Author's Note: For the part where Tanya is looking at everyone in the carriage, I listened to Eklipse's Fire to the Rain. The solemness and urgency seemed to match Tanya's heavy thoughts.
"Bubbles! It has to be him!" Grandmama shouted and pointed to the right.
More bubbles surfaced. And then dozens and nothing more.
"He's out of air!" She pulled Charles out of the sling and shoved him at Grandmama.
"There he is!" Grandfather grabbed her arm.
Mark swam closer. "Go to shore!"
"No, wait for Mark! He'll freeze or tire." Kneeling down, she reached out for him.
Grandfather stuck out an oar taht reached farther, and Mark grabbed on. His gasps for air from the cold could be heard from the boat even. Grandfather pulled him to the edge where he grabbed on. "Hold on, Mark. Tanya, bundle that babe again. Mark can't come in because he'll tip us, so we have to get on shore before he freezes."
She tied Charles to her under the cape, and Brigands took the other oar. The men used every ounce of strength to cut the boat through the water. It didn't take long for Mark's lips and fingers to turn blue, and he started to have trouble holding on. She grabbed his arm and held on for dear life. "Go in here." It was rocky and not an ideal place to dock, but it would get Mark out of the water.
As soon as the boat reached the rocks, Grandfather jumped out and held on as she and Grandmama and Teresa got out. She hurried to the other side and grabbed Mark as he struggled to make his body work. Grandfather came over and grabbed his other arm, pulling him onto a boulder.
"Are you hurt at all?" Grandfather tore Mark's shirt to get it off.
But he shook too hard to answer.
"Give him my cloak." He jerked Mark's pants off and then wrapped him in the fur cloak. "Up we go. We'll find an inn. He won't be in any condition to go anywhere today."
Brigands and Grandfather struggled to get Mark up the slippery rocks. Once in the snowbank, she got under his arm. His shaking vibrated their bodies.
"C, c, c," Mark gasped trying to speak.
"Cold?" She held him tighter.
"Co, co...in," he gasped, his teeth beginning to chatter harder.
"I know, your coin purse fell out of your pockets in the ocean - I felt your pockets empty. Lily still has the money that you gave us," Grandfather said.
"I have our coins too. If we pool funds and economize, we will make it to Colorado," Brigands said with certainty.
She ran ahead to an inn across the street. "We need two rooms for the night, please. How much?"
The innkeeper looked her up and down. "You won't get a room around here for miles. The ships from England all arrived at once. Be my guest to try the next inn eight blocks away, but I have people coming from there saying they're full."
"One room. We'll take anything."
Everyone else arrived, the men trying to hold Mark upright.
"No room at the inn, miss!" he barked in his strange accent.
Mark needed somewhere warm now, not in a few miles. "My husband fell in the water and needs a room," she demanded.
"There's no room!" He shouted in her face.
"Ta, Tan...ya," Mark gasped.
She didn't flinch, and her eyes narrowed on the man. "Your kitchen or lobby then. I will pay the price of two rooms." She leaned forward over the counter, mindful of Charles under the cape. "An easy profit with no room to clean afterwards. We leave at dawn."
The man glared. "I'll not have Injuns in my inn," he snarled.
Brigands stepped forward, but she slapped down a large bag of coins on the desk. "Last chance." The man didn't move, so she snatched the purse and turned to go, glancing at Mark in concern. The flesh around his eyes was blue now, his eyes beginning to glaze over from the hypothermia.
She hurried ahead to avoid dragging Mark into the cold wind repeatedly. Places suddenly filled when they saw her or Grandfather or Grandmama once agreeing to give Brigands lodging, or they were indeed full.
Mark stumbled fifteen minutes later on the street. Grandfather slipped a hand inside the cloak. "His temperature is falling too much - heart is getting too cold."
She stopped at the next door, losing hope, and looked up. A brothrel. Oh dear god. But if today had taught anything, it was to not judge. Sometimes prayers could be answered in unexpected ways.
"Tanya!" Grandfather snapped as she slipped inside.
Women barely clad in clothes draped themselves over men sitting on velvety red furniture in a sitting room.
"Lookie here! Would you like to join us, love?" a man called.
A blonde woman wearing far too much makeup with bosom far too large for her corset came over. "Are you lost?"
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She glanced around the room. "We just came from England. My husband fell off the dock into the ocean. He's turning blue from cold but no one will give us a room."
"I wonder why," another snorted. "She looks like an Injun."
Noise came from behind. Brigands and Grandfather practically carried Mark. "Tanya, come," Grandfather demanded.
"My husband is English. At least let him and his friend stay with the babe so they can be warm." She pulled back the cape to reveal Charles sleeping on her chest.
The woman smiled at Charles. Another woman got up and walked over to Mark, pulled open the cloak and revealed his nakedness.
She shot over and pulled it shut, stepping between them. "He is not to be touched, though."
Mark didn't seem aware of much anything.
"A lovely Englishman like him, and I wouldn't charge. We'll keep him warm tonight," the woman smiled.
The other one stepped forward. "No, Maggie." Then she turned to them. "I'm Charlotte. I own the brothrel. We know all too well what it's like to have backs turned on us. Come. He can have my room, and the rest of you can sleep on the floor. Food will be a cost, though."
"I have coin. My grandmother and another woman are outside..."
"Tell them to get in."
"This isn't an inn for wailing babies!" a man protested.
Charlotte threw him a look. "Your night is discounted already. You are free to return tomorrow night instead." That shut the man up. "Come." She led the way upstairs.
A very fine, large plush bed sat in the middle of the room. The large room would comfortably hold everyone. A mirror hung on the ceiling and ropes dangled from the bedposts.
Charlotte must've notice her shock because the woman whispered, "We have men with singular tastes."
Oh dear heaven.
"The sheets are fresh. The best way to warm a frozen man is to get in bed naked with him."
Her cheeks burned, but Charlotte acted as if they discussed the weather.
"I will put on some hot soup to warm his insides too. Those who aren't staying in here with you...?"
"Oh, no, no. I'll warm him myself," she said quickly.
"Alright. Everyone else can come to the kitchen for soup."
She touched Charlotte's sleeve. "Thank you so much."
Charlotte simply smiled. Once Grandfather and Brigands laid Mark on the bed, she handed over Charles and everyone went downstairs.
Spreading out the cape to lay on top of it, she took hers off and stripped before using her own cape as a blanket. Goosebumps took hold the instant she draped over Mark's freezing flesh. "Oh god, Mark," she gasped, his skin as cold as ice. Gritting her teeth against the painful coldness, she draped her leg across his and scooted closer. His shivers shook the bed. She rubbed his arms and back and thighs.
Once he warmed up enough to get up, she tugged him to the fireplace. Then she curled up from behind and wrapped her arms around him, the cloaks doing well to serve as insulating blankets.
A knock came at the door. Charlotte peeked in. "There are some clothes in the closet that might fit him." Then she closed the door.
It took awhile, but his shivers gradually subsided. Digging through the closet, she pulled out black pantaloons and a wool shirt to keep him warm.
When she went downstairs a bit later to get him soup, she found Charlotte in the kitchen. "Thank you so much. In the morning I'll buy him some clothes of his own - "
"I have no use for them anymore. They were my late husband's." She shrugged.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be - "
Female purrs and coos and whistles filled the other room.
Exchanging a glance with Charlotte, she followed the woman out.
Three women hung on Mark, stroking his face and biceps and shoulders before he'd even made it all the way into the room from the stairs. "Hey there, sexy. You can come upstairs with me. I'll warm you up," one purred.
"Take off your shirt, love."
"Your English accent is so arousing. You can toss up my skirts, Englishman." The woman stroked his ear.
More purrs and strokes made Mark's cheeks burn red.
She covered her mouth to smother a laugh. It was good for him to realize that he was a catch. Another couple seconds, and she'd rescue him.
He pulled their hands off. "Ladies, ladies, sit down."
"All of us?" one of the women purred.
"Yes."
They hurried to the settee. "Which one on top?"
He sat on the marble coffee table facing them and folded his hands together. "Ladies, you are all beautiful women."
They beamed and pushed out their bosoms a bit more.
Mark diverted his eyes. He'd likely seen many women, being a female physician, but his shyness as a gentleman was endearing. He cleared his throat and met the working girls' hungry gazes. "You're sweet, intelligent..."
Confusion filled their eyes.
"And compassionate to take in complete strangers. You're more than pieces of meat. Who made your dresses?"
One of the women raised a hand.
"They're as ornate as anything I've seen in Paris - an excellent seamstress. Perfect detail to have the curtains accent the dresses. And you must be a writer - ink stains on your hand," he said to another. "You write poetry? Novels?"
The woman blushed. "I want to write a novel, but women don't - "
"Jane Austen did. Years ago. She broke the ice. There are many female authors, but often written under male pseudo names. And who decorated this lovely room?"
"Maggie." One of them pointed to a girl sitting in a man's lap on the other side of the room.
"The colors are so rich and the furniture placement makes excellent use of space. And what's your secret passion?" he asked the third woman on the settee.
She flushed and shook her head. "I do all the cooking."
"A cook! See?! Talented, talented women here, and I would wager that not a single man who comes in here knows it." He shook his head in disgust and turned to look at Charlotte. "This is an incredibly profitable business - an excellent businesswoman you are. If you ladies put your heads together, what an excellent pub or restaurant you could have here."
"No one would come to a place of ours," one of the women sighed. "We can't do it. It won't work."
Mark leaned an elbow on a knee and set his other hand on a hip. Lowering his voice and raising his brow, he said, "No, it won't work."
The women looked at him in surprise.
"Because if you think you can't, you won't. You set yourselves up for failure."
"But we are failures," the shy cook whispered in shame.
He stood and paced before them. "You ladies have every woman's dream of having independence, making your own choices, having your own financial control!" He threw out his arms. "That's something to be proud of! You've made yourselves independent in a man's world! You do not need to sell yourselves to men! You deserve respect and honor! Immigrants come everyday - if you worry no one will come because it used to be a brothrel, no one will remember in a few months! It's America! The Land of Equality! The Land of Opportunity! You are strong women!"
By the time she got him upstairs to rest some more, the women were discussing new business ideas. She laughed. "Leave it to you to tell brothrel women that they have more potential." She pecked a kiss on his cheek.
"Most women in brothrels never had someone to tell them they can amount to more," he shrugged.
"Let me guess - you were the surgeon for women at brothrels."
He nodded. "I delivered a few babes to them and treated illnesses at the brothrel in town back home."
She frowned. "What brothrel?"
"Exactly." He grinned.
SHe burst out laughing.
"The post carriage arrives in thirty minutes." Charlotte poked her head in the bedchamber the next morning.
"I'm almost ready." She twisted her hair up in front of the mirror. Grandfather and Brigands took the suitcases downstairs, and Grandmama and Teresa went to say their goodbyes.
Mark stepped closer with the babe, leaning back against the vanity to look her directly in the eyes. "You aren't well and can't go bouncing around all day in a cold carriage, much less the post that will be crowded and uncomfortable."
"I'm fine." She grabbed a hairpin.
He grabbed it from her hand. "No, you're not," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "You're dropping weight, still recovering from influenza and childbirth - which, might I add, those sutures will be damn painful to sit on in an unpadded carriage all day - and you aren't sleeping well. We aren't going anywhere."
Snatching the hairpin back, she gave him a look and turned to the mirror. "So you propose we set up in a brothrel for another day? In case it has missed your attention, non-husband, we do not exactly have money or clothes growing on trees. Brigands and Grandfather have three suitcases, and we have nothing but the clothes on our backs. We cannot delay another day or two, and this city isn't exactly the best place to find work when they apparently know what Injuns look like," she spat.
He slammed a hand down on the vanity, rattling the delicate perfume bottles on it. "Do not call yourself that," he hissed. "And you are not working. I will obtain employment to support this family."
She spun on him. "Doing what? You can't make funds fast as a surgeon without supplies. Men come by work fast and without skill in factories where the wages are low and injury rates are high! I can make as much as a simple maid or serving wench - "
"Yes, by all means, let's send the woman who was assaulted into a pub of drunk sailors!" He threw up his hand. Then he pointed a finger in accusation. "You drive me batshit sometimes!"
Her jaw fell open. "And you are so damn stubborn, I could scream! We do not need to stay." She glared, spun on her heel and marched out the door.
The carriage was crowded, causing a need for her to sit in Mark's lap and Grandmama to sit in Grandfather's. Teresa and Brigands managed to fit in the back corner.
"Can you even tolerate this?" Mark growled in her ear. He sat her across his lap so the sutures didn't press against his thighs.
She cuddled Charles tight from the cold air in his bundle of blankets. The stitches throbbed already from gravity. Shifting to lean her shoulder against him and rest her head on his shoulder eased the pressure. She nodded. "You?"
"Yes, but you should not be doing this," he sighed and wrapped his arms around. "We stop at noon, if we even go that far. I wish you would listen to me," he sighed under his breath.
Funds would only last so long, and work wasn't as easy to come by without a reference - he didn't seem to understand that. Pushing on no matter what was the only way they wouldn't starve. She glanced at Teresa and Brigands in the back corner of the coach. Stress clouded their solemn faces, and they just held hands. Down a couple spots, Grandmama gave Grandfather a worried look and then rested her head on his shoulder. Grandfather heaved a sigh of worry and stared ahead. Glancing up at Mark, he chewed his bottom lip and slipped a hand into his pocket, as if checking for a coin to have magically appeared. Charles grunted and turned his head for food. Sliding him under the cape, she opened her dress and nursed him. Illness seemed to have drained some of the milk away, or maybe Charles was eating more and her tired body couldn't keep up. He had to nurse from both sides to fill up.
America wasn't the great Land of Opportunity that Mark seemed to view it as from his high-born status. It was a cold, harsh land that weeded out the weak and destitute without a second thought. The determined would linger for awhile before succumbing to illness, starvation and death. She would be the first to fall, and soon after, Charles. Mark would succumb to starvation from not eating out of grief. Grandmama and Grandfather would suffer exposure to illnesses not encountered before. Brigands and Teresa might make it.
She cuddled Charles closer and held her breath as a cough threatened. Mark didn't know about her cough that had started a couple days ago. A similar cough had come on as a child, and the surgeon had said it was a form of pneumonia. The medicine was expensive even back then - something that would eat through nearly half of the funds they had left. Without her, Charles would starve.
The time passed, and she huddled deeper in the cloak as chills took hold from a fever. Pulling up the hood, she bowed her head to keep out of Mark's view. He would be able to see the fever setting in and would demand to stop. Only there was nowhere to stop.
Mark asked the woman beside him for the time. Again. Half past two.
The sutures hurt, but not as much as her chest. She'd handed the babe to Grandmama an hour ago when he grew too heavy to hold. It took effort to remain awake. A cough finally broke free - a painful, wet cough that wouldn't end.
Passengers banged on the roof. "Stop! She's infected! Get her out!"
Mark didn't seem to hear them but pulled the hood off her. His eyes bulged and he felt her forehead. Then he looked to Grandfather and Brigands in a panic as the coach came to a stop. He scooped her in his arms and burst out of the coach before the driver even opened the door. It took too much strength to even wrap her arms around Mark's shoulders.
"Tuberculosis?" Grandfather came out with Grandmama and Charles, and Brigands and Teresa followed suit.
"That or pneumonia." Mark turned in a circle, his eyes scanning the tiny town they'd been abandoned in. A tavern, a crowded market, a blacksmith and a general store were all that was in view. "We need a physician with supplies and a bed for her." Panic inched into his voice. His heart pounded hard against her ear.
"Give me the coin purse. I'll find an inn and ask for the physician. Take the women inside the pub to keep warm in the meantime." Grandfather held out his hand.
Mark paled. "I don't have anything."
Grandfather's eyes widened in a panic. "I set it on the bed and said for you to take it - "
"And I said for you to take it so Tanya could comfortably ride in my lap...oh, shit," he breathed.
"You mean we don't have any money?" Grandmama's face grew white. "But Tanya needs medicine. Brigands?"
He dug in his pocket, worry etching his face. "I had to pay the coach upfront." He held out three coins. "We all go find employment today - "
Mark shook his head and held her closer. "She needs medicine today." His chest heaved in a complete panic.
Giving a weak push against his chest, she got him to set her to her feet. She gripped his arm tight to stop the world from spinning.
"What is it, Tanya?" He reached to hold her steady.
The market. It'd been done many times as a child, but not in years. Mark would be horrified, but it was the only option. If she died, it meant Charles would soon after. For the first time, the destitute childhood that had threatened her life would now save it. Slipping away from Mark, she pulled up her hood and slipped into the crowd.
"Tanya!" Mark called, but she wove and turned and disappeared so he wouldn't follow.
"What is she doing?! Tanya!" His heart slammed and he took a step forward.
Brigands set a hand to his chest. "Wait." He stretched his neck to look and then shook his head. "She's disappeared."
"I know that! We have to find her!" He jerked Brigand's hand away to run after her.
Brigands caught his arm. "Don't you see?" He lowered his voice. "She knows that if she dies, the babe starves. She's gone to pick pockets."
His eyebrows shot up. "Even if she did, she's in no condition..." His voice faded as a slim figure in a brown cloak moved with grace and precision through the crowd. If not looking for it, it would've been impossible to notice the delicate left hand slip into a man's pocket and a second later the other hand dart into a woman's purse. All without breaking pace. She looked like nothing more than a woman hurrying through the crowd.
She would faint at any moment in her condition, so he cut straight through into the crowd, just a few people behind her. She swept past a gentleman and his pocketwatch was suddenly gone. The man didn't even seem to notice. Just as fast, she was gone too.
He stopped and scanned the crowd, turning in a circle. His left pocket suddenly felt heavy. Looking down, he reached in. Dozens of coins filled the pocket. Turning in a circle, his heart beat faster. She was nowhere in sight. Seconds later, his right pocket felt heavy. More coins and a pocketwatch filled it. Still no sign of her. She needed to get in from the cold and be treated. A bare hand brushed his right one. Only one other person wouldn't be wearing gloves in this bitter cold. Whipping his head to the right, he searched the heads for a familiar brown cloak. Several yards away, a brown hood remained still among the sea of moving people. Her head tilted up and she met his eyes for a split moment. Then she spun on her heel and moved straight through the crowd in a purposeful manner and slow enough that she intended him to follow. Weaving through the masses, he kept sight of her.
The brown cape didn't head for where everyone waited but veered to the right between two merchant tents. With a frown, he picked up the pace and followed. Stepping into the alley, he stopped in his tracks and looked left and right. No one. From behind a carriage, a small figure stepped out in a brown cloak and swayed.
He shot forward and caught her just as she fainted.
The surgeon, about his own age, pulled off the stethoscope at the inn. "It's not pneumonia or tuberculosis."
"Then what is it?" he demanded. It took every ounce of self-control to not rip the tools from the surgeon and examine her himself.
"She is extremely underweight," he accused and gave a hard look. "Giving birth, breastfeeding and having influenza would not cause this kind of weight loss." He stepped toe to toe, hands fisted at his sides. "The infant is grossly small for age too."
Holding the surgeon's glare, he ground his teeth. "Are you insinuating that I'm starving them?"
"No, I'm saying it," the surgeon growled.
"Alright, gentlemen." Lilly stepped in between. "How about we stop fighting over her and see that she doesn't die instead, hm?"
The surgeon's dark look didn't waiver. "I'll treat her. Maybe when she's well, she'll come to her senses about not being a mistress to an arrogant, controlling ass," he seethed.
Anger surged and a fist nearly flew had Lilly not grabbed his arm to keep it from moving. "She's not my mistress but my betrothed!"
"Ha! At least she's had the sense to not go through with it!"
"Boys!" Lilly turned to the surgeon. "Mr. Johnson met her just weeks ago on the ship. She was widowed days before giving birth at sea. He wouldn't have had time to mistreat her. I should thank you to remember your place as surgeon, Dr. Thomas."
The goddamn ass used the opportunity to sit on the edge of the bed and slip a hand under her head to raise her.
He threw himself at the man, but Tiger and Brigands caught him. Ripping the bastard's family jewels out through his throat sounded quite appealing at the moment. "Alright, alright!" Shoving himself away, he swept a hand over his shirt to straighten it.
"Miss Tanya," the man cooed and waved smelling salts under her nose. "Wake up."
She jerked in the bed and then startled when she saw the surgeon.
"It's alright. I'm Thomas, the surgeon. It appears you've relapsed from influenza..."
The goddamn bastard didn't need to touch her. Shoving through, he hauled the man up by the lapels and shoved him aside. Then he took the spot on the edge of the bed. "There's some medicine to help you feel better, sweetheart. The surgeon is a moron, but the medicine is good," he cooed.
An offended gasp filled the background and the surgeon stepped forward. "If I was less civilized, I'd call you out!"
Mark mopped her brow and didn't appear the least concerned. "If you were any less civilized, one would mistake you for an ape," he purred and offered her a smile.
Oh goodness, the two of them didn't seem to get along. "Water?" she rasped with a dry throat.
Mark lifted her head and reached for a glass. The surgeon beat him to it. Somehow, Mark very fluidly took the glass and kicked the surgeon's shin. "Beg your pardon," he muttered and ignored the man hopping around on one leg and cursing him. "Here you are, love."
She gave him a look and took a drink. It was a tad entertaining when Mark got jealous.
The surgeon finally stilled and pointed at Mark. "You put up with a two year old like that?!"
Mark turned at the waist and frowned at the physician. "What are you whining about now? I don't know why you're still here."
He blinked.
A coughing fit took hold, and Mark slipped his arms around and eased her up to breathe easier. She clutched his sleeves and gasped in air as he guided her head to rest on his shoulder. "Deep breaths, my lady love," he whispered and cocooned her in his warm embrace when the fever chills returned. But deep breaths led to more coughs. "Hold on tight," he said in a tone so calm. One arm tightened around her and his other hand began hard percussions on her back.
The room spun from the hard coughs, but they brought up what had prevented breathing. He held a rag to her mouth, not seeming to be disgusted in the least. When she sighed in relief to be able to breath again, he propped up pillows a bit higher and eased her down.
There was such a gentleness in him, and for just a moment, he met her eyes with a look that said he didn't see illness or a body too thin, but a woman he loved. He blurred behind tears as she smiled. Taking his hand for comfort, she closed her eyes to rest.
"I - " the surgeon's voice cut in quietly.
"I'll give her the medicine. She needs to rest right now," Marked answered, his voice patient. A cool rag brushed over her neck and forehead, offering blessed relief from the fever.
Footsteps left and the door closed a moment later.
"The medicine is an injection, sweetheart. I'm not in agreement with him that it's not turning into pneumonia. This might make you a bit nauseous," he explained, his tone so soft. "The needle is bigger than what I've ever used on you. I'll be quick, sweetheart. Your shoulder muscle isn't quite big enough. I'm going to do it in the top of your bottom because I need a large muscle."
Her eyes cracked open. "Why? How big is it?" It must be a thick needle like ones some of the poorer surgeons used that looked like the size of horse syringes.
He kept the syringe out of view. "It'll hurt for a moment. I'm going to put it in fast because it'll be more comfortable. I have to go a bit deep so the medicine doesn't leak back out the needle path."
Her heart beat faster and eyes widened. It was one of the old school needles.
"Count to ten, and I promise it'll be over." He nudged her onto her side.
Biting her lip, she looked over her shoulder as he pulled up her chemise and adjusted the sheet to offer some modesty.
"You just be ready to count, sweetheart." The tip of his finger guided her chin to look away. "Don't tense up. Three deep breaths out."
She did and right at the end of the third, it felt like an arrow piercing. A gasp and whimper, and she crushed a fistful of sheets in her hand.
"Three. Four. Five..." he counted for her. The needle could be felt jabbing little pockets of medicine all around inside to keep the medicine from leaking out. "Six, seven..." The needle slowly withdrew. "Eight, Nine." A rag pressed against the site and he rubbed to either take away the sting or try to seal the medicine in. "All done, love." The bed shifted and warmth pressed near the wound with a kissing sound.
That earned a weak laugh. She brushed the tears from her eyes. "Did you just kiss my bottom?"
"I did, my brave girl."
Looking over her shoulder, her eyes widened at the size of the syringe he set aside. "Ow, I think it hurts more knowing what it looks like," she whimpered. The weak laugh melted into tears.
"Oh, love. You're not feeling well and overtired, and it's always harder to bear illness when not in your own bed." He laid down and gathered her to his chest, massaging her hurting muscle with the cool rag. "It's alright."
She sniffled and slid her hands up his shirt, needing the comfort of skin-to-skin contact. "We don't even have a bed of our own." Sobs burst out.
"One day at a time, Tanya. Home is wherever we are as a family. It's going to be alright. Getting you better will help tremendously. Then you teach me how to slum our way to Colorado. I want that great adventure you promised me on the ship," he teased.
A watery laugh came up. And then it dawned that her hand felt odd. Pulling it out from under his shirt, she looked at the naked wedding band finger. Her shoulders shook as deep, grief-stricken sobs took over. "My ring..." She choked on a sob. It must've fallen off when pick-pocketing someone.
"No, no, no. I have it. Right here." He frantically dug it out of his pocket and held it up. "See? It's not lost. Don't cry."
"Why do you have it?" she hicupped.
"I need it for something..."
"Why can't I have it?" She sounded like a baby falling apart over everything, but everything seemed like the end of the world right now.
"You can." He slid it back on.
"Don't sell my ring," she sniffled.
"No, I wouldn't sell it, sweetheart." He rubbed her back.
"Why did you take it?" She brushed at her eyes.
"You need to rest, sweetheart. Don't cry. Let's go to sleep." He pressed a kiss to her hair. The poor thing was so ill and tired that she kept having meltdowns. He turned off the lantern and held her tight as she fell asleep in his arms.
On the way to the inn, he'd spotted a little church across the street. She deserved a true marriage proposal, and being as poor as a church mouse, all he had to offer was her wedding ring to dual serve as the engagement ring. Apparently, that ring given as a half-hearted, empty promise months ago meant a lot to her - that had been a surprise that she noticed it missing.
In a few days, she should be well enough to propose to her and then take to the church to marry.
