She straightened, shaking her head. She looked at Severin, then at Hastings. “I am sorry, my lord, Hastings. The animal is so very small. He fought, but it was not enough. He is dead.”
Severin was white and still, staring down at Trist. Then he raised his head and yelled, “No!”
He lifted the marten in one large hand and pressed him against his chest inside his tunic. He smoothed Trist against his own heart, stroking his fur, lightly squeezing the long body, again and again, whispering to the marten, saying over and over, “You cannot leave me, Trist. No, you will not die. You cannot.”
He continued to rub his hands over the marten. The Healer said nothing, merely cleaned up the animal’s vomit. Hastings felt bowed down with the pain of it.
Alfred came into the cottage. He looked at each of the occupants and meowed loudly. He jumped onto the table, turned to look at Severin, and meowed even more loudly. He stood on his hind paws and steadied himself against Severin’s stomach. He was sniffing. He meowed again.
Suddenly Hastings saw a movement against Severin’s tunic.
She was afraid to move, afraid to hope.
Alfred raised a front paw and swatted at the lump in Severin’s tunic.
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2 G 7
He meowed loudly.
Then, in the quiet of the small cottage, they all heard a faint mewl. A paw pressed against the inside of Severin’s tunic.
Alfred swatted at the paw.
The mewl was a bit louder.
“My little baby saved the marten,” the Healer said, and managed to pull Alfred off the table.
Slowly, as if he were afraid he’d kill Trist, Severin eased him out of his tunic.
He stretched Trist out along his chest, cradling him in his hands.
Trist mewled.
“Aye, tell me how rotten you feel,” Severin said. “Just keep talking to me.”
Trist vomited on Severin’s tunic.
“There is no more wine,” the Healer said. “There is hardly anything at all. I and my Alfred have saved him.”
Hastings lightly stroked her hand over Trist’s back. “You will rest, sweeting. You will be all right now. Perhaps by tomorrow you will be able to thank Alfred properly.” She looked up at Severin. She raised her hand and lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “You are crying.”
“Not as much as you are,” he said, leaned down, and kissed her moutK **
“Have you hurt your side, Hastings?”
“Nay, Healer.”
Severin frowned. He said to the Healer, “Have her lie down. Please look at the wound. I did this morning and it looks healthy. I rubbed more of the cream on her.”
“And then what happened, my lord?”
Severin raised a black eyebrow at her. “Look at Hastings’s side,” he said again, continuing all the while to stroke Trist’s back, feeling as if his heart would burst when Trist’s paws closed around one of his fingers.
“All right, Hastings. Lift your gown and shift. I need to look at your belly anyway.”
Hastings saw no way out of it and lay on the Healer’s narrow cot, her clothes again at her waist. “I do not like this, Healer.”
“Why? He is your husband. Besides he does not care what you look like. All his attention is on that damned marten. As for Alfred, he does look interested, but for what reason, I don’t know.”
Finally, the Healer stood up. She walked to her small fire and poked at the embers, making threads of flame shoot upward. “I am hungry now and you should leave.”
“That is all you have to say?”
The Healer laughed at the outrage in the lord’s voice. “Very well. I believe you should be more gentle with your wife, my lord. Play is one thing and many women find it pleasant enough. I never did, but I have heard that some women have this weakness. However, this went beyond play. If you must chase her down, don’t hurl yourself at her back when she is carrying a knife. She is healing well. The babe is fine. I will remove the stitches in two days’ time. Now, as for the animal, give him milk to drink. It will dissolve any remaining poison in his belly. Tell MacDear to prepare a very light chicken broth for him.”