need arises," Fiona responded, frowning. "One must always look for improvement."
"And if one is already perfect?" Jarrod teased. He didn't know what had come over him. His heart had not felt so light in years.
"You, my lord, are far too arrogant for your own good," Fiona stated, poking him in the chest when he didn't let her out of his arms. "I think I liked you better when you were drunk."
"A gentleman never gets drunk," Jarrod corrected her. "He merely over imbibes."
Fiona rolled her eyes. "So you admit to 'over imbibing' then?"
"A gentleman also never admits to anything."
A frown drew a line between Fiona's eyebrows. "So what does a gentleman do?"
"Rescue pretty ladies?"
Fiona snorted. "I should think that-"
Jarrod kissed her again, making her insides melt like butter in a skillet. All her irritation flowed out of her, and the line between her eyebrows smoothed.
He ended the kiss, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. "You're so light," he murmured. "You illuminate my soul."
Fiona shivered at his words. She almost moaned at the separation of his body from hers.
"I'll see you in the morning," he said, with a final brush at her bangs.