Page 58 of No Place in Time

“Where we takin’ him, Mama?”

“If he dies, can we bury him in the garden?”

“Hush, all of ye,” the woman snapped. “Help me get him inside.”

A doorway swam into view. Warmth. The scent of baking bread. Then the hard ground gave way to something soft as he was lowered onto a bed. A blanket settled over him, and he heard the crackle of a fire.

“Can ye hear me?” the woman asked.

He opened his eyes. She was young, maybe late twenties, with dark hair pulled back and covered with a cloth. Her face was tired but not hard.

“What’s yer name?” she asked.

“Finn.” His voice was like gravel.

“Finn. I’m Alys. Those are my young’uns ye scared half to death.” She paused. “Ye’re lucky they found ye. Another day and ye may have died out there.”

He tried to thank her, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Rest now,” Alys said. “We’ll figure out what to do with ye when ye wake fully.”

Finn’s eyes closed. The pain in his ribs was dulling to something almost bearable. The warmth drew him down, and for once he didn’t fight it.

∞∞∞

He woke to the smell of pottage simmering. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The ceiling above him was low, with dark beams spanning rough plaster. A fire crackled somewhere nearby. Children’s voices drifted from outside, arguing about something.

He looked down. His chest was bound tightly in clean linen. Someone had wiped the grime from his face and arms and pulled a rough but clean shirt over his head.

The door opened, and the woman stepped inside, carrying a wooden bowl. She stopped when she saw him sitting up, then continued forward without comment.

“Ye’re awake,” Alys said. “Good. Drink this.”

She set the bowl on the small table beside the bed and crossed her arms, studying him.

Finn stared at the bowl. Steam rose from whatever was inside. Broth, by the smell of it.

“How long have I been here?” he asked. His voice came out hoarse.

Alys moved to the fire, stirring something in a pot. “Four days. Maybe five. Ye’ve been in and out of yer head most of it.”

Four days. He thought of where he should be by now, not four days behind. He gripped the edge of the bed, the rough wood digging into his palms.

“I have to go,” he rasped, forcing his legs over the side. He pushed himself up, but the floor tilted violently, and his knees gave way. Alys caught him before he hit the ground, her grip firm.

“Sit down,” she said. Her voice was stern.

She pushed him back onto the bed. Finn slumped against the wall, breathing hard, the sharp pain in his side stealing all his strength.

“Ye’re not goin’ anywhere,” she said. “Ye need rest and food. Maybe a fortnight, maybe more. Then we’ll see.”

Two weeks.

Finn pressed his hands to his face. He didn’t have two weeks. The wedding—when was it? How much time had he already lost?

Alys picked up the bowl and thrust it at him. “Drink that. All of it.”

Finn took the bowl. The broth was thin, but it was hot and salted. He drank it greedily.