CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day Felix dutifully prays for the prescribed six turns of the hourglass, sharing a quick nod with Cassandra as she comes and goes on her morning visit. At the end he stands while twitching and plucking at his tunic. He sweated out the last of his fever in the night, now his skin is sticky with it. The time has come and gone since he needed to bathe. He wonders how Cassandra has withstood his stench for so long. While the sun shines with as much warmth as the season allows, Felix retreats to the shack to strip off everything but his boots. Once he’s bundled himself up in the cloak he takes his staff and walks to the riverbank, feeling every sneaky gust of air along the way.
He eyes the water with a wince, but eventually manages to force himself to remove his boots, lay the cloak and his staff on a log, and walk a few steps away from the bank. The cold bites into his flesh and he lets out a hiss to keep a curse clenched behind his teeth. He crouches down and splashes and scrubs as quickly and thoroughly as he can, praying harder than he has all day that this will be enough. Gods know what he’ll do when winter finds him without a tub or even a wash basin in the shack. When his hands get numb and tingly he clambers out of the water and slings the cloak around himself, grimacing at new stiffness in his bad ankle. His clothes will need to be washed, but for the moment getting warm takes precedence.
Felix tugs on his boots and hobbles along the path to the shack, droplets raining down from the ends of his hair within the cloak’s hood. Once inside he hurls wood into the hearth and jabs at embers with a stick until they catch. Flames slowly grow and he parts the cloak far enough to allow some heat to reach his skin. He flicks back the hood long enough to wring out handfuls of hair, but soon he must stop and flex the cold sting out of wet fingers and pull the hood back up.
He’s contemplating standing up and drying his backside when he hears the door open. He clutches the cloak up to his chin as Cassandra enters and trills, “Good afternoon, Bow!”
His eyes squeeze shut, but he remains naked in the presence of a lady aside from his boots and the cloak. He glares at his clothes piled up by the hearth, but they refuse to magically appear on his body. He’s doomed.
Cassandra moves around behind him, unloading whatever gifts she’s brought today. Felix takes the risk of reaching out and grabbing his clothes, bundling them on his lap underneath the cloak to at least hide the most obvious evidence. A moment later, Cassandra sits down facing him on his right side and his entire body tenses. He glances at her and finds her lovely face creased with concern. “Has your fever come back?”
Felix is frozen. He’d love to snatch up the excuse she’s provided for him, but for some reason his neck muscles refuse to let him nod. He might have thought his enforced silence would save him from ever lying again, but here he is. And he can’t. Not to Cassandra.
He’s unresponsive long enough for her to reach out and lay a hand on his forehead. His eyes flutter shut as her warmth seeps into his chilled skin. He finds himself leaning into the contact a second before Cassandra pulls her hand away. “I don’t feel a fever, but you’re awfully clammy. Stay here, I’m going to get more firewood for you.”
Felix would cry out in relief if he wasn’t busy keeping his face completely passive as Cassandra stands and leaves the shack. When he can’t hear her footsteps outside, he whips off the cloak and pulls off his boots- but doesn’t yank on his filthy tunic. Instead he reaches for the fresh clothes Cassandra brought in her basket days ago. He feels guilty for roughly shoving his damp limbs into the soft blue-gray tunic and leggings.
He’s clothed beneath the cloak and almost breathing normally by the time Cassandra returns. “I’m sorry, Bow, I thought six turns wouldn’t be too strenuous for you,” she says while setting an armful of wood by the hearth and regaining her seat. She crosses her arms on her lap and cocks her head at him, “You got tired and kept praying anyway, didn’t you?”
He shakes his head, because that’s not what happened, but somehow his silence rings false and she simply nods with squinted eyes.
“Right. Of course you didn’t.”
He shakes his head harder, and this time some drops of water fall from his beard and hit the floor between them. Cassandra looks at the little dark circles, her brow slightly furrowed. Felix doesn’t dare to breathe.
“Well,” she says as a great bubble of anxiety in his chest threatens to burst, “Do you feel any better now?”
He nods with almost his whole upper body.
“Good. Um, I’ve brought some more potatoes, and bread, and milk. And more books. Is there anything else you need? Candles? Blankets?”
He shakes his head more carefully this time, but her last suggestion wakes his memory. He holds up a finger and stands, moving to his nest of blankets. He folds one of them and lays it on the floor. Then he draws a rectangle around it and mimes opening and shutting a lid.
He shoots a look at Cassandra to see how his sign language has been interpreted. She blinks at him, he pretends to open and shut a lid again. “Oh!” she cries as comprehension dawns, “A chest! For the blankets, of course. They’ll get eaten up out here, and soon, I’m sure. Yes, right, a chest. How will I get a chest out here?” Her voice goes soft with the question and she nibbles her lower lip as she ponders. Soon she shrugs, “I’ll figure it out. I promise. You’ll have your chest, and a- ah... Well, anyway, I should be getting back. Stay warm, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As she walks to the door, she gracefully scoops up the scattered bits of Felix’s clothes that he doesn’t recall blindly tossing away in his rush to not be naked anymore. She tucks them under an arm as if they aren’t rank travel-stained rags.
With one foot outside, she says over her shoulder, “I’ll have these cleaned as well, shall I? Good evening, Bow.”
Caught between relief and humiliation, Felix limps to the small jug of milk Cassandra left and takes a long drink, wishing it was something stronger. He grasps the front of his new tunic and barely manages to stop himself from mopping up the excess that drained into his beard at the corners of his mouth. He has to be careful with these new clothes- they aren’t that of a poor peasant. In fact, wearing these, the cloak, and the new gloves and boots when they arrive, he could almost be mistaken for a nobleman. Maybe even a knight. Felix snorts through his nose and shakes his head at his imaginings. He returns to the fire to continue warming himself.
The next day while he is at prayer, he hears footsteps approaching the hermitage. They aren’t Cassandra’s quick stride, and Felix struggles to keep his head bowed. He can’t resist cracking open an eye and watching as two footmen drop a chest by the shack’s door, and another drops a wooden tub and bucket. They leave without a glance in his direction. When Felix takes a piss break, he also drags his new gifts inside. As he does so, he hears something shift within the chest. Peeking beneath the lid he finds a quilted vest. Folded within the vest is a pear.
Did you love Bow: part one? Then you should read
Bow: part two by H Stinington!
He can only think about her and prays daily for her presence to come. The thought of making love to her fills his mind with guilt and fear. Fear of disrespecting her. Fear of losing a caring friendship in silence.
He’s only been staring at it for a minute or two at most when it’s yanked open and Cassandra stumbles inside. A beautiful velvet gown sags on her trembling frame with the weight of water. Her eyes are wide and her lips are drawn in a thin red line. She swallows, heaves a breath that sounds more like a sob, and blurts out, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t be... I just can’t go back!”
BOW: PART TWO
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