Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls (3 page)

People’s, perhaps, but not the lass on the bed. She blinked at him once, owlishly, but that was all. Come to think on it, it might have just been the rotgut setting in that caused her to blink, because she then took a moment to observe the whole room, blinking ferociously all the while.

“Is it… sparkling in here?”

Fain smirked and quickly looked at Connelly, expecting him to share the joke, but the small man was regarding his patient very seriously.

“Aye, that ’tis, lass. There’s not many as can see it.” Fain had never known Connelly to so obviously humor a patient before, but then again, his patients were mostly men. Perhaps he had a different standard for females.

“And you—
you
are a fascinating little man.”

Fain was amused, but felt the tiniest jab to his pride. She had called
him
terrifying, but she found Connelly fascinating. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, sparkles and fascinating little men aside, don’t you think we should be worried about setting that arm?” Both sets of eyes turned towards him. Connelly’s were bright with humor, as though he saw past Fain’s bluster to his wounded vanity. The lass merely blinked at him, her eyes growing rounder and rounder.

“The sparkles… the sparkles are coming from
you.
”

Vivienne was foxed. She
knew
she was foxed. It had been her precise intention to
become
foxed when she started chugging that hideous, hideous rotgut.

She hadn’t, however, intended to become so foxed that she started hallucinating. She knew it couldn’t be real, but she clearly saw pinwheels of sparkling gold, like miniature fireworks, bursting from the large, unkempt man scowling down at her. They leapt off his skin and spread out to hang in the air, glittering with a light wholly unlike the firelight that cast shadows throughout the room. His slightest movement created ripples and eddies in the sparkling patterns, sending them out to circle the tiny medical man, or flow to envelop her. Her eyes tracked the glittering motes, following their graceful whorls as they spiraled through an intricate dance that seemed to beckon her to follow, to see, to understand…

Vivienne shook her head. This was all really too much.

She peered at the mysterious man with the golden sparkles. He was like the statuary in the palace back home-well proportioned, but scaled larger than most humans. His hair was a dark brown, the kind that people called black if they hadn’t seen hair like her own, which truly
was
black. His was long and unkempt, and hung freely about his shoulders. His clothing looked like the garb of a huntsman-if the huntsman in question had been wearing the same thing for weeks on end, rendering it ragged and frayed. He was clean, though; there was no grime on his hands or staining on his tunic, and the slight shadow on his cheek suggested he had shaved that morning.

Her thoughts were dragged sharply from her observations as she felt Connelly’s fingers begin probing at her arm. A gasp, all unbidden, fell from her lips. As gentle as the little man’s hands were, she could still feel her bones, moving and shifting in ways that they should not. Dreading what she would see, but unable to look away, she watched the undulations as things shifted beneath her skin. Swiftly her ungroomed huntsman moved around to the other side of the bed and turned her face gently towards him.

“No, lass, don’t look, it won’t help.”

Vivienne was about to respond tartly-it might not help, but it could hardly hurt-when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist, another around her elbow, and a wrenching twist. Her vision went dark around the edges, as though she was staring down a long dark tunnel, rimmed with red pain. She locked her eyes on her savior. His face, beneath his stubble and shaggy hair, was fine boned and strong. Not strictly handsome, perhaps, but with character. His skin had the weathered, darkened cast of a man who spent a great deal of time out of doors, and faint lighter patches of scar tissue, an almost invisible testament to previous injuries. His eyes were dark, like the forest floor where no sunlight reached, and intense, forceful, as though he could block her pain through sheer force of will.

Further agony came shooting up her arm, and instead of fighting Vivienne let herself float on the pain, holding onto the lifeline his eyes cast out. He gave the smallest of smiles, a mere crook of the mouth and a tiny crinkle around his eyes, and spoke to her in a low voice.

“Good girl, there’s a good lass. Don’t fight him, just let him work.”

Fight? She was barely breathing. Another twist, and then she wasn’t even breathing anymore. In an effort to keep her injured arm still she convulsively clenched the other hand, and was startled when it closed on large, warm fingers. The same crooked smile appeared once more.

“Go ahead, lass, squeeze all you like.”

Vivienne settled into the waves of pain. As Connelly would stretch and twist her arm, slowly realigning it, she would squeeze her other hand with all her strength. Then, as the hurt receded, she would let the rich brown eyes calm and comfort her. It seemed to go on forever, but at last she felt the pain ease greatly, and heard Connelly’s voice, sounding far away, saying he was done. The dark eyes drew nearer, and the sparks of gold cascaded into a glittering ring around them.

“Did you hear, lass? He’s done.”

“Oh.” Vivienne was relieved, but only for a second, because then a wave of blackness overtook her, and she fainted.

Fain looked down at the delicate hand crushing his own. For all that she was a lady, she had a strength about her. He was surprised he didn’t have any broken bones of his own, after that.

“A shame she coudna have fainted a fore, an’ spared herself a wee bit o’ the pain.” Connelly spoke with a mixture of regret and respect. Fain could understand that. “Give her this when she wakes.” As the little man spoke, he laid out herbs, already bundled for steeping. “An’
this
the next time she wakes, and dinna try ta feed her a single morsel between, she’ll just heave it up again.”

“What if she’s still seeing sparkles?” Fain spoke in jest, but Connelly’s amused look made him feel like the medic wasn’t laughing
with
him, but rather
at
him.

“If she can still see ’em when she’s sober, lad, then ye’ll be needin’ a sight more help than I can offer.” Connelly practically skipped from the room, leaving Fain, he belatedly realized, to play nursemaid. To the lass who’d appropriated his bed. Who might be a spy.

With a groan he laid out his traveling bedroll before the fireplace. As he settled down to rest, he stretched his aching hand thoughtfully. Maybe he should just have left her to the wolves.

Vivienne woke in a darkened room, unlit but for the low fire on the hearth. Her whole body smarted, as every scrape and bruise clamored for her attention. It was nothing, though, compared to the merciless throb in her arm. Her mouth was dry and had the faint taste of rotgut in it, and though she tried to reach the small earthen cup sitting on the low table beside the bed, it was just out of her grasp. She stretched, but it was hopeless; even that small motion caused her to let out a pitiful whimper. Her broken arm was tightly bound, but shifting it even slightly was too much for her. Vivienne bit her lip and refused to cry. It didn’t hurt
that
much and she wasn’t
that
thirsty. Eventually someone would show up. She could wait.

A dark bulk arose from the floor. She caught her breath, but gave a sigh of relief when she realized it was the mountain man. Apparently he’d bedded down before the fire, and her cry had awoken him. Furthermore, Vivienne realized as she watched the firelight play over a
very
large expanse of smooth skin, he’d removed most of his clothing before doing so. His arms and back, and what little she could see of his side, were roped with smooth, taut muscles. As he moved, they rippled beneath his skin in a fascinating way.

Vivi had never seen a naked man-or a mostly naked man-before. For that matter, she had never been alone in a room with a man. She shuddered to think what her father would say, if he knew. Of course, by now it was just another thing to add to the list of things he could chastise her for when they saw each other again.

T houghts of her father drifted away as she watched the mountain man. His movements were deft as he built the fire up and swung a kettle over the flames to begin heating. Vivienne felt a tiny twinge of regret that his next act was to slide his shirt over his arms. At least he didn’t lace it up.

At least he didn’t lace it up?
Clearly she was still foxed.

He turned to her with a scowl. Vivienne wasn’t sure if he was irritated that she’d woken him, or if that was just his natural expression whenever he wasn’t trying to comfort women having their broken bones set. She was about to inquire when he spoke.

“Connelly should have given you something to make you sleep longer. That arm must be on fire.”

Vivienne was sorry he’d brought it up. She’d been trying to ignore it, but now that she thought about it…

“I would rate it somewhere between a roaring hearth and a bonfire.”

His eyes glittered with amusement. “I’ll have a tea for you, as soon as this water boils. It ought to help.”