“Aye, Fergus is a fair cook when it comes to meat and game. He’s nae so good at the baking,” he said, spooning up more of the broth for her.
She finished most of the bowl before another coughing fit put paid to anymore. He wished he had something to give her to soothe her throat; it must be raw, between the coughing and the damage wrought by the smoke.
She settled back with her eyes closed once the coughing stopped, and he sat and ate his own meal. He had just finished wiping up the last of the broth with his bread when a scratch at the door heralded the return of the dogs. He set his bowl down and opened to the door to let them in.
“Fed and watered, are ye?” said Col as they bundled into the room, wuffling a greeting.
Aihan stirred and opened her eyes. Gussie lunged for the bed, and a slight look of alarm on Aihan’s face made him say sharply, “Gussie, sit and give a paw.” The deerhound immediately sat and put a paw on the side of the bed.
Aihan’s eyes widened in shock. The scruffy, grey-haired, long-legged beast lowered her muzzle to the bed, and with soft ears flopping either side of her long-muzzled head, gave her best impression of an apology.
Col chuckled at this display of disingenuity as Aihan stared at the dog, fascinated.
“Pat her,” suggested Col, and made a stroking motion with his hand. “Her name’s Gussie. Augusta,” he added.
Aihan put out a tentative hand and stroked the wiry fur on Gussie’s head.
Col grinned, and Hector got up on his hind legs, pawing at the side of the bed and whimpering, clearly also wanting a pat. Aihan reached her other hand to the terrier’s head and patted both dogs, a smile breaking across her face. Hector, in his enthusiasm, tried to leap into the bed and fell back, making Aihan start with a gasp, which in turn made her cough.
Col clicked his fingers and gestured to the dogs to move away. Obediently, they retreated to the hearth rug before the fire. Col gave Aihan some more lemon and honey water to soothe her throat.
She subsided back into the pillows and nodded. “Gussie,” she managed.
“And Hector,” said Col with a wave to the little terrier, who lifted his head at the mention of his name.
“Hector,” she repeated with a weary smile.
“Close yer eyes, lass, and I’ll read to ye, hmm?” he said, waving his book.
She lifted an eyebrow and nodded, nestling back into the pillows and closing her eyes.
She seemed to be understanding him more and more. If not his words exactly, his gestures and intent anyway.
He settled into his chair, opened the book where he was up to, and began to read. The words would be meaningless, but he hoped the cadence of his voice would lull her to sleep.
A little while later, he thought he had achieved his objective, and continued to read in silence until the clock on the mantle tinkled ten o’clock. Conscious of his own exhaustion—he’d not slept much last night—and noting that her breathing seemed a mite easier, he rose quietly and got a plaid from the cupboard to use as a blanket. He removed his jacket and boots, cleaned his teeth, and lay down on the other side of the bed, wrapped in the plaid. He murmured a prayer to Cat—part of his nightly ritual—and closed his eyes.
He was jerked awake by an arm thumping him in the chest. Blinking in the light of the guttering candles, he turned his head to see Aihan, arms flaying as she appeared to be fighting off an invisible assailant and muttering something in a hoarse undertone in her own language. He sat up on one elbow and leaned over her, catching her flailing hands in one of his own.
“Aye, lass, settle, settle!” he said soothingly.
She gasped and her eyes opened. She blinked up at him, then stared as if having trouble bringing him into focus.
“Ah!” She let out a breath, her body relaxing as she visibly came back to herself. “Mac Sceacháin,” she said hoarsely.
He squeezed her hand. “Col,” he reminded her gently.
“Cou,” she managed awkwardly, and grimaced.
He smiled at her mangling of his name. Realising he was still holding her hands, he let them go and sat up. “You want a drink?” He mimed lifting a cup to his mouth.
She nodded and he got up, coming round to her side of the bed to offer her some more of the honey and lemon water.
“Bad dream, lass?” he asked, not expecting to be understood.
She swallowed. It was visibly painful; her throat must be so raw. He set the glass down when she’d had enough and foundher grasping his hand tightly in both of hers. “Must go,” she said slowly.
“Ye’re nae well enough to go anywhere, lass. Ye saw what happened when ye got out the bluidy window!” He waved to the window. “Ye collapsed!” He made a falling motion.
