The chair slammed down with a thud. Before Lizzy could clear her throat, Tuck was leaning over her, hands bracketing either side of her face.
“You’re awake.”
She yawned. “Yes. I believe my little nap helped. I feel much better.”
“Little nap?” Tuck narrowed his eyes, searching her face. “You slept twenty-four hours. If you weren’t awake in the next five minutes, I... I didn’t know what I’d do.” He pushed off the bed and bent over, hands splayed on his knees. “I didn’t know, Lizzy. I didn’t have a plan.”
“You don’t sound yourself.” She stretched. Her body felt warm and relaxed. Besides being a little hungry, she was fine.
“Because I was fucking terrified. I am still fucking terrified.You spiked a fever so fast. By the time I got you back to the inn, you were barely making sense. I tried to get a doctor, but he was out delivering a baby, so they sent me an apot—an apoto—”
“An apothecary?”
“Yeah. Whatever the hell that is.”
She settled back on her pillow, puzzled. “How do you get medicines in your time?”
“The pharmacy—a place where a pharmacist dispenses medicines.”
“Sounds like an apothecary. It’s quite common for them to pay house calls. It happens to me from time to time when I have one of these spells.”
“Your brother said you’re susceptible to fevers.”
“Yes. During times of stress or great excitement it’s not uncommon for me to become feverish for a day. Strange, isn’t it? And how did you end up speaking to Henry?”
“I fetched him because I wasn’t sure how sick you were.”
“Did you think you were at my deathbed?”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “You got sick so fast. I didn’t have any way to check your temperature. I couldn’t get you pain relievers or fever reducers down at a grocery store; I felt useless as hell. Then I found the apothecary and the first thing Henry wanted him to do was to cut your arm open.”
“Henry swears by bloodletting. I’m not as convinced that—”
“I let them know that if anyone cuts my wife under the pretense of healing her, then they would be the ones bleeding.” His voice was fierce and protective.
“Tuck.” She reached out a hand.
He stared intently at it, his jaw clenched in determination as he reached into his pocket and carefully retrieved their weddingrings. With a sense of solemnity, he pushed hers on in a simple gesture. Then he slid his own into place, sealing their union.
“What on earth?” She blinked at the ring, dazed. Though the physical weight was light, the moment felt heavy with consequence.
They were truly married.
“I feel better having you wear it,” he continued. “I couldn’t help much when you were sick. When I was first told I had cancer? It sucked. But I had a team of medical professionals. If you get sick here? You get some guy who shows up and wants to bleed your arm into a bowl. What the fuck?”
“Tuck,” she repeated. “Wearing the rings... What does it mean?”
She wanted him to make sense of this moment. He had a remarkable way of distilling things down to the core of the matter, and right now she could use a little of his forthrightness.
“It feels stupid, but maybe it can help protect you. I don’t know. I hate that I’ve been so useless.”
Frustration flared. “What if you stopped making this situation about you and listened to the person who was actually sick and has things to say?”
That certainly caught his notice.
“You’re right.” He dragged the chair back and took her hand between his. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll live to annoy you another day.”
