3

How to Save a Life

Rab caught Neal's fist just before his brother let it fly into the other boy's face again. From the looks of things, he had already slammed the other lad a good one on the cheekbone, as there was a bruise starting. "Neal Tristan Carlyle, stop this brawlin' this instant!" he ordered in his best chieftain's tone, grabbing his brother by the back of the collar and hauling him off Alasdair. "Enough, laddie!"

"But—but Rab!" protested the boy, trying to free himself from the other's hold. "He called ye a black warlock an' a devil worshipper!"

"That's no' excuse for jumpin' him an' poundin' his face in," Rab argued softly, his eyes snapping. "Ye know yer supposed t' be on yer best behavior. Papa would thrash ye till y couldna sit for a week did he know what ye were about." He fastened one of his patented Looks on the fiery boy. "I'm tempted t' wallop ye a few myself."

Neal hung his head, but then he muttered, "Ye ain't walloped me since I was six, Rab."

"That dinna mean I canna, an' well ye know it, ye saucy imp. Look at ye! Yer good tunic all dusty an' ye look like something the cat dragged in. Scapegrace!" he scolded, his tone low and angry.

Neal had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry. But he was mockin' ye an' our family honor."

Rab sighed. "Our honor's not worth startin' another feud over, little brother." He released Neal, and brushed him off with a few rather rough swipes, then went over to the other lad, who was still sitting woozily in the dust, his cousin querying if he were allright.

"Ruby, m'fine, dinna fash yerself!" Alasdair muttered, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the blood trickling from his nose.

"Ye dinna look fine!" she retorted. "Ye look like a mucky Monday wash, aye? An' Granny'll take one look at ye an' take a switch t'ye for startin' with the Carlyle's son." She shook her head. "When will ye learn t'hold yer tongue?"

"Aww, hush!" the other grunted.

"Let me see yer face, lad," Rab ordered, dampening his handkerchief at the water pump and walking over to the pair. He knelt and took the boy's face and turned it so he could see where the blood was coming from. "Looks like my brother clonked ye on the nose."

"'Tisn't nothin'," the child protested, then winced as Rab laid the wet handkerchief on his nose. "Hold that there tight and tilt yer head back," he ordered, then he went and opened his medical satchel and wet another cloth and handed it to Neal. "Clean yerself up, lad." He watched to see if his brother was obeying before he wet a third cloth and went back to Alasdair and gently wiped the dirt from the other's face while he held the cloth to his nose. Then he went and dabbed on some arnica balm from his satchel, saying, "This will clear up that bruise ye have in no time. I'm a doctor, lad, no' a warlock, ye ken?" As if to prove his point, he recited the Our Father in Latin and then Hail Mary for good measure.

Alasdair's eyes widened.

"Now . . .if I were in league wi' Satan, I'd never be able to get those words out wi'out catching on fire. But—as ye see, I'm still here," Rab lectured calmly. "So . . .I'll have no more silly accusations from ye, clear?"

The redhaired boy swallowed hard. "Aye, milord."

"Good." He beckoned to Neal. "Ye apologize and shake hands now." He waited until the boys had done so, then added, "An' no more fightin' else next time I'll no' be so lenient wi' ye."

He helped the other boy to his feet and said, "If I were ye, I'd change yer tunic an' brush the dust off yer breeches so yer granny doesna guess wat ye were really up to." He had Alasadair remove the cloth and examined his nose, saying, "'Twill be a wee bit sore for a day, but nothing's broken an' ye should be fine by tomorrow."

"Thank ye, milord," Ruby bobbed him a curtsey and Alasdair bowed before he hurried off to do as Rab had said.

Then he turned to his brother and sighed. "Neal, ye really must learn t'control yer temper."

"I hear ye, Rab. I just . . .dinna like when people talk bad about ye." Neal huffed. "'Specially no account servant lads."

"Neal, people will talk, an' repeat rumors n' such, an' ye must not let it get 'ye. I know I am no devil worshipper an' so d'ye, so ye ought to ignore such ignorant prattle."

"I ken, but . . .'tis hard," his brother admitted.

"Aye, but try, Neal. For me."Rab urged. His brother's flashfire temper concerned him, because it reminded him too much of their father's own, which was always worse after a night of drinking and gaming.

"All right." The boy agreed. Then he asked softly, "Ye will no' tell Papa what happened, will ye?"

"Nay, lad. I took care o' it, so there's no need t' involve him. But mind ye behave, or else!" He warned, and shook his finger at the boy. "Now, go into the keep an' get changed an' take a bath for supper. I need to speak to Papa about my upcoming nuptials."

"Will ye no' marry her now? On account she's hurt?" asked Neal curiously.

"Of course I shall, lad. 'Tis no matter if she's got a broken ankle. I just need t' hammer out some details. Now off wi' ye!" He gave his brother a smart swat on the rump to get him moving.

Neal went, and once he was out of sight, surreptitiously rubbed his stinging behind, thinking his brother might not have the Carlyle temper but he could have a firm hand when necessary.

Rab returned to the hall, and sought out his father and Marcus Fraser, before his papa got too drunk or involved in a card or dice game. Clearing his throat, he broke into the two men's conversation about hunting. "Excuse me, milords, but I wish to discuss the terms of this marriage. In private if ye would."

The two looked at him, then Marcus nodded and said, "Aye, 'tis time we discussed Belle's dowry an' so forth. Come wi' me to my study."

He led the two Carlyles up the stairs and into a room with red drapes and lit by a fire and several large candelabras. He sat down at his oak desk and gestured for the two men to pull up chairs. He made sure the door was shut, though he knew what was discussed here would probably be nosed about the keep before the fall of dark, the servants being the inveterate gossips that they were.

A large Turkish carpet graced the flagstones and a tapestry of a hunt hung on the wall beside a bookshelf filled with many volumes.

An antlered red stag head also hung on the wall, as well as a stuffed pheasant and a wolf head.

Rab, who didn't enjoy hunting for sport, only for food, looked away and focused upon the books instead, wondering what the shelves contained. The fire crackled and snapped in the grate.

Marcus pulled out a document from the sheaf of papers upon the desk and also a fresh gray goose quill and a pot of ink. "Now, as ye well know, Mirabelle is my sole heir to all my holdings, this castle, an' all my worldly goods once my wife and I pass to Glory." He crossed himself. "They in turn will belong to ye, Raibeart, once ye marry. However, there be one stipulation I must make, in order for ye to retain possession of these lands, I would have ye agree, with yer father as witness, to always treat my daughter kindly, like a lady which she is, and be faithful unto her."

Before Rab could reply, Malcolm butted in. "Now wait a minute, man! My son will always treat his wife kindly, but t'other, a man has needs, ye ken, 'specially when his wife's ailing or—or bearin'—" Clearly he saw the second stipulation as unreasonable, and given how he was, with a roving eye and hands, he would protest it.

But Rab held up a hand. "Wheesht, Papa! 'Tis no' an unreasonable demand, an' one that I shall hae no trouble agreeing to, or keeping." He looked at Marcus earnestly. "By now I hope ye hae realized, milaird, that I am no' the sort of man to treat women like a possession. I like a lass who speaks her mind and thinks for herself, for such a one can be trusted to hae the good o' her people at heart, an' run Carlyle well. My mother was such a one." He slanted a glance at Malcolm. "I dinna believe in dominating my wife either, a marriage for me is a partnership, and sacred before God. I am also no' a man to take mistresses, even if—may God forbid—my wife has died. So yer stipulation I agree to in all ways."

Malcolm grumbled and Rab frowned and kicked his boot, glaring at him. Honestly, sometimes he felt as if he were the parent and his papa the child!

Marcus, however, looked relieved. "I ken ye seemed a gentleman, fer all yer a Carlyle," he said by way of approval.

Malcolm bristled. "What is that supposed t'mean? Are ye saying we Carlyles are no' men of honor?"

"Not from the way ye raided my cattle an' yer other thievin' ways these past years," Marcus snapped.

""Tis a fine thing t' talk o' thievin' when ye made off wi' at least a hundred head o' my stock!" Malcolm snarled.

Before the two could get started quarreling again about old grievances, and perhaps come to blows, Rab intervened. "Papa! Laird Fraser! D'ye remember why we are here? 'Tis no' to start the feud all over again, but t' end it!" he said exasperatedly. "And that will never happen if ye two keep the feud going wi' yer tempers an' yer list o' grievances like two lads brangling o'er who did what to whom. Am I the only one in this keep t' show any sense an' keep the Queen's peace?"

Abruptly the two men quit glowering at each other like two dogs and relaxed in their chairs, his words penetrating their brains. Marcus coughed and looked away, irritated that he had been taken to task in his own keep, but unable to refute his future son-in-law's words. Malcolm shuffled his feet like a little lad and looked ashamed.

"My son is right," he admitted. "He dinna let the past cloud his thinking."

"Aye," Marcus agreed reluctantly. "An' my lass woulda told me the same. Perhaps . . .perhaps there is hope yet for peace between our two families."

"There is—if ye are willing t' let the past go," Rab said quietly. "Both o' our families have done the other wrong, but if ye keep makin' a tally sheet of all the wrongs done on each side, then ye'll never let the auld hatreds die. 'Tis best to tear up the tally sheet and start anew. Ye two are the head o' yer families, an' if ye set the example, the others will follow."

"Aye, Rabbie," sighed Malcolm. "Ye are yer mama's son, able t' see all sides o' a problem. Ye would hae made a good counselor t' Jamie, had he lived."

"Aye, Papa." Rab agreed, yet a part of him felt flagellated, for even his papa's praise was always tainted by the fact that he was the second son, and Malcolm's preferred heir and the apple of his eye had died in that border skirmish. Would he never be good enough to replace sainted James Carlyle?

"Ye are right, an' a good tanist t' yer laird," Marcus said. "I shall strive t' keep my temper under control." He was just lucky this lapse had not happened below in the hall, in front of the men, who might have used it as an excuse to brawl. "Will there be any other matter ye wish t' discuss before ye sign the contract?"

"Actually, there is," Rab interjected, trying not to show how pleased he was when Marcus had called him tanist, which was a chief's second in command and heir, something that Malcolm had never done. "I spoke with Mirabelle earlier, b'fore my tea took effect. And we both agreed that, even though we must marry by the queen's command, we need time t' get t' know each other, like a proper couple. I dinna want a bride who is afraid o' me, or who had heard scurrilous rumors about me, and that's all she kens. Nor do I want a lass who marries me only for duty. I want a true marriage, when my bride is willing t' be my wife, an' the only way that shall happen is if we get to know each other first, like any other couple."

"What are ye sayin'?" Marcus asked.

"I'm sayin' we need to handfast first. Gi' us a year and a day, as was the old custom, indeed it still is, for us to court and learn to be husband and wife, mayhap even fall in love, b'fore we wed in the eyes of God. If this marriage is to be a true marriage, and no' just one for show, we must be given time. The handfasting will do that. It's as legal as a betrothal contract," Rab persuaded.

Marcus slowly nodded. "Aye, I ken that."

"My son is no' just a doctor, but a lawyer as well," Malcolm said proudly.

Rab was astonished to hear such praise come out of the other's mouth, and wondered if Malcolm were drunk.

"Belle has agreed to such?" Marcus asked.

"Aye, she has. But ye can ask her yerself when she wakes up," Rab answered.

Fraser nodded. "I shall hae t'write the queen an' tell her about this, but she will be sure t'agree, since as ye say, 'tis an auld custom." He scribbled something on the contract and then pushed it over to Rab and Malcolm to sign. "I shall get Belle to sign once she's awake, an' then the deal is done."

Malcolm and Rab signed quickly, and then Marcus put the scroll back in his strongbox. Technically, Belle's signature was not needed on the document, but he wanted his daughter to feel a part of the proceedings.

Then he rose. "Will ye join me for a glass o' ale? I believe the lads were startin' a game or two o' cards . . ."

Malcolm brightened at that, but Rab respectfully declined, saying he had to wash off the dust and so forth, as he had not yet had a chance to do so before.

When he arrived at his room, which he shared with Neal, he found his brother had ordered a bath prepared and was now running a comb through his unruly black locks, which were wet from his own bath. His brother had his shirt off as he combed his hair, and Rab immediately noticed the faint bruise on his side. "Neal, why did ye no' tell me ye were hurt?" he demanded.

The boy shrugged, covering a brief wince. "It's no' so bad. Nothing's broken."

"I'll be the judge o' that. Hold still," ordered his brother, and deftly felt the bruise along his ribcage.

"Rab, m'fine—oww!"

"Fine doesna leave ye wi' bruised ribs," his brother refuted. "'Tis no' broken, but it's a bad bruise." He pulled out his salve and put some arnica on then bade the boy hold still again while he wrapped a bandage around for support.

"Are ye done yet?" huffed Neal, he hated being fussed over.

"Aye, scamp. Put yer shirt on, and dinna get into any more quarrels." He began to undress. "Thanks for the bath," he said.

Neal was petting his dog, running his hands through the coarse fur. "I figured ye'd want one, since ye want t'smell like roses for yer new bride," the boy teased.

Rab shook his head. "At least I won't frighten her off by smelling like a mud puddle." He eyed his little brother. "Did ye take one?"

"Aye, Mother. I dinna want ye dragging me into there by my ear and scrubbing me raw," Neal returned, speaking of an incident years ago, when Rab had first returned home from school and found that his brother's concept of hygenie, fostered by Malcolm's neglect, left something to be desired.

"Imp!" Rab mock-scolded, and gave his brother's ear a playful tweak before he got into his own bath to wash the dust of the journey away.

He sat with Neal afterwards while his brother ate and then had the lad go outside to play with his dog while he played chess with one of the Frazer guards.

He left instructions with Belle's women to give her plenty of water and Scotch beef broth with barley to eat when she woke, bread with butter and apples if they had any. He also had made a pot of sage tea and said that should be given as well, and more poppy tea if needed.

Belle slept for hours past the dinner and supper hour, when she woke at last she was achy and hot, thirsty, and needed the necessary. Alanna was there to help her out of bed, and with the aid of her crutch, to use the necessary across the hall from her room. Once that chore was accomplished, she limped back to bed, feeling exhausted despite her sleeping almost the whole day away.

Missus Potts was there, and felt her forehead as they helped her back in bed. "I believe ye've got a fever, lovey," she crooned, as she used to when Belle was small and had gotten sick. "Dr. Carlyle has left ye some more medicine to take, an' some broth and bread."

Belle drank the water and mint thirstily, then ate some broth and a small piece of bread with some honey on it. She drank the sage tea and since her ankle was throbbing again, some more of the poppy one also. Then she drew only the light sheet over herself and drifted off again into an uneasy sleep.

Page~*~*~*~Break

When she awoke again in the evening, she found her parents, Missus Pottes, Malcolm, Neal, and Rab in the room. "We came t' see how ye were feeling, lass," said her father by way of explanation.

"I'm feeling tired and achy," she admitted. "And thirsty."

Rab came and asked her a few more questions, how much her ankle hurt, if her stomach pained her from the potions, he checked her eyes and counted the pulse in her wrist and also her heartbeat with a hand against her chest.

Margaret nearly fainted. "What in the world are ye doing?"

"Listening to her heartbeat," he replied. "If I had something to . . .magnify the sound to my ears, I wouldn't need to put my hand here," he answered. "I'm making sure the blood is beating properly through her." He took his hand away. "Yer heart's fine, dearie, if a little fast." He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. "It's the fever that concerns me." Frowning, he then examined her splinted ankle, and her wrist, noting they had swollen. "Willowbark," he muttered, half to himself.

Then he turned back to his father and her parents. "I need to gi' her more tea and do a few other things to bring down that fever. But for now . . .we can be doing the handfasting, if ye're ready, Belle?"

She peered up at her parents. "Then 'tis agreed then?"

"We have agreed to it, aye," Marcus replied. "An' we have sent a letter t' the queen, but feel no need to wait since a handfasting is like a betrothal anyhow, and usual among couples." He held out a ribbon, a green one, and said, "Since ye are here at my keep an' as I am laird here, I can perform the ceremony as well as Father Ryan."

Margaret held six cords, four were the colors of the four elements—red for fire, green for earth, blue for water, white for air, and then a strip of the Carlyle plaid and one of the Fraser preferred colors.

Marcus cleared his throat. He had performed this ceremony many times before for several of his tenants, but this was special. This was his daughter. He spoke past the sudden lump in his throat.

"Mirabelle Aileen Fraser and Raibeart Alexander Carlyle, know now before ye go further, that though ye have been by royal decree commanded to marry, still ye have chosen both to obey the command of yer ruler an' also to bring peace to two warring houses forevermore by yer union. As you seek to enter this state of betrothal ye should strive to make real the ideals that to ye, give meaning this ceremony and to the institution of marriage. With full awareness, know that within this circle ye are not only declaring yer intent to be hand fasted before yer friends and family, but ye speak that intent also to God Almighty. The promises made today and the ties that are bound here greatly strengthen your union and shall help ye to declare yerselves to the Lord and each other. Do ye still seek to enter this ceremony?"

"We do," they responded.

He gestured to Margaret, who came and bound their wrists together with both strips of plaid, indicating that their families would now be bound also to this union. Lady Fraser was careful to bind Belle's uninjured wrist with Rab's.

Then she stepped back, the cords still held in her hands. She waited for her husband to continue.

"I invoke the power of the Lord to bless this ceremony, and lend to thee His holy light and strength, that ye may always treat each other with love and respect.

"Blessed be this union with the gifts o' the East and the element of Air, for openness and breath, communication of the heart, and purity o' the mind and body. From the east ye receive the gift o' a new beginning with the rising of each Sun, and ken that each day is a new opportunity for growth.

" Blessed be this union with the gifts o' the South and the element o' fire, for energy, passion, creativity and the warmth o' a loving home. From the fire within ye generate light, which ye will share with one another in even the darkest o' times.

"Blessed be this union with the gifts o' the West, the element o' water, for yer capacity to feel emotion. In marriage ye offer absolute trust to one another, and vow to keep yer hearts open in sorrow as well as joy.

"Blessed be this union with the gifts o' the North, the element of earth, which provides sustenance, fertility and security. The earth will feed and enrich ye, and help ye to build a stable home to which ye may always return."

All present bowed their heads briefly in reverence.

Then Marcus continued. "Mirabelle an' Raibeart, I bid ye look into each other's eyes."

He waited until the couple had turned and done so, each meeting the other's gaze squarely.

"Will ye honor and respect one another, seeking never to break that honor?"

"We will," they replied in unison.

Margaret draped the first cord, the red one over their hands.

"Thus the first binding is made," Marcus intoned. "Will ye share each other's pain and seek t' ease it?"

"We will."

Margaret draped the gold cord over their hands.

"And so ye are bound." Marcus then asked, "Will ye share the burdens o' each so yer spirits may grow?"

"We will."

Margaret laid the blue cord over their hands.

"And so ye are bound. Will ye share each other's laughter and look for the brightness in each other and the positive in yer life?"

"We will."

"And so ye are bound for a year and a day."

Margaret tied all four cords and the plaid together in one eternity knot.

"Mirabelle and Raibeart, as yer hands are now bound together so is yer love. Seek always to love and trust one another, an' use yer love as yer light an' rock from which to grow. Seek also the wisdom and light o' the Lord and remember He watches over ye always, and all good things come from Him."

Margaret moved and took Belle's uninjured wrist in her hand and Malcolm took Rab's and they both tugged very gently upon the couple's hands, indicating the handfasting and vows were blessed and strong in the sight of God.

"What God has brought together, in this betrothal, let no man tear apart. Amen."

They all echoed the last words, and then Rab gave Belle a chaste kiss on her mouth, as tradition demanded.

He had expected to feel nothing, after all she was a stranger to him, despite the ceremony, but he felt an odd heat steal through him and he drew back rather quickly, startled.

Belle could not tell whether the sudden surge she felt when he kissed her was something besides the fever making itself known or if it could mean something more. She was now bound to this man, her former enemy, and somehow she had to make a life with him.

She gave him a tentative smile as her mother unbound their wrists and said, "Normally we'd have a feast in the hall for ye, but . . .since ye are sick, we can do that another time, Belle." She looked questioningly at Rab.

"Aye, that would be best, my lady," he said. He noted the flushed cheeks in his now handfasted wife, and said, "Missus Potts, I will need yer assistance. Please bring me a large bowl and some clean cloths, I need to make a preparation of yarrow wash."

As Missus Potts departed, Margaret asked, "What will ye do wi' that, Dr. Carlyle?"

"Yarrow is a goodly herb for bringing down fevers. I'm going to rub it on yer daughter and if necessary prepare a bath for her also." He turned to Belle. "Ye also need to drink, dearie."

"More of yer tea?" she guessed.

"Aye, an' broth an' water an' cider. As much as ye can hold. The fever saps yer body o' liquids, dearie, an' so we must replace them an' then some."

Belle found she was given enough liquids so that she nearly floated away, and the hours that followed were filled with her mother and Missus Potts bathing her with yarrow wash that Rab concocted, and giving her drinks of water, broth, and sage tea.

She slept in fits and starts, her fever rising and falling. She was hot and cold, and sometimes with the poppy tea administered, in a strange hazy dreamlike state. She alternately burned and froze, shivering with cold and then throwing off her covers because she was suffocating.

Once her fever rose so high that she was delirious and hallucinating. She babbled incoherently and Margaret began to pray the rosary terrified she was going to lose her daughter. Then she turned upon Rab, who had been laboring tirelessly and snapped, "Why dinna ye do somethin', or are ye no good as a doctor as well as a warrior?"

Rab, weary himself from battling the fever, and also concerned for the life of his patient, who also was his wife, replied frostily, "I am doin' the best I can, Lady Fraser, now why dinna ye go an' pray or sleep or do somethin' other than bedevil me when I am tryin' to save my wife? In case ye dinna ken, I am no' God, only one human being, an' ye attackin' me is no' helping!"

He dashed a hand across his eyes, which felt gritty and sore, and said, "Missus Potts, let's get the tub ready, we need equal parts o' melted ice an' yarrow wash."

The frustrated Margaret nevertheless realized she had perhaps overstepped, and unable to watch the tense battle any longer, retreated to her private chapel to pray and entreat the Lord to please save her daughter, finally falling asleep there sometime later.

Meanwhile, Belle wandered in a haze of fever and pain, sometimes convinced she was burning in hell and demons were dancing in front of her, stabbing her legs with pitchforks other times she was freezing in a frozen waste, with snow coating her limbs.

It was odd though, for the same voice, like skin stroking velvet, would speak to her , coaxing her to drink something that eased the fiery torment, that trickled cool water over her, and helped her relieve herself. There was a pair of slender gentle hands that accompanied the voice, and she invariably felt safer and a bit better when the hands held her and helped her to drink.

"Good, dearie. That's it," Rab crooned to her.

For nearly three days he had battled the fever that sought to take his wife from him, using every technique he had learned to fight the fever that ravaged her. Twice Margaret had asked why he did not bleed her and he had snarled that such methods would put her daughter in the ground at this time, and to quit asking such idiotic questions. "She has begun to respond to my treatments, no' as well as I hoped, but she's responding."

He wrung out another cloth soaked in yarrow and ran it over his wife's flushed face. Her fever was high, but starting to subside, and he knew instinctively that his treatment was working. He coaxed her as much as possible to drink, then bathed her with icemelt and yarrow repeatedly.

Alanna and Margery, Belle's ladies maids, spelled Missus Potts, but Rab himself rested in snatches in a chair, using a special tea he brewed for himself to keep awake long after most people would have fallen fast asleep.

The maids were amazed at his constitution and fortitude, not knowing he was pushing himself. Neal knew, however, and brought his brother several plates of food, hearty stew, bread, and fruit and water, for Rab refused mead since he didn't want to ruin the efficacy of the stimulant tea he drank.

"Is Belle gonna be all right, Rab?" Neal asked as he brought him his second plate of bread, cheese, and fruit around lunchtime.

"I hope so, dearie. Her fever is down and it should break soon. How are ye doing? And yer new friend?"

"M' fine, and so is he. He likes playing with Winter," Neal whispered. "Umm . . . and Papa asked me for some of yer headache remedy."

Rab groaned. "That'll hae t' wait. God's bones, why does he pick now t' get soused?"

Neal sighed. "He was playin' cards last night. Ye know how he gets."

"Aye, like a drunken ox." Rab rolled his eyes. He broke off some bread and ate it with the cheese. His eyes felt like burned holes in his head. He frowned, thinking this was typical of his papa, to only think about himself.

"What should I tell him?" Neal asked uneasily.

"Tell him t' drink water an' I'll make him up something later." Rab muttered, half tempted to make Malcolm up something that would keep him puking for an hour.

"I'm prayin' for her to get well," Neal said, then went back downstairs.

An hour-and-a-half passed and he had Marcus and Margaret up to check on their daughter, who showed signs of steadily throwing off the fever. Both looked relieved, though Belle was not out of the woods yet.

Rab bathed her once more, wishing she would wake and see him, even though she would probably be embarrassed out of her mind because he had seen her naked. Then again, he was her physician and also her husband, so there really were no secrets in that department.

He leaned wearily back in the chair Missus Potts had placed beside the bed after spooning some cool sage tea between her lips. Then he dozed, unable to keep awake any longer, his head lolling to one side, his floofy hair falling into his face.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Belle's eyes fluttered open, focusing for the first time in days. Her cobalt eyes took in the sun slanting through the window, the feel of the sheets against her skin, and how cool she felt. There was a slight breeze from the semi opened casement, and she inhaled the scent of spring as it wafted about her face. She noted the array of bottles and cups on her nightstand, recalling hazily how someone had kept making her drink various things.

Slowly she sat up. She felt drained and tired and the was a faint throb in her ankle and a lesser one in her wrist, which was in a soft cloth sling. She glanced to her right and saw her betrothed in a chair, sleeping. Amazed, she stared at him, thinking how sleep softened his somewhat angular features and made him look . . .peaceful and handsome, though unconventionally so. The hair over his eyes made him appear slightly silly and as it fluttered up and down with each breath he took, she giggled softly.

He stirred, and she put a hand over her mouth, not wishing to wake him. It was then she noted that she was . . .naked beneath the sheet pulled over her. Alarmed, she pulled the sheet tighter about her, wondering what had happened to her chemise and how long she had slept and why was her husband asleep in her chair, as if he had no bed to sleep in?

She considered calling for Missus Potts or one of her other girls, but didn't wish to disturb the peacefully sleeping Rab. Having him wake up while she was in such a state of dishabille would be quite disastrous, even if the handfasting did make him her husband for a year and a day. She went to reach for a cup of water on the nightstand when Missus Potts entered.

"Oh! Belle, dearie, ye're awake! Praise the Lord an' the heavenly host!" Missus Potts looked as if she were about to weep. "How are ye feeling, honey?" She came to feel Belle's forehead.

"I feel much better. Why? How long have I slept?"

"Near on three days," answered her former nurse. "We feared ye . . .might not wake. But Dr. Carlyle . . .he was determined ye would make it, an' he kept givin' ye his cordials an' bathin' ye with his concoctions an' by God's grace his treatments brought ye back to us."

Belle gaped at her. "Ye mean . . .Rab . . .Dr. Carlyle has . . .he has . . ." she stammered. She felt a blush rise in her cheeks.

"Aye, he has been here since ye first fell ill days ago . . .an' barely has he been away from ye," Missus Potts declared. "He took such good care of ye, Belle, like ye were his beloved child or . . .or . . . well . . . ye are his wife . . .and see now how our prayers have been answered . . ."

She brushed her mistress's hair back from her forehead and said softly, "Would ye like me t' help ye into a clean chemise? We kept one off ye because it was not practical t' hae one on ye while we were continually bathin' ye," she explained as she retrieved one from Belle's armoire and helped slip it on over her mistress's head. Then she tenderly ran a brush through Belle's hair and tied it back. "There. Now ye just lie here an' I must tell yer lady mother an' yer father ye are awake."

She bustled out of the room, leaving Belle sitting up with her foot propped up on pillows, sipping at some water and reading the book of animal husbandry that she had started before trying to escape her unwanted betrothal and ending up right back where she had begun. She peered at her wrist, observing that it seemed to be less swollen and thinking that Rab was, after all, a very good physician.

He stirred again, muttered something, then straightened and opened his eyes. "Oww! Bloody crick in my neck!" he groaned, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

As he did so he noticed Belle, sitting up and awake, lucid for the first time in three days. "Belle! You're awake!" he grinned at her in delight, and she felt the first fluttering of desire in her as she saw that smile, it was like watching a rainbow after the rain, it illuminated his entire face and transformed his rather ordinary features into something that was truly beautiful.

His crick forgotten, he rose and gently felt her forehead. "Yer fever's broken, thank God!"

"And ye also, Dr. Carlyle," she pointed out.

"Rab, dearie. Or do ye no' remember we are handfasted now?"

"I remember. In fact it's the last thing I do remember. Everything since . . . is all blurred."

"Well, ye were verra ill, and so perhaps 'tis best ye do no' recall it," he agreed.

Then he said, "Now that the crisis is past, I want ye to eat an' drink as much as ye can, things wi' lots of meat an' vegetables an' eggs. But in small portions first, till yer stomach gets used to solid food again. I am so verra glad ye are feeling better, Belle." Then he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

She saw that he had large circles under his eyes and looked exhausted. "Rab, ye look all done in. Why dinna ye go and rest?"

"Aye, perhaps I better. I have no' slept in . . .quite some time, except in brief snatches."

He also knew that since he had stopped drinking the tea, he was going to become tired very swiftly. He caressed her cheek. "I . . .hae a surprise to gi' ye when I wake up. But right now, I must bid ye good night." He yawned again.

He was leaving the room just as Missus Potts returned with Margaret and Marcus. Both Frasers thanked him profusely before going in to see their daughter, and Rab hastily made his exit and retreated to his room, where he washed, changed into a fresh shirt and then tumbled into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Rab slept the clock around, waking only to use the guarderobe, drink some water in a pitcher, then fall asleep again. When he woke on the second day, he was ravenous. Neal brought him up a tray with soup, meat pasties, fruit, cheese, and sweet pastries, as well as cider. "Rise n' shine, dearie, yer burnin' daylight," he teased, delighting in the fact that for once he got to turn the tables on his elder brother and say what Rab normally said to him.

The doctor poked his head out from beneath his covers, his hair sticking up, and said, "Hey, scamp. How is my wife doing?"

Neal came and set the tray down on the table, and then jumped on the bed. "Belle's doin' much better, she even managed to sit in a chair an' eat today."

"Good. That's good. I'll hae t' see about makin' a more sturdy crutch for her." Rab said, and then fell upon the food like a starving wolf.

Neal watched then said, "I thought ye were gonna sleep till Jesus came again, an' Papa thinks we ought to be headin' home soon, as soon as ye say yer wife's fit to travel."

"I figured so," Rab nodded. "Another day or two and we can be on our way. As long as Belle feels up to it. I'll no' risk her takin' a chill. How about the surprise? Where hae ye been keepin' it?"

"In the stables recently, so's the wee thing can get some exercise." Neal answered.

"Ah. Well, gi' me ten minutes t' wash an' shave then bring it here. 'Tis time we gave it to Belle. I hae a feeling it will help her get better quicker."

Neal grinned. "Be right back. Dinna take too long prettyin' yerself, Rab, like some court dandy!"

Then he ducked his brother's playful swat and scurried from the room.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Rab had just finished fastening his plaid cloak about himself and belting his shirt when Neal reappeared, looking rather alarmed. "What's wrong, lad?" he asked. "Could ye no' find it or something?"

Neal shook his head. "Nay, but . . .Rab look at it! 'Tis something the matter wi' its ears!"

"What?" asked the doctor, puzzled. "Fleas? Mites?"

Neal went and withdrew a pretty white and golden tabby striped kitten from the pocket of his jacket. The little feline was barely eight weeks old, weaned and able to eat solid food, with large green eyes, and was purring loudly. "See! Its ears are flopped over!"

Rab took the kitten and gently cradled it in his arms. The kitten was quite calm, lying there without fear, and he gently fingered the odd folds in its ears. He examined them, trying to make them prick up, but as soon as he released them, they flopped back down. "Hmm. How verra odd." He whistled, the kitten looked at him. "It doesna seem to affect its hearing. Nor does it look sickly. Eyes and nose are clear, no discharge." He turned the kitten on its back and gently palpated its belly, finding all normal there too. He felt the small ribcage and heart beating, smiled as the kitten playfully grabbed his hand and gently teethed, tail twitching. "Neal, this little lad seems to be healthy. The ears are clear, no infection or redness, no fleas either."

"But Rab . . .why are his ears . . .rumpled that way?"

The doctor shrugged. "I dinna know. 'Tis a mystery. Mayhap that is how the Lord intended. Like some people have one blue an' one brown eye." He stroked the kitten and it purred again.

"Then ye still want to give him to Belle? Even if he's . . .deformed?"

"Neal, the kitten is no' deformed, just has floppy ears. Like a dog that has one pricked ear and one flopped over. And see what a nice and calm fella he is. Did he seem nervous or shy when ye had him up here in the room?"

Neal shook his head. "Nay. He dinna mind even when I took him away from his mama for a time. He played with me an' slept on my chest. But he dinna have the folded ears a week ago."

"Well, mayhap it's something that happens o'er time, like some foals are born black but then the coat turns gray later. Dinna fash yerself, Neal. There's nothing wrong wi' this kitten."

His brother still looked concerned, but then he supposed it was up to Rab if he wanted to give Belle a kitten that was not quite like a normal cat. "If ye say so, Rab."

"Come, let's hae him meet his new mistress."

Belle looked up, rather bored from staring at the four walls of her chamber, when Neal and Rab came through the door. "Oh! Ye're awake, husband."

"Aye, I got my beauty sleep," he joked, his eyes twinkling.

She laughed. "Well . . .I can see the dark circles under yer eyes are gone."

"Ah, so then I dinna look like ye gave me a black eye?" he teased.

"Nay." Then she spotted what he held in his hands. "Oh! A wee kitten!"

"'Tis the surprise I told ye about," Rab grinned. "When ye mentioned ye never had a pet o' yer own, I thought a kitten would be nice for ye t' keep ye company. I had Neal go and fetch him from home while ye were sick, one o' the barn cats, Mitzie had a litter recently."

"I picked out the bonniest one for ye," Neal said shyly.

Rab went and handed the kitten to Belle, who held it to her chest. "He's been weaned an' is no' sickly. Should make ye a fine companion, he likes t' cuddle wi' ye already."

Belle was stroking the tiny cat on her lap, "Oh isn't he a sweet little bairn!" She giggled when the kitten went to gnaw her fingers and then she saw the little feline's distinctly folded ears. "Why, Rab! His ears are . . .well, they're rumpled!"

"Aye, 'tis an odd thing, but it doesna affect his hearing any. If ye dinna wish t' keep him as yer pet, we can always put him back in the barn an' pick another from the litter for ye," Rab offered quickly, wanting her to be happy.

Belle shook her head rapidly, "Oh, nay! I dinna want another. I love him . . . because he's different and no' like all the other kitties." She hugged the tiny gold striped kitten with the odd ears and round head to her, as if afraid Rab would insist on taking him away. "If he isna bothered by having rumpled ears, then why should I be?"

"Then he's yours, dearie," Rab laughed.

The little kitten batted the string on Belle's dressing gown.

"What are ye gonna call him?" asked Neal curiously.

Belle smiled down at the playful little animal, her first real pet. "Thank ye Rab. 'Tis a lovely surprise." She tilted her head to one side as the kitten chewed on the string, cuddled into her lap. "I think . . . there's only one name that fits this wee laddie." She tapped the kitten playfully on the head. "I shall name ye—Rumple, for yer rumpled ears."

The newly named Rumple looked at her and meowed softly, then purred as he teethed on the dressing gown string, plainly content with both his new name and his new mistress.

A/N: If any of you readers are cat fanciers or cat lovers you might recognize the kitten Rab gives Belle as a specific cat breed. Here's a hint—the first one was actually the product of a barn cat in Scotland. I thought it fitting to have this kitten as Rab's gift to her. If anyone knows the cat breed, feel free to say so . . .the first correct answer gets to request a prompt from me.