When she was ready to give up hope, Kit coughed, then was silent.
Nicholas’s head came up as he looked at Dougless. “Come on, come on,” she said. “Breathe, damn you!” With Nicholas’s help, she pushed Kit onto his side.
Kit gave another cough, then another, then he vomited water as his lungs cleared.
Rolling off of him, Dougless put her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Nicholas held his brother’s shoulders while Kit got rid of the water. A knight draped his cape about Kit’s bare lower half, while the other men stared down at Dougless. Her hair was down, her dress torn, she’d lost a shoe, and Nicholas’s blood was on one sleeve and the other sleeve was missing.
At last Kit quit coughing and leaned back against his brother. Tiredly, Kit looked at Nicholas’s arm that was wrapped tightly about his chest. His brother’s blood trickled down Kit’s bare, wet chest. Kit looked up at his men, and saw all six of them staring down at the Montgomery woman who was crying softly into her hands.
“This is a fine way to treat a man back from the dead,” Kit managed to croak out. “My brother bleeds on me, and a pretty woman sheds tears. Is no one glad that I yet live?”
If anything, Nicholas’s grip on Kit tightened. Dougless looked up, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and sniffed. A knight handed her a handkerchief. “Thank you,” she murmured, then blew her nose.
“The maid has saved you,” one of the knights said, awe in his voice. “It is a miracle.”
“Witchcraft,” muttered another man.
Nicholas looked up at the man, his eyes black with threat. “You call her witch again and you will not live to repeat the words.”
The men knew that Nicholas meant what he said.
When Dougless looked at Nicholas, she knew that his hatred of her was over, and that now he’d listen to her. She blew her nose again, then tried to stand. When she stumbled, one of the men helped her up, but they were all looking at her as though she were part saint, part demon.
“Oh, heavens,” she said, “stop looking at me like that. This is a common practice in my country. We have lots of water and people are always drowning. Really, what I did was no miracle.”
To her relief, she could see the men believed her, but probably only because they wanted to.
“Now, I want all of you to stop standing around and get busy. Poor Kit must be freezing, and, Nicholas, your arm is a mess. You two help Kit, and you two see if there are any clean bandages for Nicholas’s arm, and you two go see if the horses survived the trip. Now go! Scurry!”
One advantage women throughout time have had is that the little boy in men always remembers a time when women were all-powerful. The men bumped into each other as they ran to do her bidding.
“You have a shrew on your hands, brother,” Kit said happily. Nicholas still held his brother tightly, as though he were afraid Kit would die if he released him. “Perhaps you would fetch my clothes for me,” Kit said softly to Nicholas, then shook his head as Dougless started for Kit’s clothes piled on the bank of the pond.
Slowly, Nicholas released his hold on his brother and started to rise, but he swayed on his feet. The loss of blood, combined with his ride and his fear, had weakened him. Standing to one side, Dougless watched as Nicholas slowly made his way to the bank, picked up Kit’s clothes, then took them back to his brother.
Kit accepted the clothes with the solemnity of a king receiving the crown at his coronation, then he grinned. “Sit down, little brother,” he said.
When Nicholas took a step, he swayed, so Dougless caught him in her arms and led him to sit down; then she sat beside him. Turning, Nicholas put his head on her lap.
Kit laughed. “Now that is more the brother I know.” He looked up as his men came back into the clearing.
Dougless looked down at Nicholas and stroked his sweat-dampened black curls. This was, at long last, her Nicholas. Here again was the man she’d loved and lost.
“Do you grow onion-eyed again?”
His words, so heart-stoppingly familiar, did indeed bring tears to her eyes. “The wind,” she murmured. “Nothing more.” She smiled at him. “Give me your arm. I want to see what you’ve done to it.”
Obediently, he held up his arm, and her stomach lurched. The bandage was saturated with blood and his hand was encrusted, as well as his sleeve above the wrappings.
“How bad is it?” she whispered.
“I do not believe I will lose the arm. The leeches—”
“Leeches!” Dougless said. “You can’t afford more blood loss.” Glancing up, she saw that Kit was now dressed, but he was so weak that he was being supported as the men led him to his horse.
“Nicholas, get up. We’re going back to take care of that arm,” Dougless said.