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‘His sister, yes,’ Saskia smiled. ‘Ciao, Giulia, I’m here to take care of your brother.’
‘Grazie.’
‘E...tuoi...your parents...are they here?’ She cast an apologetic glance at Malachi as she reverted to English, her limited grasp of Italian spent.
He translated quickly, only for Giulia to shake her head and begin speaking in Italian too fast for Saskia even to begin to understand. Then the girl got up and pushed through the crowd.
‘There’s only their mother. She’s working in the town tonight—Giulia is going to try to get hold of her now.’
‘Andreas is showing signs of shock,’ she murmured to Malachi. ‘He really needs to get to hospital. Can you carry him into that house over there? We must keep his wound under running water, but we also need to get him on his back and elevate his legs, to increase blood flow to his head and heart.’
Even as Malachi scooped the boy up, translating her instructions in that calm, firm way of his, Saskia began emptying another bottle of water over the boy’s arm, moving his clothing out of the way after ensuring nothing was stuck to the wound.
The owner of the house ran ahead, flicking all the lights on and holding doors open, and a small crowd flanked them, murmuring with concern but apparently happy to follow Saskia’s instructions.
Before long the boy was lying on the floor in the bathroom, his arm under the cool flow from a handheld showerhead, his legs elevated by a small upturned laundry basket, his body covered with a blanket.
‘How long does he need to stay like this?’ asked Malachi.
‘I’ll check it after ten minutes or so. I could probably use some cling film to cover the burn. Something that will keep it clear of infection but isn’t fluffy.’
‘So not cotton wool?’ He eyed the bag that had been handed to him by the homeowner.
‘No—exactly,’ Saskia confirmed. ‘But if it comes to it we can tip out the cotton balls and use the bag itself. I’d just prefer something off a roll, so I know it’s really clean.’
‘I’ll go and ask what they have. You’ll be okay?’
‘We’ll be fine.’ She turned to the little boy. ‘Bene, Andreas?’
He nodded stiffly, already looking a little less clammy.
She sat with him, keeping him under close observation even as the villagers, following her instructions as relayed via Malachi, kept talking to the young lad and soothing him.
It felt like only seconds since he’d left for the supplies she’d suggested, but already he was back, and she had to admit that his improvisation of a fresh roll of freezer bags was well chosen.
‘I brought a variety of painkillers, too. I wasn’t sure what was best.’
Saskia quickly sifted through them. ‘These or these,’ she confirmed. ‘Not those.’
Malachi relayed the information to the homeowner before turning back to her.
‘The ambulance is nearly here. It will take him to the local clinic, eight miles away, so I think it’s best you do whatever you think needs doing before we transfer him.’
‘Thanks.’ Saskia nodded, his trust in her gloriously buoying. ‘Can you take this whilst I wrap his arm?’
They worked well together, a surprisingly good team. Malachi seemed intuitive, anticipating what she would need next, and he chatted to the boy to keep him happy about what was going on.
By the time they’d finished, and Andreas had been safely transferred to the ambulance, he looked much more comfortable and Saskia knew she had been accepted by the community.
Then, as she slipped Malachi’s coat off her shoulders because he must be cold, she heard their gasps and realised they hadn’t known she was pregnant. Suddenly they were the centre of attention again, with everyone rushing to congratulate them—congratulate Malachi.
A thrill ran through Saskia at the way he reacted—as though they were a real couple. So much so that she almost even fooled herself.
For a moment she wondered why she was holding out for some great passion. Why she was pretending she believed in the shining Hollywood example of her parents’ great love affair. Especially when she knew the dark, cruel truth.
Maybe Malachi was right. Maybe what they had—chemistry and sexual passion, with a healthy dose of mutual respect—was enough.
Perhaps when they got back to the castle she ought to tell him.
