Page 26 of Hungry Like a Wolf (Vikings Rock #3)

C armel lay curled against her husband in the small pit house he’d made so welcoming. But she couldn’t get warm despite the fact that her skin was hot.

The fire had dwindled and she turned to the embers onto a cool patch of the bed. A full body shiver attacked her; it went from her toes up her spine and almost rattled her teeth.

She moaned quietly and became aware of her temple throbbing, as though the beat of her pulse were trying to get out. She swallowed, her throat scratched and thick, as though it had clogged up with spiky moss.

She sat on the side of the bed. Her head spun and she swallowed again. Her throat was so sore and dry. She needed fluid.

Standing, she reached for the table, but disoriented all of a sudden, she bumped into a storage box and then lunged forward.

“Oh!” Her shins hit something hard and unyielding, sending shooting pains through the bones.

Her body doubled over something solid and her ribs screamed a complaint.

Then as she hit the earth floor, her wrist took the impact.

“Carmel!”

Ravn was at her side, reaching for her, his arms beneath her scooping her up.

“What is the matter?” he asked, going back to her language despite the fact that for one week, they’d only spoken his.

“I… I don’t know…” She curled her fingers around her throat. “It hurts. I hurt.”

“Let’s get you back on the bed.”

Seemingly without effort, he laid her on the bed, her head sinking into the pillow. “I’ll get you a drink.”

Within seconds, a mug of fresh stream water was at her lips. She sipped then winced when it felt as though there was thorns in it.

“You are burning up,” he said, resting the back of his hand on her forehead. “You are sick.”

“I know.” She looked up into his worried eyes. “I feel… I feel…”

“Rest. Do not speak. I will care for you.”

She could hear the anxiety in his tone. He was no medicine woman and they were not in the village, where he could have quickly gotten help.

“I’ll be well by morn,” she said, managing to smile weakly.

“I will pray to the gods that you are.” He took her wrist in his hand. “This is bruising. I will make a paste to put on this.”

“And my…” She paused and shivered uncontrollably. “My legs, my… I banged the box.” Her shins were throbbing, adding insult to injury.

He lifted the blanket and frowned. “They are bruising already. You should have woken me.”

“I just wanted a drink…”

“Here, have some more. My mother always said when the sweats come, you need to drink to replace the water dripping from your skin.”

She sipped some more, then a feeling of absolute exhaustion came over her and she melted into the pillow, eyes closing, blackness coming over her.

*

Ravn could feel his soul twisting as though it were being made into a rope and pulled long and taut. He set the mug aside and stared at his pale, sleeping wife.

She’d been perfectly fine all day. They’d fucked as soon as they’d woken, then together, they’d collected shellfish and cooked them with fresh garlic and herbs.

She’d repaired some linen blankets and he’d made arrowheads ready for hunting, then he’d brought her to climax with his tongue when the sun had dipped and they’d sat around the fire.

Yet now she lay with the sweats, her voice croaking, her wrist and shins bruised and swollen, and her skin as white as lily of the valley.

Dread took hold. A gripping fist around his heart.

He’d seen this before in the village. A swift, brutal illness that took loved ones from families between dawn and dusk.

“Please, no. Let her be well. All Father, I beg you.” He leaned forward and kissed her clammy forehead then dashed from the pit house.

The plants he needed were by the copse of trees near the stream.

Quickly, he paced past the horses, who raised their heads to watch him, then he splashed through the water and stooped to snag up the cropleek.

When he had a fistful, he grabbed garlic and wormwood, enough to make a tincture.

That would help the bruising, but what about her sweats and obvious pain in her throat?

As he rushed back, he had a sudden longing for his sister. Astrid would have known what to do. She was good at staying calm in a crisis and thinking straight—and her thoughts were full of herbs and medicines, runes and what offerings to make to the gods.

But she wasn’t here. She wasn’t with him.

And until a few minutes ago, Ravn had been the happiest he’d ever had been.

Being all alone with his wife in their own little paradise had made his soul sing.

But now…now he wished for his family, his sister and brothers, his parents, to help him heal the most important woman in his life.

I can’t live without her.

His heart squeezed with each beat as he checked on Carmel again then set to work on the tincture. Once it was a smooth, green paste that smelled both garlicky and earthy, he carefully rubbed it on her shins and wrist before bandaging over the balm to keep it in place.

“Freya, protect my love, my one true love, I beg you.” He touched the cross at Carmel’s ear.

“And if you are listening, Carmel’s god, please heal your faithful follower.

She is everything to me and you do not need her in your heaven yet.

She has things to do here. Children to bear, a people to rule, and a thousand more smiles to enjoy. ”

His breath caught in his throat and he realized it was a sob. Ravn hated crying, yet the pain of it in his chest was almost his undoing.

He gripped his wife’s hand and knelt on the floor at her side, kissing her knuckles, and kept his attention firmly on the rise and fall of her chest.

She couldn’t die.

She just couldn’t.

They’d spent their whole lives looking for each other. Traveled over land and sea to be together. This couldn’t be the end when it was barely the beginning.

Ravn just wouldn’t let it be.

He tipped the water mug to her lips again and she stirred. With her eyes closed, she took a sip. She winced as she swallowed.

“Good. You must drink, even though it pains you,” he whispered as he touched her forehead again.

The heat of her skin was like the ironsmith’s furnace.

He pulled at the blanket, exposing her breasts. Sweat shone on her sternum, even though her skin goose pimpled.

“No…” she moaned.

“We must cool this fever,” he said, reaching for a square of cloth and then soaking it with water. “Here, this will help.”

Very gently, he wiped her forehead then each of her cheeks.

She murmured but didn’t stop him.

He washed her neck, carefully pushing strands of damp hair aside. Then he re-soaked the cloth and carefully cooled her sweet, little breasts, tenderly calming her hot skin over and over.

She sighed and seemed to settle into the treatment. After a while, she fell asleep again.

He left her uncovered and collected fresh water. He found some loganberries and rinsed them should she want food when she woke.

On and on, she slept.

Ravn couldn’t eat himself. Fear knotted his guts. It didn’t feel like there was room for even one nut.

He paced around the pit house. He collected logs.

He walked to the beach and looked out at the horizon.

But every few minutes, he checked on his wife.

Her sleep was deep and still and at one point, he worried that her breathing had stopped.

He’d tipped his head over her face praying for the faintness of warm air on his cheek. There was. What a relief.

The sun lifted to the highest point then arced back toward the mountain. Ravn set to work on a chair, banging big pieces of smooth wood together. Perhaps when Carmel got better, because she would, he’d make sure of it, she’d like to sit and watch the ocean from it.

He paused, hammer aloft. A noise. From inside the pit house.

“Carmel.” He dropped the hammer to the ground with a thump and rushed inside.

She was sitting, blanket fallen to her waist, and was reaching for the water.

“Here, let me.” He was quick to reach it. “It’s fresh.”

She grimaced and nodded.

“Your throat is still dry?”

Again, she nodded and took the drink from him. This time, she took several big gulps.

“That’s good,” he said. “Are you feeling a little better?”

“My throat,” she said in a croaky voice as she circled her neck with her palm.

“Let me see.” Quickly, he lit a candle and held it by her face. “Open up.”

She did as he’d asked.

“Oh, that’s not good.” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve had a swarm of bees in there. It’s red and swollen and dotted with yellow stings.”

“It happened once before,” she said. “Like this.” She took another drink.

“It did?” And she’d lived to tell the tale. Relief flooded him. It was a welcome change from the fear he’d been carrying around all day like a huge sack of sand on his shoulders.

“Aye, it came from nowhere. My mother nursed me.”

“What did she give you?”

“Water with a wee bit of salt to wash my throat out and spit, and then hot water with honey to drink.”

“I can do that.” He gripped her hand. “And do you think that will heal you?” He could hardly say the next words. “Stop you from dying?”

She smiled weakly and touched his cheek. “I will not die. The fever has broken. It is just my throat that needs to heal—and it will.”

“You scared me so.” He kissed the center of her palm. “It came on so sudden. I thought… I thought…”

“Please.” Her eyes were soft. “If you could get what I need.”

“Of course.” He jumped up. “We have honey in our supplies, and I will boil water and get the salt too.”

Ravn raked through the box and found the honey, then hurried outside to put water over the fire. A sense of purpose was a much more welcome friend than fear and helplessness.

Carmel spent the next cycle of the sun sleeping on and off. When she woke, she gargled with saltwater and sipped honeyed water. Ravn hovered over her, quick to get anything she needed, quick to check on her as she slept.

He finished the chair. It was big and wide and he covered it in soft blankets and throws so it would be comfortable for Carmel.

Day barely turned to night once again, but the birds roosted for a few hours and a pink-and-lilac hue claimed the eastern sky. Ravn lay beside his wife and slept on and off, constantly aware of her breathing and dreading the fever returning to her soft, delicate skin.

At one point, he heard what he thought was an elk passing by.

The crushing hooves on foliage gave it a way.

Again, he thought of Astrid. She had a runestone she called “Algiz” and had said it represented an elk.

When he’d once asked what that meant, she’d told him that it was a strong, protective rune that shielded a vulnerable person against evil with its mighty antlers.

And so right now, he was glad of the elk. His wife needed all the protection from evil she could get. Her disease had been swift, dark, and incapacitating. The elk passing by was a good omen, he was sure of that.

A little while later, he rose and bathed in the cool stream. He finally managed to eat some fish and berries, and then he prepared a little porridge for Carmel. That would be soft for her to swallow, and she did need to eat today. She was small enough. He didn’t want her to lose weight.

She was stirring when he went back into the pit house and he kissed her forehead, glad to find it still cool.

“Here.” He passed her water.

She took it, imbibing several mouthfuls before speaking. “Thanks.” Her voice wasn’t as croaky.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. My throat is still a wee bit sharp, but I’m better than I was. Before, my head was spinning and banging like a drum and I kept thinking there were tiny dragons breathing fire on me, all over.”

“‘Tiny dragons’?”

“Aye…” She smiled. “I guess my dreams were playing tricks.”

“Your skin was hot.”

“But not because of dragons, right?”

“No, not because of dragons.”

She sat completely upright. “Can I have my tunic?”

“Of course.” He helped her put it on. “And I’ve made you porridge.”

“That’s kind of you.”

He huffed. “It is not kind—it’s necessary. You must eat.”

“Well, I thank you for caring.”

“I care more than you will ever know.” He passed her the food. “I will chop logs while you eat. Then I have a surprise for you.”

“‘A surprise’?”

“ Ja . But eat up first.”