"Do you want it pinned?" She knelt before him at the side of the bed with the sewing box.
The first time of wearing pantaloons a week after surgery, and he looked at the pantleg in disgust. In the blink of an eye, he snatched the scissors from the box and chopped off the pantleg at the knee. Then he dropped the scissors back in the box, his nostrils flared with rage.
She sighed. "Really, Mark? Now you have to let me hem them so they don't run."
He threw a dark look. "Not that it matters. The goddamn thing could run almost all the way up."
"Hush. You still have more than half of your thigh." She set to hemming.
"Lot of fucking good it does," he muttered under his breath.
Glancing up, she continued sewing. He needed to feel the anger right now and needed her to be patient. "Would you want crutches? The canes look rather difficult to use."
"Just how difficult?" he growled.
Her hand froze for a split instant. Surely he hadn't seen her take the canes in the hall this morning and mimick how he uses them for a better understanding of what he was going through, for a way to figure out how to make things easier for him. "I'm just saying - "
"Difficult enough to stumble?"
He had seen. Her eyes flew up to his cold glare. "Oh god, you have a wife who is trying to figure out if there's something better for you to use. So spank me," she replied in sarcasm.
He leaned forward and gave a swat to her bottom through her skirts. "That's for your cheek, woman," he snapped.
Turning a defiant chin up to him, she held his glare. "You want cheek? I'm just about ready to drag you down those damn stairs. Brigands and Teresa are family and won't think a thing of you coming to the table to have dinner with us! It'd do you a hell of a lot of good to get out of this stupid room! You need to get outside in the Spring sun! You need to sit with your son in the grass and watch him explore the world! You're holed up in here - "
His fingers wrapped around her upper arms and he hissed in her face, "You think if anyone sees me like this, rumors won't fly? We'd be goddamn destitute within a week. The poor Englishwoman chained to the cripple? I leave the goddamn house, and we're in shambles. I stay in this damn room so no one catches a glimpse through the windows, so you and Charles aren't ruined!"
She jerked out of his grasp. "People are not like that here! This is not England's Society! There are dozens of men without limbs at the lumberyard - "
"And most of them are beggars now!" he roared.
"No!" she shouted. "The ones who don't accept boundaries have figured out how to keep jobs! They live! You lost a leg, Mark, not both of your arms! There's no reason why you still can't be a surgeon! There's no reason why this has to change your life for the worse!"
"I was goddamn fired this morning!" He bowed his head, as if he hadn't meant to let that out.
Her heart stilled. "What do you mean? Price said he'd give you two weeks to recover - "
"Two weeks since I took to bed, not since surgery," he said quietly.
She jerked the needle from his pants and stuck it in the sewing box before shooting to her feet.
"Where are you going?"
Grabbing a shawl, she stuck pins in her hair to put it up. "You gave me equal partner rights, so I'm going there to get our jobs back."
"You weren't fired," he whispered with so much shame.
Her reflection in the small mirror paled and she turned to him.
"I'll get a desk job at the bank." He kept his head down.
She dropped to her knees and touched his cheek.
Humiliated tears glistened in his eyes. "I won't shame you," he whispered. "I'll find a way to provide for our family - "
"No." Her hands shook with rage. "Medicine is what you love. You fight for it, you hear me? You'll open your own clinic - "
"With what money?" he whispered and met her eyes. "There's not enough money to even finish the house now. We have this cabin, and income here as a surgeon won't sustain us. We have just enough money to get by for another three weeks with necessities until I'm able to travel for work. I don't know that I can give you the life you deserve."
"Stop it. You're in pain and melancholy. Look at me." She cupped his face in her hands. "Do you love me?"
"More than anything."
"Then fight for me. When they put chains on you, turn into my bear and break them."
"I can't go bouncing in a carriage, Tanya. The pain would be too much, and the jostling could break open the wounded arteries and veins. There's no way Price would come if I summoned him to argue for my job."
"Then send your partner."
His eyebrows shot up. "I'm not going to send you to argue with him. He's disrespectful to you as it is."
"Mark, I grew up being disrespected. It's nothing new."
"Tanya, no."
She got to her feet and tied her shawl. "You don't want me to what?"
"Go!"
"Alright." She grinned and pecked a kiss on his cheek. A spring came to her step on the way to the door.
"No, that wasn't a command to leave!" He turned on the bed to look at her as he scrambled to reach his canes.
She stopped in the doorway. "Husband, sometimes there's nothing wrong with a woman wielding the sword to fight the dragon."
"Tanya, he'll be ruthless and tear you apart." He worked himself to a stand. "Please, don't."
"I do say, I'm a little offended. Do you not recall when I went in cannons blasting? That turned out well."
"Bringing in lawyers is a hell of a lot different than you going to argue with an egotistical, machagonistic employer!"
Blowing him a kiss, she cracked a smile. "You taught me well how to hold up to a man's temper and demand respect. I'll take Brigands as an escort, but I'll be alright, Mark."
"Tanya, please," he begged and came over as fast as he could. "I don't think he'd physically hurt you, but he will shred you apart. This is my fight. Just let it go," he pleaded.
"You've fought plenty of fights for me. We don't have the luxury of time for you to heal and then go talk to him. He probably already has interviews for your replacement. I will fight this for you."
"I know, but Tanya..."
"At the very least, I get to tell him I quit."
He dropped one cane and caught her hand. "Tanya, your contract says two months' notice. That means going on calls in the middle of the night with whatever man he deems as my replacement."
She stilled. Oh god, he was right.
"Let me handle this. There's potential that if he's set off, he'll pick an arse to work with you. At the very worst, I will come with you on night calls to make sure you're safe. Don't go. I don't need protection from him."
"I know you don't, I just wanted to do this for you. I didn't think about it that I have to be a nurse still..." She sighed and looked down at his hand clutching to keep her here. Then she met his eyes. "But every minute we stay, he's that much closer to finding a replacement. You're cheaper than any other surgeon, and he loves his money. Let me try striking a bargain with him. You've invested too much to give up. It's a tactic to get us where he wants because he knows you're too good to let go."
"Bargain how?" he demanded.
The one thing that galled Price the most.
"Tanya, do not give up your salary," he ordered, as if reading her mind. "He'll lose the little respect he has for you. Don't," he pleaded. His brow grew damp from being upright so long.
"Come sit so you don't hurt." She picked up the cane on the floor and helped him to bed. Tucking him in, she held his gaze. "It's not a sin for the wife to do what's for the better of the family. It doesn't have to always be you doing all the providing." Then she brushed a kiss over his cheek.
"I don't want to be this burden," he said quietly and shame danced in his eyes. "I don't want to be the invalid that you make sacrifices and provide for."
She shook her head and smiled. "You of all people know that seeing your family happy isn't a sacrifice. Providing for you temporarily while you heal isn't providing for you forever - that's marriage, Mark. There's a difference, my dear." But it didn't seem to change his mind. Her hand cupped his on her cheek. "Let me fight this for me then. Let me learn I can stand up to a man without you there, that I'm as worthy as any man."
He sighed and pulled her hand down to hold in his lap as he searched her eyes. "You keep your head high. Use your quick wit to twist his words to your advantage because he will be twisting yours. Do not give up your salary. You have proven your worth - make him see it. If he gets unreasonable, leave." Worry wrinkled his brow.
"I'll be alright."
"Stay with Brigands. Most of the men in the yard are good, but I don't know the newcomers. For God's sakes, don't let your hair down while on the road. And - "
"Mark, I made it twenty-nine years on the streets without you. I know how to be careful." She smiled and touched his cheek.
Those blue eyes locked with hers in all seriousness. "You weren't mine to look after before. If you're not back within two hours, I'm coming." Then he brought her hand to his lips without breaking the gaze. There was something precious and raw about that gesture - him giving the freedom to go fight in a man's world while reminding that he would be in the shadows to come to the rescue should it be needed.
"Thank you, Mark," she replied softly. "You make me argumentative by having such liberties." An embarrassed flush crept up, but it was good for him to know the freedoms he gave - that few other men would - weren't unappreciated.
"It makes you a strong woman, my lady love, not argumentative."
Brigands helped her down from the carriage less than two hours later. She stormed up the steps to the front door and then spun on her heel to march back down. Retelling it to Mark right now wasn't a wise idea.
"Where are you going, my lady?"
"If I go in the house, I'll break something!" She stormed down the dirt road. It didn't matter where she ended up, just the rapid pace of burning off steam helped with the anger.
"My lady, the master will worry and try to come after you should he see the carriage but we don't go in," he called.
True. Stomping back toward the house, she stormed up the steps and slammed open the front door. She stopped only for a moment in surprise. Mark sat on the sofa with Charles while Teresa darned socks in the rocking chair. "You're up."
"How did it go?" The blasted man set down Charles on the floor to play and tried to stand for her entrance.
"Sit down!" she snapped, her temper shooting to the sky again upon the question. "He's an arrogant, boarish, brainless bastard - " Her arm got caught in her cape. Brigands grabbed it to help free her as she tried to fling it off in a fit. "And I need a gun!" She spun around. There had to be a gun in the house somewhere, even left behind by the late physician. Maybe in the closet. She marched to it.
"A gun? What happened?"
She dug behind the capes in search of it. "He will only reinstate you if you return to the clinic tomorrow!" she shrieked. "The idiot knows you can't travel for at least a couple more weeks! He's going to hire some Neanderthal barber this week otherwise, and won't accept my resignation until I'm back working in the clinic full-time!" There. A shotgun. That would work. She snatched it and flipped it open. No bullets, dammit.
"Why do you need a gun?" Mark's voice came closer from behind the door.
"If his lumber machine is riddled with holes, the men can't work and he won't have need for a surgeon tomorrow!" She tried to push the barrel shut. Maybe flip it. Or pull. "Ugh! How does this work?!"
It yanked out of her hands and Mark held it away. He stood there leaning hard on one cane. "You're not going to go shooting things, or you'll be in jail for property damage. Settle down and talk to me."
She reached for the gun, but he held it away. "Give me the gun!" she demanded and stomped her foot.
He chuckled. "My goodness, I've never seen you have a tantrum. Sit down like a sane woman, and we'll figure this out."
"Ugghhh!" She stormed up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door, needing some time alone to calm down. How dare that pig suggest that Mark make a five-mile ride just a week after surgery to be upright all day doing surgery and attending to patients! The horrid man didn't have a care that Mark had just lost his entire leg! This room wasn't big enough for productive pacing. Whipping open the door so fast that it banged against the wall, she stomped down the stairs.
Mark stood at the bottom, leaning a hand on the railing and holding himself up with two canes in the other hand. A slightly amused smile touched his lips. And a hint of pain creased the corners of his eyes.
She stopped on the bottom step to be eye level with him, her heart thundering with rage and her hands fisted at her sides. "You cannot bounce around for five miles in the morning, be on your feet all day and then bounce back at night only to do it all over again the next day!"
His eyebrows rose. "You do have a set of lungs. I'm standing right here and can hear you fine." The corner of his mouth curled up as he tried not to smile. "Come sit."
"No! I'm not sitting and talking about this! You can't do it! Give me the damn gun!"
He leaned his arm on the railing to look her in the eyes, as if placating a child. "I'm not giving you the gun. I know you're upset - he pisses me off too. I think he's an arse half the time just because he has the ability to be one. Come sit. My leg hurts being upright too long." He took a cane in each hand.
"No." Her lip quivered and dropped her gaze, half feeling like a pouting child. "I promised you wouldn't have to go out until you have a prosthesis so no one would know you have a fake leg. I was supposed to fix this, not make it worse."
He leaned against the railing for balance and tilted her chin up. "No, you were supposed to go learn to stand up for yourself, to not fear men. I'd say you probably accomplished that well today. I didn't expect you to salvage my job. He's an arse. It's a fact. You can't reason with men like him. Come, I have an idea." He slipped her hand around his arm as he used the canes to get to the sofa. "You'll have to forgive my manners. The sofa is small, and I'm not too good at not dropping when I try to sit - I don't want to crush you."
"For heaven's sake, you're wounded. I don't need you to stand and hurt fresh from surgery so I can sit first." She held his arm to try to help him lower himself, but the poor thing still dropped the last bit.
He closed his eyes and hissed in a breath, clenching his fist on the head of one cane in a white-knuckled grip.
She eased down beside him and stroked across his upper thigh in attempt to stop some of the pain. "You're too tall for much of the furniture, and it's making it awkward to sit. What if I work with the carpenter in the lumberyard to make you a chair that's taller so you have somewhere to sit - "
"No," he said breathlessly. "It'll get better in a few days." He leaned his head back against the wall. "If you stop, I might cry." His eyes opened a minute later when he seemed to be less painful. He stared down at her hand. "Does it bother you to touch it?"
She frowned. "No. Why would you ask that?"
"Because I hate touching it." The words came out solemn and quiet.
"Because right now all it does is give you pain. Oh!" She carefully got up and ran out the front door. The crutches the blacksmith had made to support Mark's weight were in the buggy. They were heavy to be strong enough, but not so heavy that Mark would have trouble himself. She lugged the crutches up the steps and peeked around the front door.
He sat on the sofa with raised eyebrows. "What are you doing?"
"Close your eyes and wait a minute." She propped the crutches up and sat beside him. "Alright, open."
He looked and didn't smile or change expression at all. "Tanya, I'm too heavy - "
"No, we made these special." She got up and stood with a crutch before him. "The blacksmith said this would hold you. They're a bit heavy, so you might need to wait a few more days to use them after surgery, but when you're just standing, your hands will be freed up." She couldn't suppress the grin. "Teresa does a lot of sewing, and we think we have a way to make good pads so under your arms won't get sore. We needed the crutches first for sizing, but we can make the pads in a day."
He worked his way to a stand and accepted both crutches, letting the canes clatter to the floor in a forgotten pile.
"He used the canes to estimate height." She stepped back and looked. "Do they feel alright?"
The man gave a small nod. And then he took a step. And another. The crutches allowed him to swing his weight and not wobble or stumble trying to maintain balance. He did a lap around the room in seconds rather than minutes and wasn't breathless when he stopped before her.
He bowed his head. And a tear splashed onto his shirt.
Tears welled seeing him have some freedom back. When she stepped forward to hug him, he was able to balance while wrapping one arm around. He slowly let go of the other crutch and hugged tight with both arms. It was the first time since losing his leg - he stood all on his own and was able to hug.
He buried his face against her neck. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice so thick with emotion.
A soft sob of joy burst from her lips. "The only boundaries are the ones you let them put on you. In a few weeks, no one will ever have to know."
The crutches aided in helping him sit and get up and even hop up the stairs. He seemed eager to go anywhere and everywhere in the house.
"Are you certain you should be lifting them yet? They're heavy."
"They can't weigh more than Charles on each side," he said quickly when she blocked his path from trying to go down the stairs.
"Let me see if your leg is swollen. You haven't been upright this long yet, and it's not good to overdo it." She bent down and carefully felt the bandage under the short pant leg. "Mark, you need to lie down. The bandage is getting tight from swelling.
"But - "
"No."
"It - "
"Get in bed. I'm not arguing with you," she ordered. "Behave or I'll take the crutches away until dinner."
He scowled. "I'm not a child!"
"Then stop acting like one," she replied with patience. "You wouldn't let a patient go traipsing around like this." She set a hand on his arm to get him to turn around to go to bed.
"I'm tired of being in bed," he growled and didn't move.
With a sigh, she rubbed her brow. "Honey, you're too large for the sofa. Go to bed, and I'll spoonfeed you."
He hesitated. "And a sponge bath?"
"Yes! Go!"
That won a grin, and he turned and hobbled into the bedchamber.
"No, not a child at all," she muttered under her breath and followed him in.
"Heard that!"
"Good." She closed the door as he sat on the bed. "I'm going to feed Charles lunch while you get ready for your bath. Afterwards, I'll bring up your lunch and then bathe from being on the road - "
"In the kitchen?"
She hesitated. "You haven't been interested in my bathing habits all week."
"I didn't feel up to sitting in a chair while you bathe in the tub." He pulled off his shirt and tossed it toward the laundry basket.
"You know, you're only getting away with this general vicinity throwing because you're injured. I'm not putting up with it once you can walk over to the laundry bin."
"Yes, Tanya." When she threw him a look, he smiled.
"I think we should go back to tree bark - whatever the surgeon gave you for pain control today is making you too rambunctious. Be good. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"I'll miss you."
When she turned at the door at that phrase, she gave a wary look. "If you weren't drugged and chopped open, I'd say you were flirting, husband."
"All men flirt when convalescing," he retorted with a rakish grin.
"Mm," she replied with a cocked eyebrow. "Stay in bed so you're not sore later."
When she returned, he reclined in bed shirtless and chewed on a tree bark stick. The sheet was pulled up to his waist, and he gave a lazy smile.
"A little less tree bark might be good - at least pain will keep you from being too active." She set the pitcher of hot water on the nightstand.
The man pulled out an ice pack from under the sheets. "Numbing works wonders."
"Are you watching that you're not causing frostbite on a fresh wound?" She walked over.
"I'm a surgeon. Give me some credit." He caught her hand and pulled out the tree bark as his lips met hers. "Lie naked with me," he whispered against her lips and tugged at her buttons.
"Mark, you're in no condition - "
"To have sex? No, but there's no harm in lying together." He guided her hand down to between his legs.
She frowned and pulled back. This wasn't like him. "Mark, did you take other meds?"
"No." His hand wrapped behind her head to pull her down for another kiss.
She ducked and stepped out of reach as it dawned. "You want to end up having sex tonight because you'll be even more afraid the longer we wait."
"God forbid that it's you made me feel so good today that right now I'm not afraid of your reaction," he snapped and sat back. "But thank you for reminding me that I'm lacking and must be reacting out of fear."
"That's not fair," she said calmly. "This is a complete turnabout from what you've been like, and as your wife it's my job to make sure you aren't rushing into anything that you aren't ready for. You just let me see and touch your leg. No one would jump to making love next." She sat on the edge of the bed when he looked away. "I don't find you lacking. I don't know what the right pace is for any of this, but I know this doesn't feel right. You're not even acting like yourself. You aren't pushy like this."
He ran a hand through his hair. "If I don't act nervous, you won't have time to think about how it's not going to be the same."
"Of course it's not going to be exactly the same - it'll be better. We'll figure out together how to make sure you're comfortable and please each other. You're afraid that I won't desire you anymore?" She frowned and scooted closer.
His cheeks burned pink and he bit his lower lip, a self-conscious gesture never having witnessed him do. "I know it makes you feel safer if our chests touch, and that it'll be hard to tolerate you sitting in my lap for a few months until my leg is fully healed. That just leaves me on top of you. I had trouble with balancing to not hurt my knee when I did have a leg. I don't know that I can balance without a leg in a way that'll still please you. And I don't want to talk about it."
"But you know what? We need to talk. We had no difficulty pleasing each other when my scarring was too bad to consummate."
"That's different."
"No, it's not. The worst case is we have to get creative." She gave a mock gasp and covered her mouth. "Like make love standing up while you have your prosthesis on. Maybe even in daylight!"
He pressed his lips together to suppress a smile and swatted her hip. "Hush, woman."
"Yes, Mark," she whispered against his lips. "You worry so much. If I'd lost my leg, you wouldn't want me to be afraid of making love."
"No."
"So, it's no different being it's you." She brushed her lips over his. "I desire you even more because I love you more today than yesterday, and I'll love you more tomorrow. I want to help share whatever burdens your leg brings because we're in this marriage together. You help me with my breast and the scars, and I help you with your leg. I could just as easily say that I'm afraid of the marriage bed because my breast looks horrid, but I don't because I trust you that you don't see ugliness. A breast is female sexuality; a leg isn't for either gender. So, husband, I'm the only one with reason for nervousness in the bedchamber." She cocked an eyebrow.
He had the grace to blush. "Yes, but it's also a weakness, and a woman - especially one with your history - wants to feel protected."
"For heaven sakes, it can take more than brute strength to protect. You're a fine man, Mark. And it doesn't matter what others say because I'm the one wed to you." She pulled off her dress and tossed it aside. "I'll be brave if you promise that you'll eventually be brave too." Her cheeks burned as she crawled across the bed on her knees and guided his hand down. Setting her hands on his shoulders, she offered the mangled breast. "You'll still pleasure me, Mark." Her face burned in embarrassment. "Take me however you wish to convince yourself that I still want you."
His eyes searched hers, clearly surprised and humbled. "You're beautiful," he whispered and closed his lips over the physical evidence of her courage and strength.
She laid on her side a bit later, too embarrassed to face him.
His arm slipped around and a chest warmed her back as his cheek rested on hers. "Thank you, sweetheart. I know it took courage and you're embarrassed to have let me pleasure you without any reciprocation, but it helped - very much - to see how much I still please you."
"The whole house probably knows," she mumbled, utterly mortified. It hadn't dawned when the offer was made that Brigands and Teresa were awake to hear everything. Charles probably had been awoken from his nap in the room next door.
"They were young once." His hand slipped between her thighs from behind and gave soft strokes that won soft gasps of pleasure from her. "Rest, my lady love. I exhausted you and wish to nap with my brave wife." His beard brushed her cheek as he gave a kiss and sent her to the stars. Then he caught her in a warm embrace as she came down and fell asleep in the safety of his arms.
Something in him changed after that, as if it'd given him courage. He didn't go out of his way to keep his leg covered, and whenever he changed the bandages, he readily relinquished without breaking pace in conversation when she'd step over and do it for him. He often stayed close, and sat beside her or set a hand on her back or had some kind of physical contact whenever in the room with Brigands or Teresa. Sometimes it hurt, though, that this strong man now needed a safety blanket. In time it would go away. Hopefully, for his sake.
Low and behold, his letter to Mr. Price saying if he came down with infection and then touched patients in surgery, it'd be fatal to all caused Mr. Price to pause. The lumberyard owner allowed another week for Mark's recovery. Two weeks after major surgery wasn't much, but that road could be crossed when the time came.
One evening when he finished unbuttoning the back of her dress to get ready for bed, his hand stayed a moment longer than necessary, and he stroked the back of her neck.
Not now. Not an attempt at intimacy now. Every muscle tensed. His body wasn't healed enough yet, but if this was the first time he felt ready to make love, his timing couldn't be worse.
She stepped away and took off her dress, pretending to not notice. This was the first 'womanly time' since marriage. Did wives tell their husbands? Were they supposed to sleep in a separate bed? So many rumors, but perhaps none of them were true. But outright telling a husband didn't seem at all proper. If only Mama was still around. She'd know. But perhaps Teresa would know what Englishmen expected.
He stepped up from behind and moved to help take off the chemise as he brushed a kiss over her bare shoulder.
Dear god, he'd see the blood. She pulled away. "I have a headache. Just go to bed and turn off the light."
"Do you want me to fetch a cold rag or some tree bark?"
Tree bark for the pain would be wonderful, but maybe it wasn't safe to take for this. Some medicines made bleeding worse.
He stepped closer on his crutches and stroked her temple, his brow furrowed in concern. "You're a bit warm."
"I just need to sleep."
With a final reluctant glance, he turned and made his way to the bed. She shed the clothes fast and balled them up to hide the blood before pulling on a nightdress. The menstrual rag was held in place by one of Mark's belts tied around her waist that he thankfully didn't notice missing yet. This makeshift contraption would hold out well enough until he fell asleep, and then she could lay a towel on the bed just in case. Was one supposed to bleed more after having childbirth or less or the same? One of his medical books at the clinic would likely say. He was the only physician around for miles, but this surely wasn't a topic to discuss with a husband. But there wasn't another physician around, unless the professor stopped in tomorrow by chance.
She walked over once he was in bed and climbed in the other side and laid on her back.
He turned off the light and scooted closer. "Come, woman. You always fall asleep on me," he grunted and slipped an arm underneath to rest her head on his shoulder and her leg draped over his.
She pulled back. Sleeping that close would surely allow him to feel the bulky rag. "Not tonight, Mark," she said gently and rolled away.
"Are you angry with me?" He followed and draped an arm around to spoon.
Jerking her hips away, she turned onto her back again. "Mark."
He pulled away in the dark in silence, leaving cold sheets in his place.
"Honey, I just don't feel well and don't want to cuddle tonight." She reached out and touched his back.
He rolled onto his back and took her hand. "You've never not wanted to cuddle, even when you've been ill. Promise that if it's because of my leg, you'll tell me." Self-consciousness flowed through his tone.
"No, it's not that."
A deep sigh released from him as he let go of her hand. "Good night," he whispered.
She rolled toward him and cuddled against his arm. "I just don't want to be touched tonight." It sounded exactly like what he feared. "I don't feel well."
"Tell me how so I can help. Is it a migraine?"
"No. I'm alright, I just need to sleep."
She got up in the middle of the night to change the rag and sneak a towel into bed. When she tiptoed back into the dark room, the sheets rustled and were turned down for her.
"You never get up in the middle of the night for the washroom. Let me check you." He sounded wide awake like perhaps he'd woken up a few minutes ago when she'd left.
"I just drank too much water. Go to sleep."
The next morning, she peeked under the covers. Her nightgown had stained. She kept her eyes closed and pretended to sleep yet when Mark got dressed and slipped out. The nursery door opened next door. He must be getting Charles up. The babe fussed, likely for breakfast.
Shooting out of bed, she tore off the soiled clothes and pulled on a fresh chemise just as Mark came back in.
He blinked. "Oh. You're up? Um, Charles is hungry."
"I heard. I'm coming." She pulled on a dress and slipped past him before questions came. "Why don't you go on downstairs? I'll start making breakfast in a minute." And hide the laundry somewhere.
In the kitchen, she stood at the stove cooking bacon and flatcakes. Charles practiced trying to crawl on the other side of the kitchen near Mark.
"Are you feeling better?"
She winced at that fib. "A bit. Must be a touch of something."
His crutches clunked across the floor and an arm started to wrap around her waist. Catching it at the last minute to keep him from feeling the belt, she guided it away. "You'll burn your hand if you bump the skillet."
"What's going on?" His tone held little patience.
"I just don't feel - "
"The truth," he growled. "If pleasuring you the other day was so distasteful, have the decency to tell me to my face rather than lie, Tanya."
"It has nothing to do with your leg." But she busied with flipping the bacon to avoid turning to reveal burning cheeks.
"Then tell me what, because right now it sounds a hell of a lot like it is."
"It's just my - " She spun around to blurt it out, but Brigands and Teresa walked in. Whirling around to the stove again, she ducked her head.
"Would you watch the bacon? I need to talk to my wife." He didn't wait for an answer before tucking her arm in his. Then he walked around the table but was trapped by Charles laying on the floor.
She knelt and picked him up before reluctantly following Mark to the sitting room.
He turned. "Tell me what's going on," he demanded.
Cuddling the babe close, she kissed his soft curls and glanced up at Mark. This was so embarrassing.
With a huge sigh, he met her eyes. "If it's indigestion, we can try medicine and a bland diet. If it's a urinary infection - "
Her face grew hotter with each word he uttered. It was one thing to treat a patient but another to tell the husband physician. "It's nothing. It's just my time." She bowed her head to cuddle Charles and hide from the embarrassment.
Silence for a moment. "Is it the first since Charles?"
Oh god, not questions. Without looking up, she nodded.
"It's a bit early considering how underweight you were and you're still breastfeeding, but I suppose your body must be ready to handle it. Is it more than in the past?"
Again, a nod without meeting his eyes.
He sighed. "Tanya, I wish you would've told me. It's a normal womanly function, and there's no reason to be embarrassed. How long has it been?"
"Since yesterday morning. And no, you cannot do an exam."
"It's blood, not the plague. Why Society teaches women to be ashamed of it is beyond me," he muttered. "How much are you bleeding, and are you having pain?"
She laid in bed a few minutes later and pulled down the chemise, utterly mortified.
"Here. We're going to monitor the bleeding, and if it keeps up at this rate by nightfall, we'll try some herbs to slow it down. In the meantime, let's see if we can control the pain because sometimes that irritation can exacerbate bleeding." He pulled up the chemise and laid a hot, wet compress across her belly. "Does your back hurt too?"
She nodded.
He picked up his belt laying on the bed. "Sit up." When she did, he put on the belt low on her hips and then tucked the rags in them. "Now try one tree bark and see if it offers any relief. Your grandfather mentioned that menstruating women often need two. Let's make sure you don't get side effects first."
Within an hour, she curled up on her side in bed from pain when Mark walked in.
"Is it not helping?" He hurried forward.
"It is. I'm usually vomiting from the pain."
"Oh, my girl." He hobbled over to his bag and got out another tree bark. "No headache, dizziness, chest pain, shortness of breath - "
"No. You've only been gone ten minutes."
"It's never safe to assume in this profession. I'll ask Teresa to bring up some more milk - I have trouble with stomach pains, so I suspect tree bark might result in stomach ulcers. Do you want a backrub?"
She shook her head and chewed on the bark. The man got situated on the bed and then reached around, giving a wonderful massage to her belly and lower back where everything threatened to tear in two. "Mark, you shouldn't - "
"Hush, woman. You're in pain and need me," he retorted. But, his voice held a note of tender intimacy as he slipped an arm around and cupped where she held her belly.
His firm pressure offered slight relief from the pain. "Of course I need you," she whispered and set her hand over his, shifting restlessly.
"You're trembling. Do you want a bit of chloroform?"
She shook her head. "Charles can't nurse then. He's eating every hour like he's having a growing spurt." A couple slow breaths helped with the pain.
He scooted closer, bracing her back against his hips, and pressed her belly harder. It helped dull the pain somewhat.
Oh god, the pain wouldn't let up hours later. It had to be midnight. Or maybe almost dawn. The hours blurred together from pain. Releasing a soft whimper from another wave of agony, she shifted and ran a hand through her hair and grabbed the sheets, then the pillow, the blankets and then the sheets again in search of some thing to hold onto.
"Hold onto me," his deep voice rumbled in her ear. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."
Curling her knees to her chest, she clutched his arm where he still kept hard pressure on her belly. There was so much relief at not having to go through this every month alone anymore, to have his comfort even though it did little to help physically. Mixed with exhaustion, it was so overwhelming that tears spilled over in soft cries. "Don't go."
His short beard prickled slightly as he rested his cheek against hers. "I won't." The way he spoke those two words said he understood why she was crying. And that being needed, even in this small way, helped heal his own wounds. He stayed by her side all night.
