Free Walpurgis Night by Katherine Kingston

spurts of pleasure. Her breathing gradually slowed as the incredible peace spread through her. A wonderful sense of completion and connection made her cling to him. She clutched at him, bringing his torso right against hers.
    “I wish we could stay this way forever,” she told him. “Only with you have I known such pleasure. And such peace.”
    He kissed her gently before he rolled to the side. “Time will not cease its movement for us,” he said on a long sigh. “And I fear what its march might bring us. But for now, rest.”
    He shifted her until she lay on her side, back to him, and he pulled her against his body, one of his arms under her neck, the other draped over her side so he could hold one breast. It felt remarkably safe, secure and comfortable being sheltered in the crook of his big body that way. She quickly drifted off to sleep.
    An hour or so later they were awakened by someone banging on the door. Henrik rolled away and off the bed, dragged on a long nightshirt that hung to his knees and went to find out what was happening. Fianna heard a rapid-fire exchange in Norse. Suspecting the worst, she got up and began to dress.

Chapter Seven
     
    Even before he said, “ Ranulf is worse. They need you there,” she knew from the expression on his face the news wasn’t good.
    She blinked as they rushed out into the midafternoon sun. Guilt washed over her that she’d been dallying with Henrik while Ranulf’s condition deteriorated. But she couldn’t have prevented it happening even had she been there. Still she hurried back to his bedside.
    Ranulf’s fever was definitely up, and he shifted restlessly on the mat. With the help of the Norse woman and Henrik , Fianna got more of the infusion into him, and for a while it seemed to help him rest. Just an hour or so after that, though, he was tossing and turning again, muttering and waving his arms. A touch on his face confirmed that the fever was continuing to rise.
    It took the three of them holding on to him to keep Ranulf from twisting so much he tore open the wound. Occasionally he would cry out or shout out long strings of words, presumably in his own Norse tongue. Henrik knelt beside her and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders.
    Through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, his condition deteriorated. The fever worsened. His periods of delirium became more frequent and more violent. They sponged him off and struggled to keep him cool but sweat still gathered on his temples and chest. The beating of his heart raced, and his breathing became faster and more shallow .
    Whenever she could, she tried to get him to swallow more of the infusion. Fianna didn’t know how much of it could be safely given in any time period, but she thought it better to risk giving him too much than not enough. If he were dying anyway, she’d do all she knew to fight it.
    She changed the dressing on his injured shoulder again. The wound was still draining, but there appeared to be no great increase of inflammation. For the rest of the time she could do naught but try to cool him when he was too hot, warm him when he shivered with chills and keep him from injuring himself when he flailed around in delirium.
    Henrik stayed with her for the rest of the day, save when he went out to get fresh cloths, more water or food. He brought her tea and cider and water for drinking. As darkness fell, he lit candles around the room. When she winced after kneeling too long in one position, he helped her shift and rubbed her shoulders and neck to relieve her tension. But his gaze went often to his brother and anguish pulled his expression into hard, pain-racked lines.
    Ranulf’s ravings grew more noisy and his flailings more violent as the night went on. His temperature kept climbing despite her efforts to keep it down.
    During one particularly restless interval, it took the two of them together to keep him from throwing himself off the mat. When Ranulf calmed again, Henrik turned to