Saving the Immortal

Chapter Eighteen: Quiet Care

He carried me directly to our chambers, and once there, set about tending to me with a focus that left no room whatsoever for further conversation.

I had expected, perhaps, that he might summon Bess or one of the other maids to assist me — some concession to propriety, given the particular intimacy such care required. He summoned no one. He simply set me carefully upon the edge of the bed and knelt before me, his hands steady now despite the fear I had witnessed in them only minutes earlier, and began removing my sodden gown with a gentleness that felt entirely unhurried despite the urgency of my continued shivering.

"You are still so cold," he murmured, more to himself than to me, working the wet fabric free with careful, practiced movements.

I said nothing, my teeth still chattering too hard for proper speech, and let him work.

He dressed me in dry linens from the chest beside our bed, his movements careful and entirely without impropriety, the specific focused attention of a man tending to something precious rather than anything approaching desire. When the last of the wet fabric had been replaced with warm, dry cloth, he drew the covers up over me and tucked them close, checking that no draft could reach me from any angle.

He rose then and crossed to the hearth, building the fire higher than it had burned in days, until the chamber itself began to fill with a warmth I could feel pressing gently against my still-numb skin.

He returned with a basin of heated water and a cloth, and settled beside the bed once more, wringing the fabric carefully before pressing it, warm and soothing, against my forehead, my hands, the pale, chilled skin of my arms.

"You are trembling still," he said quietly, exchanging the cloth for fresh warmth each time it began to cool.

"I will be well," I managed, my voice a little steadier now.

"I know," he said. "I intend to see to it personally."

He did not speak of the argument.

Not once, through the long hour he spent tending to me — refreshing the warm cloth against my skin, adjusting the blankets whenever I shifted, feeding the fire until the chamber held a warmth that finally began to ease the deep chill still lodged within my bones. He did not mention the words I had spoken the previous night, nor the hollow exhaustion that had crossed his face before he left. He simply worked, quiet and thorough, his full attention devoted entirely to the plain, immediate task of making certain I recovered properly.

I found myself watching him in the firelight — the particular concentration in his expression, the careful way his hands moved despite the strength I knew them capable of, the dark hair falling loose about his face as he leaned close to check my color once more.

"You need not stay," I said eventually, my voice steadier now, the trembling finally beginning to ease. "I am certain you have matters requiring your attention."

"Nothing requires my attention more than this," he said simply, not looking up from where he was refreshing the cloth once more.

I did not argue further.

He remained beside me long after the shivering had fully stopped, long after warmth had properly returned to my limbs, sitting in the chair he had drawn close to the bed with a quiet vigilance that suggested he had no intention of leaving my side that night regardless of how thoroughly I had already recovered.

"Ruselon," I said softly, watching him in the low firelight, "we should speak of what I said."

"Not tonight," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Tonight, you rest. Whatever needs mending between us will still be there tomorrow, and you will face it considerably better with proper sleep behind you."

I studied him a moment longer.

"Thank you," I said finally, "for coming back. For all of this."

Something in his expression softened at that, though he said nothing further in response — only reached for my hand where it lay atop the covers, and held it gently in his own, his thumb tracing slow, absent patterns against my knuckles as the fire crackled steadily beside us.

I fell asleep with his hand still holding mine, the warmth of the room and the quiet, steady presence beside me proving considerably more effective than any words either of us might have offered that night.