“How’s Menolly? Is she recovering? Tell Lytol that I’m very sorry to cause him worry!”
“He knows that, Jaxom. And Menolly’s much better. I’ve seen her, too. She had a lighter touch of firehead than you did. Sebell recognized the symptoms almost immediately and called in Oldive. Don’t be in a rush to get up, though.”
As glad as he’d been for N’ton’s visit, Jaxom was relieved that it had been short. He felt limp and his head began to ache.
“Brekke?” Could he be having a relapse?
“She’s with N’ton, Jaxom.”
“Sharra! My head is aching.” He couldn’t help the waver in his voice.
Her cool hand touched his cheek. “No fever, Jaxom. You tire quickly, that’s all. Sleep now.”
The reasonable words, spoken in her gentle rich voice lulled him and, though he wanted to remain awake, his eyes closed. Her fingers massaged his forehead, descended to his neck, gently smoothing the tension, all the while her voice encouraged him to rest, to sleep. And he did.
The cool, moist sea breeze roused him at dawn, and he fumbled irritably to cover his exposed legs and back for he’d been sleeping on his stomach, tangled in the light blanket. Having rearranged himself with some difficulty, he couldn’t drop back to sleep again though he had closed his eyes, expecting to do so. He opened them again, fretfully gazing beyond the raised curtains of the shelter. He exclaimed in surprise, tensing, just then aware that his eyes were no longer bandaged and his vision was unimpaired.
“Jaxom?”
Twisting around, he saw Sharra’s tall figure swing from the hammock, noticed the length of dark hair streaming about her shoulders, obscuring her face.
“Sharra!”
“Your eyes, Jaxom?” she asked in a hushed worried tone and walked swiftly to his bed.
“My eyes are just fine, Sharra,” he replied, catching her hand in his, keeping her where he could see her face clearly in the dim light. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said with a low laugh as she tried to break his hold. “I’ve been waiting to see what you looked like.”
With his free hand, he pushed aside the hair that covered her face.
“And?” She drawled the word in proud defiance, unconsciously straightening her shoulders and tossing her hair back.
Sharra was not pretty. He’d expected that. Her features were too irregular, in particular her nose was too long for her face, and though her chin well shaped it was a shade too firm for beauty. But her mouth had a lovely double curve, the left side twitching as she contained the humor which her deep-set eyes echoed. She arched her left eyebrow slowly, amused by his scrutiny. “And?” she repeated.
“I know you may not agree but I think you’re beautiful!” He resisted her second attempt to free her hand and rise. “You must be aware that you have a beautiful speaking voice.”
“I have tried to cultivate that,” she said.
“You’ve succeeded.” He exerted pressure on her hand, pulling her still closer. It was immensely important to him to determine her age.
She laughed softly, wriggling her fingers in his tight grasp. “Let me go now, Jaxom, be a good boy!”
“I am not good and I am not a boy.” He had spoken with a low intensity which drove the good-natured amusement from her expression. She returned his gaze steadily and then gave him a small smile.
“No, you’re neither good nor a boy. You’ve been a very sick man and it’s my job,” she stressed the word just slightly as he let her withdraw her hand from his, “to make you well again.”
“The sooner, the better.” Jaxom lay back, smiling up at her. She’d be nearly his height when he stood, he thought. That they would be able to look eye to eye appealed to him.
She gave him one long, slightly puzzled look and then, with a cryptic shrug, turned away from him, gathering her hair and twining it neatly about her head as she left the room.
Although neither of them mentioned that dawn confidence, afterward Jaxom found it easier to accept the restraints of his convalescence in good grace. He ate what he was given without complaint, took the medicines, and obeyed instructions to rest.