Deathmark, p.15
Deathmark, page 15
“Don’t joke,” he said severely. “You don’t know what necromancers are capable of.”
“It’s not a necromancer’s bell,” she replied, “and I do know what they’re capable of—I’m the one with their mark carving its way across my skin.”
His jaw clenched. “The deathmark isn’t the only curse they can sling.”
Nell ignored him in favor of examining her new treasure. “I think I’ll hang it on the back porch.”
He started to protest, but the noise caught in his throat. After an uncertain hesitation, he grunted. “Do as you please.”
In passing, impulsively, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said as she continued to the back door. Rowe stood stock-still, battling some internal demon. Ultimately, it seemed, his logical side won, for which Nell was grateful.
After all, it was only a bell. Butterflies weren’t exclusive to necromancers. Plenty of people liked the colorful insects, so it wasn’t beyond belief that someone might work them into a wind chime such as this. The bell was meant to be out in nature, that much was obvious.
Its first clangs drifted through the house.
“There was the most useful little nail sticking out from the porch beam,” she said as she skipped merrily inside. “You’re not angry, are you?”
“I’m tired,” said Rowe to avoid the question. “We should eat something and go to bed. There’s—”
“—bread and cheese,” Nell finished in a singsong voice. “I’ll get the knife.”
CHAPTER 13
Remission
For several days after their excursion to the island cavern, Nell didn’t dare ask Rowe for anything. The bell on the porch clanged a low, constant reminder of the indulgence he had already given.
She had two more attacks, two nights apart from one another, but neither anywhere near the severity of that awful night after they’d gotten caught in the storm. Rowe kept a faithful vigil by her side. The toll of the bell gave her something to focus on.
It made the pain more bearable.
The morning after her second attack, she awoke to the call of seagulls and the bell’s mournful note. Rain had fallen while she slept. The smell of the sea washed over her. Despite her painful nighttime ordeal, she felt refreshed, as though she had somehow been washed clean alongside the world. She rose and dressed and started her chores.
Rowe emerged from his room an hour later, his feet dragging and his eyes red-rimmed, as though he hadn’t slept a wink.
Nell looked up from the dough she was kneading. “Are you all right? You look awful.”
“I’m just tired,” he said in a gravelly voice, and he trudged out the door.
Guilt wormed through her. If Rowe was tired, it was her fault. He’d been up half the night taking care of her, keeping the fire lit and tucking blankets around her. The attack hadn’t been severe enough to warrant such treatment, but he had insisted, as usual.
“Go back to bed,” she told him the moment he returned. “I’ll bring your breakfast to you.”
He scowled. “I’m fine. I’ll eat right here.”
“You look like you’re about to topple over.”
“If I am, it’s no concern of yours.”
“You boss me around about my health all the time.”
“Your circumstances are different than mine.”
She glowered at him.
“Look,” said Rowe uncomfortably, “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not sick. It’s only a headache.”
Nell let the argument drop, more for the sake of his aching head than for any belief that he was right. She served up his breakfast and returned to her bread dough.
When the silence between them finally became too much for Rowe, he cleared his throat. Before he could speak, though, a loud knock sounded at the door.
They frowned at each other. “I’ll get it,” Nell said, and she hurried to answer the summons before Rowe could heft himself from his chair. At the door stood an unfamiliar man, rail-thin, with snowy hair and squinting eyes that peeked out from beneath the brim of a squat black hat. Behind him, beyond the fence, a horse and buggy waited.
“Oh!” the man said pleasantly. “You look well enough!”
Nell puzzled over what to make of such a familiar remark from a man she was sure she’d never met. “Can I… help you?”
He thrust out his hand, slender but calloused with age. “Name’s Simms. I’m the doctor down at the village.”
She had accepted his hand, but she immediately jerked her own away when he stated his occupation. “We haven’t sent for a doctor,” she said with quickening heart. “Rowe, did you send for a doctor?”
“No, no, no,” Dr. Simms interjected before Rowe could answer. “No one’s sent for me.”
Fear plunged through her like a wave of icy water. She’d heard of impromptu examinations for the deathmark, doctors who would choose a house at random and declare that all occupants must undergo screening.
An arm fell protectively around her shoulders. Rowe had come to stand beside her, falsely pleasant in his smile. “How can we help you, Dr. Simms?”
The doctor shifted from one foot to the other. “Rufus down at the inn sent me up this way to check on you two. We’ve had sickness running through Wyndeep, and no one had seen either of you for a week, so he was worried…”
Rowe laughed, and Nell stared up at him, astonished that he could force such a carefree response. “We’re neither of us sick here, as you can see.”
Dr. Simms cheerfully agreed. “Rufus will be relieved. I’ll be on my way to tell him, then.”
Rowe gestured inward with his free hand and pulled Nell closer to him, to make room in the doorway. “Come in and rest a spell. It’s a good journey. We’ll get you something to drink before you go back.”
The doctor didn’t hesitate. “Thank you,” he said. He pulled his hat from his head as he crossed the threshold.
Nell shot an alarmed glance up at Rowe, who minutely shook his head, a clear warning for her not to act suspicious. Dr. Simms settled at the table while Rowe poured him a drink from the pitcher they kept there. Nell steeled her nerves enough to offer him a sweet roll she had baked the previous day.
“Thank you kindly,” he said, and he took a tentative taste. His expression lightened. “Why, that’s as good as anything Old Rufus has ever made! You’ll pardon me for being blunt, but some of my patients have the strangest kitchen skills and still insist on feeding me. I’m conditioned to expect the worst. This is delicious!” He took a hearty bite and a draft from his cup.
“Nell knows her way around the kitchen well enough,” said Rowe. “If it were up to me, we’d be living off of bought bread and a slab of cheese.”
Simms chuckled, his mouth full as he raised his glass in salute.
“Wh-what sort of sickness is it?” Nell asked timidly. “In town, I mean. Is it very bad?”
He swallowed. “Oh, it’s a nuisance, some little bug that’s circulating from house to house. It’s been laying people out flat. I had to put Adam Carter’s whole family in isolation. Rufus mentioned that he’d seen you talking to Adam a couple days before the family took ill, Mr. Rowe, so he was worried the sickness might have spread here as well.”
“I bought his old horse, but that’s all I brought back with me. You said the sickness started a week ago?”
The tenseness of his voice caught Nell’s attention. A week ago they had ventured to the necromancer’s fortress and brought back her precious bell. Surely he wasn’t going to insinuate that that had anything to do with this outbreak.
“No, no,” said Dr. Simms, though. “I started seeing cases of it about a month ago. It’s made its way up the coast from Southport, according to one of my colleagues there.”
Rowe seemed moderately placated, while Nell suppressed a triumphant smirk. “What sort of symptoms does it have?” she asked in lieu of gloating.
“Fever, chills, dizziness, nausea, and the usual aches and pains. It’s a miserable ordeal for adults and we’ve had a few deaths among the children that contract it. You don’t have any children here, do you?”
“No,” said Nell quickly.
“And you both look healthy enough,” Dr. Simms continued with a knowing nod. “You more so than your husband,” he added to Nell with a friendly pat on her hand. “Between you and me, he looks like he could use a nap.”
She managed a weak smile. Her eyes flitted up toward Rowe, who scowled at the comment.
Dr. Simms rose from his chair, oblivious to the mute interchange between his two listeners. “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time for today. You’re forewarned, and I’d best be on my way back. If either of you starts to feel sick, you can send for me. If you both get sick…” He paused to frown over this conundrum.
“We’ll be fine,” said Rowe. “We’re pretty well isolated up here, so there’s little chance we caught anything.”
“Yes,” Dr. Simms mused. “Well, do be sure to send for me if you have need. Thank you for the refreshment, and good day.”
They saw him to the door and watched as he tottered to his buggy. When he had climbed behind the reins and started back down the road, Nell breathed a sigh of relief.
“I thought he’d come about the mark,” she said.
“Why? He can’t have any notion of it,” said Rowe. He was back to his crabby self, no longer putting on a show.
By the time she pulled her bread loaves from the oven, he had wandered off to the side yard, presumably to mend a gap in the fence. Nell didn’t know how long the task would take him, but it was near enough to lunchtime already. She trekked outside to ask if he was ready for a break.
“Rowe,” she called as she rounded the corner, “do you want—”
Her voice died in her throat. He sat against the fence, head buried in the palms of his hands. He didn’t even look up at her.
Nell darted to him, crouching at his side. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said tightly. “Just… give me a minute. I was a little dizzy.”
She sat back on her haunches and watched him, reluctant to interfere but unwilling to leave him there. When he didn’t move, she instinctively placed the backs of her fingers to the side of his face. She withdrew them just as quickly.
“You’re burning up!”
A heavy breath left his nostrils. He couldn’t deny her statement, but neither would he admit it.
“I told you to go back to bed!” said Nell with rising indignation. “Why on earth are you so stubborn?”
He chuckled darkly. “You’re one to talk.”
“Can you move, or do I have to drag you back inside? For goodness’ sake, we had a doctor here only a couple hours ago—”
One hand suddenly caught her wrist, and Rowe raised menacing eyes to glare at her. “I don’t want a doctor any more than you do. Just leave me alone. I’ll suffer my way through this.”
Understanding dawned upon her. “You knew. He was here talking about that sickness, and you knew you were starting into it!”
“I didn’t know,” said Rowe, like a child arguing a petty point. “I might’ve suspected when he started listing symptoms, but I didn’t know.”
“What on earth possessed you to come out here and work?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
Her mouth opened and shut again. “You—” she began, battling a sudden rush of fury. “Do you think I’m an idiot, that you could just pretend everything was fine and I wouldn’t notice otherwise? Really?”
He rolled his head back and stared up at the sky. “Nell,” he said in a tone of voice that asked her to drop the subject.
“Rowe,” she retorted. “Oh, I could wring your neck if you weren’t so ill!” She tugged on his arm. “Come on. I’m too weak to carry you, so you’re going to have to lean on me or else crawl. You’re going straight to bed.”
“I can get there on my own,” he gruffly said, but when he tried to stand he staggered. Nell caught him, positioning herself beside him for support.
“Don’t you dare complain,” she said as they stumbled forward together. “How long have you been feeling ill? I told you to go back to bed this morning. I told you to go to bed last night!”
“And you’re telling me again now,” he finished with the slightest bite of sarcasm.
“How long, Rowe?”
“I felt… a little off yesterday.”
“And when Dr. Simms showed up, you just put on that fake smile and pretended everything was fine, and I was too dumb to connect your fatigue with his symptoms.”
They reached the porch and passed into the house. Rowe’s dizziness forced him to rely heavily on Nell as she guided him to his room. He collapsed on his bed with a sigh of relief.
Nell panted, striving to regain her breath as she watched his chest rise and fall.
“I’m here. You can go now,” he said.
“Fever, chills, dizziness, nausea,” Nell recited under her breath. “Get beneath the covers. I’ll go get my extra blankets.”
“Don’t. Just keep away. I don’t want you to catch this.”
“Idiot,” she muttered as she went. She lived with him. Avoiding him now wouldn’t prevent her from getting sick.
She brought extra blankets and stacked them next to his bed, along with her largest mixing bowl.
Rowe opened one eye to glare balefully at her.
“If you feel like throwing up, aim for the bowl,” she told him, and she left again. She was by no means glad that he was sick, but it was somewhat gratifying to be the caretaker instead of the patient for once. Perhaps he would better understand her desire to be left alone during her attacks.
By the same token, she knew now exactly why he never left her. The very idea of deserting him to suffer alone was intolerable.
His fever spiked that afternoon, followed by a bout of chills. Nell managed to get some vegetable broth down his throat without him gagging. Anything more substantial than that she dared not try, for fear of triggering nausea. Rowe endured her ministration without complaint, but she could tell from his closed expression that he didn’t appreciate it.
And she didn’t care in the least. She tended to him anyway.
“Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Rowe!”
The rubicund face of Old Rufus beamed at Nell the moment she set foot into the inn’s common room.
Her voice light, she greeted him. “Good morning.”
He peered past her in confusion. “Is your husband not with you? That’s a rarity indeed.”
“He’s up at the house, working on some project or other,” Nell said. She assuaged herself of any instinctive guilt by reasoning that battling an illness could qualify as a project. Rowe had passed a miserable night. An hour before dawn, the instant he fell into a deep enough sleep, Nell had abandoned him to make the long trek into town.
He’d done the same to her only a week ago, so he couldn’t very well complain.
She smiled hopefully at the baker. “I came down to the village to see if I could buy a chicken. I’m still unfamiliar with everything here, so I thought I’d ask you where I could get one.”
Rufus arched his brows. “For eggs, or the stew pot?”
“The stew pot,” said Nell.
“Plucked and prepared?”
“I can do that myself.”
“Good girl. I just received a few old hens for pie-making tonight. You’re welcome to one of them.”
“I have money to buy my own,” said Nell. She’d rummaged through Rowe’s things until she found his coin purse. He wouldn’t like that either, but it was for his benefit—which was the only justification she could make to steal from him.
Rufus smiled lopsidedly at her insistence to pay. He promptly listed a sum. “And that’s for the scrawniest of the bunch,” he added with a shrewd glare. “Would you care to barter?”
Nell instead extracted the required amount. “It doesn’t have to be a fat one. I’m making stock.”
Again his brows shot up, this time in approval. “One scrawny hen for Mrs. Rowe,” he said, and he disappeared into his kitchen. Upon his return, he winked as he handed her a burlap sack. “I added a couple onions and some carrots there for you.”
Nell blushed. “Thank you.” Instinctively she opened the sack and looked inside to see the throttled hen and vegetables. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Dr. Simms tells me that you make a sweet roll to rival my own,” said Rufus, smiling. “Bring me a batch some time, won’t you?”
“I will,” said Nell, “I’d better get going if I want to get this on for dinner tonight.”
“Your husband’s in for a treat.”
She ruthlessly squashed that pang of guilt again. “He certainly is.” She bid the baker goodbye and left the inn. She did need to hurry. If Rowe woke up alone, he might stumble around looking for her. He’d threatened before to box her ears, but he’d probably follow through if he discovered that she’d walked all the way into town by herself.
It wasn’t as though she’d had much choice, though. She didn’t trust herself to ride the horse without him to guide it, and she needed something more than vegetables to feed him. Chicken stock was marvelous for illness, and the village was her only option for acquiring its main ingredient.
She was risking an attack, but the cause was worthy.
Her anxiety increased with each step she took. When the cottage finally loomed in sight, she was a nervous wreck. He should have slept, but if not…
Nell crossed the threshold and peered through the open bedroom door to where he lay, calm and silent. She set her newly acquired goods on the table and, with guilty conscience, tiptoed into his room to slip the remaining coins back into his purse.
“Rowe, I’m back,” she murmured, knowing that he was too fast asleep to hear her. She’d confess the whole excursion when he was better, she promised herself.
His fever had begun to rise again. Nell draped a wet cloth over his forehead and returned to the kitchen to start the stock. She listened to her bell clang in the summer breeze as she worked.
Rowe slept on, oblivious.
