She hated to leave the relaxing haven of the water, but she was also afraid to linger. It made her nervous to be so vulnerable, even if she did mostly trust the seven strange men. Besides, she wanted to check on Gabe, to see if the terrible shivering had stopped once he had gotten out of the wet clothes. She hoped that Bartel would know what to do to make him well.
Suddenly, she realized she had no dry clothes to put on, as what she had worn into the cottage was still soaked. She began drying herself with the towels the men had left for her while she debated what to do.
A knock at the door sent a jolt through her. She was safely behind the curtain, but she held the towel in front of her like a shield. The knock came again.
“Yes?” Sophie called.
“I am putting some dry clothes by the door,” Dominyk’s voice called out on the other side of the door. The door creaked open, then shut again.
Sophie cautiously peeked around the curtain and saw the pile of clothing. She grabbed them before retreating behind the curtain.
A long shirt, some hose, and a rope for a belt. Men’s clothes. Her heart sank. To wear men’s clothing in front of men? Petra would certainly disapprove.
She dressed quickly and then, after finding a pile of clean cloths nearby, rewrapped the ugly wound on her arm. She also paused long enough to stir the pot of stew that was bubbling over the fire.
As Sophie reentered the main room, two men were coming down the stairs. When they finished descending the stairs, they bowed respectfully. One of them came toward her.
Sophie nodded back. “Guten Tag. I am Sophie.”
“G-g-guten … Tag. I am … S-s-siggy,” the tall, slender, handsome blond man said.
“Hello, Siggy.” She smiled, grateful for a kind face.
The second man came toward her and bowed as well. “Fraulein Sophie, I am Vincz.” He was shorter than Siggy, with dark hair and dark eyes framed by droopy eyelids. “Bartel is still upstairs with Gabe. He wanted me to tell you that Gabe has been asking for you, and that he is well. The fever is probably caused by the wound, which is usually a bad sign —”
Sophie inhaled audibly and then pressed her lips together, hard.
“But he is well,” Vincz rushed on, obviously trying to reassure her. “His heart is strong and the wound is not in a life-threatening place. The arrow missed any vital parts of the body. As I said, the fever is sometimes a bad sign, but Bartel says he sees no sign of sepsis in the wound. Perhaps now that Gabe is able to rest, the fever will go away.”
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Is Bartel a healer?”
“He learned the healing arts from the brothers — he lived in a monastery.”
“May I see Gabe?”
Vincz and Siggy led her up the stairs and stopped in front of one of the doors.
At that moment, Sophie heard Gabe’s muffled voice calling her name from inside the room. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder as she quickly turned the knob.
The room was lit by a fire in a fireplace and a candle by the bedside. Bartel was leaning over Gabe, but he stepped back when Sophie entered the room.
Sophie hurried to the bed where Gabe lay with his head and shoulders propped up on pillows.
“Where’s Sophie?” Gabe’s eyes were closed as she approached the bed.
“I’m here, Gabe. It’s Sophie. I’m here.” She picked up his hand, which was lying on the blanket, and squeezed it gently.
His eyes flickered open and fastened on Sophie’s face. “I didn’t know where you were.”
“All is well. Don’t worry. We are safe here,” she said soothingly, bending low to look into his eyes. “These men are good. They will help you get well.” As she spoke, she laid her hand on his forehead to check his fever. Still warm.
Bartel held a cup of something toward her. “He needs to drink this. Healing herbs and wine.”
Sophie took the mixture from Bartel, and with his help, propped Gabe up straighter. When Sophie held the cup to his lips, Gabe drank it all in three swallows.
“Now he needs to sleep,” Bartel said quietly.
She handed the cup back to Bartel and helped Gabe lay back down, taking away some of the pillows so he could lie flat. His feverish eyes stared up at her, his eyelids drifting shut.
“Sleep now and get well,” she said softly in a crooning voice. “You will feel better tomorrow.”
Gabe squeezed her hand, then closed his eyes.
She lightly stroked his forehead, watching his face relax and his chest rise and fall rhythmically. Relief swept over her at seeing him asleep and safe and comfortable.
She turned and addressed Bartel. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done for him.”
Bartel, who was probably twenty years older than Sophie, nodded but wouldn’t meet her gaze.
He stepped toward the door and Sophie followed him, closing the door silently behind her.
When they were in the corridor outside Gabe’s room, where it was too dark for her to see his face, Bartel began to speak quietly. “I have treated his wound with some medicinal leaves. He simply needs to rest now. He is young, so the wound should heal quickly. If the fever goes away, he may be able to ride in two weeks.”