He lifted her a little, removed stones from under her back, under her hands, put them in a pouch and closed it tightly.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Oh, near to six hours now—not long in the grand scheme.”
“Six hours? But I was . . . I was . . .”
“Don’t look for it yet.” His tone, brisk, cheerful, had her frowning. “You’ll be a bit foggy yet, and feel weak and shaky. But it’ll pass, I promise you. And here, you’ll drink this now. Branna left it for you to drink—and all of it—as soon as you woke.”
“What is it?”
“What’s good for you.”
He propped her up on pillows before taking the stopper from a slim bottle filled with red liquid.
“All of that?”
“All.” He put the bottle in her hands, cupped his own around them to guide it to her lips. “Slow now, but every drop of it.”
She prepared for medicine, and instead sipped the cool and lovely. “It’s like liquid apples, blossoms and all.”
“That’s some of it. All now, darling. You need every drop.”
Yes, more color in her cheeks now, Connor thought. And her eyes were heavy, but clear. Not blind and staring as they’d been when she’d succumbed to Cabhan’s spell, when she’d lain lifeless on the wet grass.
The image flashed back into his mind, made his hands shake. So he pushed it aside, looked at her now.
“You’ll have some food next.” It took every ounce of will to keep his voice steady and carve a little cheer into it. “Branna’s made up some broth, and we’ll see how you do with that and some tea first.”
“I think I’m starving, but I can’t really tell. I feel I’m only half here. But better. The drink was good.”
She handed him back the bottle; he set it aside as carefully as a man placing a bomb.
“Food next.” He managed a smile before he laid his lips on her forehead. Then simply couldn’t move.
She felt him tremble, reached for his hand. He gripped hers so hard she had to bite back a gasp. “It was bad?”
“It’s fine now. All’s well now. Oh God.”
He pulled her to him, so tight. He’d have pulled her inside him if he could. “It’s all right now, it’s all fine now,” he said over and over, to comfort himself as much as her.
“I don’t know how he got past the protection. It wasn’t strong enough. I didn’t make it strong enough. He took the necklace from you, and I never believed he could. He took it away, and stole your breath. I should’ve done more. I will do more.”
“Cabhan.” She couldn’t quite remember. “I was . . . turning the manure. The compost. And then . . . I wasn’t. I can’t see it clear.”
“Don’t fret.” He brushed at her hair, at her cheeks. “It’ll come back when you’re stronger. I’ll make you another necklace, a stronger one. I’ll have the others help me, as what I did with the other wasn’t enough.”
“The necklace.” She reached up where it should have hung around her neck. Remembered. “It’s in my jacket. I took it off, didn’t I?”
As she struggled to remember, Connor slowly eased away.
“You took it off?”
“I was that mad. I took it off, stuffed it in my jacket pocket. I snapped at poor Mick—and everyone else as well, so Boyle . . . Yes, Boyle sent me out to the compost pile. I put on one of the barn coats, left my own jacket behind.”
“You weren’t wearing it at all? And the pocket charms I made you?”
“In my pocket—in the jacket I left in the stables. I didn’t give it a thought because . . . Connor.”