"All right? How can I be all right?" She stared at him, then slowly shook her head. "I don't understand. Why doesn't it hurt?"
"I..." He took a deep breath. "I gave you something to aid in the healing."
"Something?"
"A new medicine. Sometimes it works miracles." He drew the cloak around her. "Rest now, cara. Sleep is the best healer of all." He stroked her hair. "Don't be alarmed if I'm not here in the morning," he said. "I may have to go out, but I'll be back by nightfall."
She nodded, and then she closed her eyes and curled into his arms, as trusting as a babe.
He held her until he was certain she was asleep, and then he went out. She would need something to wear when she woke. Clothes. Shoes. Undergarments. A comb and brush and pins for her hair. A bed to sleep in.
Unmindful of the rain, he went into the city. The shopkeepers all knew him. His material wants were few, but he always bought the best, the most expensive, and the tradespeople were eager to serve him. The shops that had closed for the night eagerly opened their doors, anxious to do his bidding.
He bought bread and cheese, a variety of fruits and vegetables, a bottle of vintage wine. He bought a small curved settee covered in blue and green striped damask, a matching footstool, a small table inlaid with ivory, a box of scented candles, a Persian rug, a narrow bed with an elaborately carved headboard, sheets and linens, a pillow stuffed with feathers.
Entering one of the ladies' shops, he picked out several colorful frocks, undergarments, silk stockings, a pair of shoes with silver buckles. Ribbons in rainbow colors for her hair. A bonnet trimmed with feathers and lace. Perfumed soap for her bath. A dark blue cloak trimmed in ermine to keep her warm. A sleeping gown. A dressing gown of rose-colored velvet. He bought her a box of chocolates, a feather fan, a pair of gloves, another book of poetry, a bouquet of spring flowers, an elegant crystal vase to put them in.
He was on his way home when he passed a toy shop. The doll in the window immediately caught his eye, and he bought that, too.
Loading all his goods into a rented wagon, he drove back to the abbey.
Sara was still asleep in front of the fire. Moving quietly, he carried the furniture into the room, placing the bed against the wall where the crucifix had hung. He made the bed as best he could, smoothing the linens over the plump mattress.
Sara stirred but didn't wake up when he carried her to the bed. Removing his cloak, he drew the sleeping gown over her head, trying not to stare at her softly rounded curves. He tucked her in, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then carried in the rest of the furniture. He spread the rug on the floor, placed the settee and the footstool in front of the hearth.
He put the table by the bed, then placed the chocolates and the book of poetry on top, within easy reach, along with a glass of water. The flowers added a touch of color to the drab room.
He filled a small basket with bread and cheese and fruit, covered it with a napkin, and placed it upon the table, as well.
He left the clothing in the boxes, anticipating her excitement when she saw her new finery. He put the doll within reach of her hand where she would be sure to see it upon waking.
For a moment, he stood in the center of the room, pleased with the changes he'd wrought. Amazing, what a rug and a few pieces of furniture could do, he mused. But it was the woman who gave the room life, the woman who drew him, her life force beckoning the revenant within him while her goodness, her innocence, enticed what little was left of the man he had once been.
Helpless to resist her, he knelt beside the bed and took her hand in his, wanting to be near her for as long as he could.
The fire burned brightly, but it was Sara's presence in the room that warmed him.
She woke slowly, still caught in the web of her nightmare, and then, as if someone had doused her with cold water, she remembered that it hadn't been a nightmare at all. There had been a fire