XV
He must have brought her, though he didn't recall the journey there. He must have sent Marcus for the doctor, and begun the process of removing her soiled clothes, but he was barely conscious of what he was doing until Mr. Merriman laid a hand on his shoulder and brought him to his senses.
"Perhaps we should wait for the doctor."
Ben's hands hovered over her embroidered stomacher. He was not entirely certain how to extract Lissie from all the finery, but he would try. Every moment her injuries were not able to be seen to was a moment too long.
"We are married. There can be nothing indecent about my tending to her."
Merriman relented upon Ben's tone of voice that brooked no argument. He promised to send up the doctor as soon as he arrived, and made his exit.
The pretty things that Lissie so admired were now obstacles to her recovery, but Ben did his best to keep them in tact for her; a decision that required much tedious work in removal.
She was down to her shift and stockings when the doctor arrived. He instructed Ben in how to assist him, impressed by his desire to do so himself rather than call a servant.
Ben held Lissie's head up as the doctor cleansed and rewrapped the wound with fresh bandages. The strips of cloth from Ben's sheets had done their part, and Ben was commended for his quick action. There was not much else the doctor could do. She breathed, and thus there was hope. She remained unconscious, and though there was no lack of marks and bruises on her body, as far as the doctor could ascertain, she did not bleed internally.
It would be impossible to tell how badly the head trauma affected her until she awoke.
While he waited, Ben stoked the fire, and kept a careful watch for any change in Lissie's breathing or complexion. He had fresh tea brought every few hours on the chance that she would awaken and want something. When she did not, he drank most of the tea himself so as not to waste it.
He had no concept of the time when he rested his head near her and warmed her hands, but it was only a few sighs before he too was asleep.
It was very late in the morning when Ben was coaxed awake by a gentle hand in his hair. Blearily, he squinted up at Lissie. Her face was wet from crying, but she smiled at him.
"Lissie," he breathed, "Does your head hurt?"
"Some, but not enough to cry."
"Then what is it, Lissie?" He tenderly kissed the scarred knuckles beside him, afraid to speak too loud in case he dreamt. But her scars were a strangely comforting testament to the reality of her, and all she had been through to reach this moment.
"When I woke, it was so comfortable, and soft. I felt dizzy, but light, and so very, very warm. I thought I must be in heaven." She let out a long sigh, and Ben kissed her again.
"You are in my room," he said.
Her smile broadened. "I didn't know. I thought I was in heaven, and I hadn't said goodbye to you, nor given you your gift... and I missed you terribly, and then I thought I must be wicked for crying about being in heaven, but that couldn't be since the wicked don't go to heaven."
She giggled, and the sound went straight to Ben's heart. "But all this time I've been in your bed."
He brushed her remaining tears away and leaned forward to kiss the part of her forehead not covered by the bandage. "I am so glad you are not in heaven yet, my Lissie."
She cupped his face to draw it back to hers, and studied him for a long moment. "I do not think I could be much closer than I am now."
It took very little effort for him to close the gap between them and place a token of his love on her sweet lips. They were still paler than he would like.
"You must eat something," he murmured, and reluctantly extracted himself from her hold.
He saw that Rose had already sent up a fresh tray with warm bread and milk for breakfast—the lateness of their repast did not seem to matter—and refused to taste a single bite or sip of anything until Lissie had her fill.
She sat against him so that her head could fall back against his chest when she grew weary of holding it up. Now and then, between her measured nibbling, he'd press his cheek or lips to her in contentment. Lissie hummed—something she had not done since she was a very little girl—and reached back to force a few pieces of bread into his mouth.
"I still think you are a better bed," she mused.
Ben laughed, causing Lissie to do the same. And in their mirth, he silently prayed that neither he nor his Lissie would be taken to heaven before the other.
Author's Note: I did not realise this was such a short chapter! I feel even worse for forgetting to post yesterday. I am so very sorry! Might I be forgiven, now that Jiggy Nye is safely tucked away in a prison cell?