Page 19 of The Love Knot

9

Claire woke up clearheaded for the first time in . . . well, she couldn’t recall precisely how long it had been. The first thing her clearheaded mind registered was a stiffness in her limbs that demanded release. She slowly uncurled her legs, sighing slightly at the delicious stretch. As she added her arms, she became aware of a low rumbling sound vibrating somewhere beneath her. Frowning, she rolled onto her side, lifted up on one elbow, craned her neck toward the floor, and found the source of the rumble.

Pieter.

She smiled. He was snoring.

He lay sprawled on a pallet of Maybelle’s quilts, rolled toward her, one arm stretched toward the bed as if even in sleep he strove to be close to her. Her heart gave a little kick. Her gaze roamed his face, so relaxed in sleep yet still bearing evidence of his fatigue. Dark smudges beneath his eyes. Lines across his forehead. His stubble had grown along his cheeks and chin, giving the straight-laced, devout man she loved a touch of ruggedness. She rather liked it.

What an ordeal she’d put him through. Yet he’d done exactly what he’d promised. He’d stayed by her side every minute. How had she ever doubted his commitment, his steadfastness? One mistake did not define a man’s character. Actions over a lifetime did. And Pieter van Duren was nothing if not dependable, faithful, and honorable to the core. Maybelle was right. She’d be a fool to let fear steal him away.

Claire sighed. Then wrinkled her nose as a horrid smell wafted upward into her nostrils. What was that? She sniffed again. Garlic. She tilted her chin down to examine her chest. A garlic plaster. Smeared from her neck to places unknown beneath her nightgown.

She couldn’t tell Pieter she’d changed her mind about marrying him while covered in dried sweat and garlic. A woman had her standards.

Rolling quietly out of bed, she stood on legs as wobbly as a new foal’s but managed to maintain her verticality long enough to fetch a clean dress from the wardrobe and undergarments from the dresser. An urge to cough rose in her chest, but she managed to restrain it until she was in the hall and had closed the door behind her. She lifted her arm to muffle the rasping as the spasm wracked her chest. With much less pain than she’d previously experienced. In fact, besides a slight rub in her throat, it didn’t hurt at all.

Thank ye, Lord. Then, thinking of Pieter and the noise she’d just made, she added to her petition. Let him sleep. Please. He needs the rest.

And heaven knew, she needed a bath.

Pieter rolled onto his back and froze. Instantly awake, he tore open his sleep-roughened eyes, heart pounding.

Claire.

He couldn’t hear her. He jolted to a sitting position and scanned the bed. Empty.

“Claire?”

Where was she? He scrambled to his feet and hurried to the opposite side of the bed. No, she hadn’t fallen onto the floor. So where had she gone? And how could he have slept through her leaving? For two weeks he’d been attuned to every breath she took. Every twitch of muscle. Every sound. How could he have just . . . lost her?

He rushed to the door, tore it open, and bellowed for Mrs. Curtis as he raced down the short hall to the kitchen. The sight there pulled him up short.

“You know, Claire,” Mrs. Curtis said idly as she lifted a spoonful of soup from the bowl sitting on the table in front of her, “you really ought to train that man of yours to keep his voice down. This is a clinic, after all. It’s not good for our patients’ nerves to have wild men running about unshaven and rumpled. It’s unsettling.”

“I don’t know about that,” Claire said, her gaze drifting to Pieter as her lips quirked in a smile. “A bit of wildness now and again can be good for the circulation. Gets the heart pumpin’, ye know.”

Pieter just stood there, drinking her in. Claire . . . healthy, beautiful Claire. Alive. Radiant. Perhaps still a tad pale and thin, but that would right itself with time. Her fiery hair glowed in waves down her back, damp and drying in the heat emanating from the kitchen stove. The red measles spots had finished fading away, leaving only her adorable freckles to dance across her cheeks.

He blinked against the overwhelming gratitude threatening to spill from his eyes. She had made it through. He’d never be able to thank the Lord enough.

Mrs. Curtis stood and walked to the stove, taking a third bowl from a nearby cupboard on her way. She ladled out a healthy serving of what smelled like chicken soup, though Pieter didn’t take his eyes off Claire to verify. The healer strode up to him and pushed the bowl into his hands.

“Her fever broke sometime last night,” she said in a low voice. “I listened to her lungs after she finished her bath, and they sounded clear. She might have a lingering cough for a few days, but she’s on the mend. The worst is past.”

“Thank God.” Pieter fit his hands to the bowl, the warmth traveling from his fingers to his heart, melting away the fear he’d tried so hard to ignore during the last fortnight. Finally, he turned his attention from Claire to the woman before him. “And thank you, ma’am. I wouldn’t have known what to do. If there’s ever anything I can do for you . . .”

She touched his arm. “Just take care of my girl, Mr. van Duren. That’s all I ask.”

He nodded solemnly. “I will, ma’am. You have my word.”

She patted his arm, then turned and moved toward the front room. “I’ll be in the clinic if you need me, Claire.” She tossed a wink over her shoulder at Pieter. “But something tells me you won’t.”

Feeling grubby compared to the sweet vision sitting at the table, Pieter needed a moment to get his feet to work, but his compulsion to celebrate Claire’s recovery eventually drove all self-consciousness from his mind. He pulled out the chair next to hers and folded himself into it. Glancing at her bowl, he noted that she’d eaten almost its entire contents, and another wave of thanksgiving swelled inside. Fever gone. Appetite returned. And her bright blue eyes had reclaimed their sparkle. His world was back on its proper axis.

His stomach rumbled, but before he reached for a spoon, he covered Claire’s hand with his. “Thank you for not leaving me.” His rough, emotion-clogged voice shook slightly as his heart poured out its raw truth.

She squeezed his hand, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’ll not be leavin’ ye ever again, Pieter. I swear it.” Her vow, so fervent and heartfelt, made his blood surge with triumph. Then that sassy smile he loved so well flashed at him. “All ye got to do is put a ring on me finger, and I’ll be yours forever.”