“Good night, Sophie.”
Sophie woke up just as the sky was lightening with the coming dawn. She looked at Gabe, who appeared to be sleeping, although she knew he hadn’t slept well. She had woken several times during the night and had seen that he was awake. Once she’d heard him mumbling in his sleep. His shoulder must have been paining him severely. And now his cheeks looked flushed.
She reached over and laid her hand against his forehead. His skin was unnaturally hot.
Fever.
She got up and retrieved his cup and what was left of his bandages. She ran to the river, dipped both the cup and the cloth in the cold water, then ran back. She sank down beside him.
He blinked up at her.
“Drink this. Then I’m going to bathe your face,” she explained, “to try to bring down your fever.” She had cared for many adults and children with fevers. But she’d never felt quite so desperate before.
He didn’t say anything, only used his right arm to push himself into a sitting position. Then he took the cup from her and drank. Walther was watching them from where he stood saddling the horses.
Sophie began to wipe Gabe’s forehead and cheeks with the cloth. He closed his eyes, and she could tell he was not well. O God, please don’t let him die. Her stomach clenched in fear. Was his fever a precursor?
She applied the wet cloth to his stubbly jaw as Walther walked up beside them.
“Fever, eh? It won’t likely turn putrid for a few days yet.”
A few days? Is that all the time he had? But perhaps it wouldn’t become diseased at all. Sophie held on to that hope.
“Are you able to ride?” Walther asked Gabe.
“Of course. I am well.” To prove it, Gabe stood up on his own.
Sophie hovered close beside him in case he needed any help.
He glanced down at her and gave her a slight smile. “Thank you.”
She pretended not to notice the warmth she felt at his smile and busied herself with folding the blanket and packing everything away so they could get back on the trail.
“Where are we headed?” Walther asked.
Gabe’s voice sounded a bit strained. “Hagenheim, straight north.”
“Petra said there was a safe place about a day’s ride from here, called the Cottage of the Seven.”
“She told us the same.”
“She gave me some idea as to how to get there. You’ll need to rest there until you’re well again.”
Walther came toward Gabe and Sophie, who were standing next to Gingerbread. Sophie was about to ask Gabe if he needed help mounting his horse, but she didn’t want to insult him. He looked pale, though his cheeks were flushed.
Walther didn’t hesitate, merely knotting his fingers to offer Gabe a step up while saying, “Up you go.” He grunted as he gave Gabe a helpful boost into the saddle. Next, he did the same for her, saying, “Pardon me, Little Sophie,” as he grabbed her about the waist to lift her.
“Thank you,” Sophie said, feeling grim as she settled into the saddle in front of Gabe. Since Gabe only had use of one arm, she held the reins for him. “Are you all right?” she whispered, while staring up at him.
“I’ve felt better, but I’m well, Sophie. Or should I call you Little Sophie?” He grinned at her, seeming more like himself.
“I know you don’t feel well. A fever, along with having an arrow go all the way through your shoulder, does not make for a pleasant morning.”
“Oh, I don’t know. At least I have pleasant company.”
She shook her head at his humor and didn’t dare to peek at him again, afraid of what she would see — or not see — in his eyes.
They traveled through more rough terrain, interspersed with flat valleys and meadows. It was cloudy all morning, and Sophie shuddered at the thought of rain.
She paid close attention to Gabe. His head hung lower than normal, almost resting on her. Extra heat radiated from his body, but he didn’t complain. He held on to Sophie with his right hand and held his left hand against his body. Fortunately for Sophie, Gingerbread didn’t seem to need much guidance.
She wanted so much to help Gabe, but she didn’t know how. He’d insisted on strapping the crossbow to his back.
When Sophie glanced back at him at midday, his eyelids were drooping and his face was red. She reached back and touched his forehead, then his cheek. His skin was hot, much warmer than the last time she’d checked.
“Are you feeling very bad?”
“I am well. But I forgot to check your arm this morning.” He spoke haltingly, pausing to take quick breaths. “You probably need … a new bandage. Let me see.”
“My arm is fine.” But she obediently held it up so he could see that there was no blood seeping through the bandage.