Chapter twenty-six - Gilbert

Gilbert opened his eyes to full-on darkness. There was no moon. The only light was coming from the sparkling stars overhead. Quite the contrast to yesterday when a raging inferno lit the night. The air was noticeably cooler now too, everything quiet and still. Gilbert smacked his dry lips and wished for a drink to soothe the soreness of his throat. He was also aware of a dull pounding in his skull. Not as bad as it had been earlier, when Beatrice had lured him to share in her shady spot, but persistent and annoying.

He savored the memory of laying his aching head in her soft lap, her hands playing lovingly in his hair, the caress of her fingers on his scalp soothing away his pain. She must have realized how his head ached and sought, in her own sweet, selfless way, to ease some of his discomfort. He had closed his eyes in bliss and must have drifted off to sleep. At first it had been a peaceful slumber. But then it had changed.

Vaguely familiar, nightmarish images had crept in and preyed upon his mind. It was the same nightmare he'd been having ever since he lost Rose and little Ruth. The same blazing inferno, the hellish heat, unending anguish and once more he failed to save them. And yet it was different too. It must have been the fever that contributed to his old nightmare. That and the fresh images of fighting last night's blaze.  New fears sprinkled among the old, arisen from his subconscious to torment him.

And yet they were different somehow. He had the oddest notion that Beatrice had been a part of his fever dreams this time. The nightmares were still as frightening, still as decimating, but different. Something was nagging away just at the edge of his awareness but he could not grasp it. He tried to bring the images into focus, to study them in more detail, but the more he concentrated, the fainter the images became. Annoyed, he reached up to swipe a hand over his forehead but paused when he noticed the touch of cool air on his bare arm. Then he touched a hand to his hairy chest and realized he wore no shirt.

He slid his fingers down to discover his only covering was the silky blue cloak. The material lay across his chest and covered him from his armpits down to his bare toes.  He shifted his hips and frowned, shivering at the flow of cold air that found its way underneath the cover to brush over his naked skin. Beneath the makeshift blanket, he wore only his smalls. Where were his clothes?

Someone must have stripped him while he was unconscious. He didn't have to think very hard to imagine who was responsible for that. His smile widened into a grin at the thought of his innocent bride stripping his unconscious self. That can't have been easy for her, considering his bulk and her petite frame. Not to mention her bashfulness. No doubt she was unable or unwilling to remove the last barrier between them. He only wished he had been awake to see her blushing as she struggled with her own squeamish modesty.

Absently, he ran his fingers over the silky material as he contemplated that pleasant image.  It wasn't until that moment he recalled the last time he'd seen this same blue cloak. Wrapped around the waist of his pretty young bride. But, if it was now serving as his blanket, what was she now wearing as a skirt?

His grin turned wolfish as his mind conjured up a lurid image of Beatrice in all her naked glory, and another part of his anatomy leapt to attention. He reminded himself that they were now husband and wife and he had yet to introduce his pretty young bride to the joys of the marriage bed. Eager to perform his husbandly duties, he slid a hand across and patted the area beside him in search of his new bride. But his grin soon faded into a frown when he failed to find her. There was no trace. Not even any residual warmth to prove that she had once been here. Where could she be?

He lifted his head to look around, but found that he was alone in their little corner of the graveyard.

He lay in the shadow of the largest of the gravestones, exactly as he had before. Beyond the stones, he noticed a small fire crackled in front of the bell tower. A few dark figures were seated around it. Men with pipes in their mouths or mugs in their hands. He guessed them to be keeping a guard over the area while the rest of the villagers slept.

As he watched between the gravestones, a young man approached the small blaze. The nearest fellow handed the lad a mug and patted the ground nearby in invitation. The lad sat down and from their gestures Gilbert concluded they were conversing quietly. He was too far away to actually hear the muted conversation. Besides, the ache behind his eyes had escalated and was now a persistent thumping inside his skull.

When the world around him began to whirl, he closed his eyes and lowered his head back to the ground, hoping things would settle. He concentrated on his breathing to combat the inevitable nausea that soured his stomach until the whirling slowed. It was an old trick he'd learned when recovering from the severe burns that scarred his skin. As he struggled to combat his illness, he turned his attention to the symphony of other soft night sounds; the cry of a young infant, the rumble of someone snoring, muffled conversations. Nothing loud or too far out of the ordinary for a large gathering of people bedded down for the night in a small area.

Then he became aware of voices approaching. A child was weeping copiously somewhere nearby. The sound was at once strange and yet familiar. And then he realized the sound was becoming clearer and louder as it got closer. A murmured reprimand rippled through the noisy crying.

"Will you keep quiet? You'll wake everyone with your noise." That was Felicia scolding as only an older sibling could.

"I want Miss Prissy." Martine sobbed.

"Don't worry, Martine." Teddy's deeper tones reassured patiently. "I'm sure Aunt Bea will know where your doll is."

It was at mention of the doll that Gilbert realized there was a small, soft lump under his left arm. He had a sneaking suspicion but it wasn't until he closed his hand over it that he realized what he had found. Confused as to exactly how the doll wound up in such a place, he pulled it out from under his arm and held it up just as the children stepped between the gravestones.

"Miss Prissy!" Martine cried in delighted relief.

For an instant Gilbert thought of the horrid scar across his shoulder and worried that the gruesome sight might upset the child. But his fear proved groundless. Martine didn't even notice. Her entire focus was on her precious doll. She launched herself onto his chest, intent on retrieving her toy and landed on his ribcage, driving the air from his lungs in a surprised whoosh. Automatically, he reached to enclose her in his arms as he sought to breathe. Oblivious to his struggle the child wriggled, giggling in delight, her tears forgotten.

"Uncle Bear, you found Miss Prissy. Thank you!"

Gilbert was taken by surprise by a sudden barrage of enthusiastic kisses applied to every inch of his face. Any part the girl could reach. He grinned, chuckling silently in pleased delight even as he gently attempted to corral some of the child's innocent exuberance. He carefully sat up and gently but firmly lifted her off and placed her on the blanket at his side.

Surprisingly, the world did not tilt crazily this time and his headache had faded to a more manageable level. As he shifted to sit back against the gravestone, he was careful to keep the cloak close to his body. He couldn't do much to cover his hairy chest but at least his nether regions were safely hidden. The last thing he wanted was to educate these innocents on male anatomy.

"Its 'Uncle Gilbert', not 'Uncle Bear'." Felicia informed her little sister with a superior sniff.

"But I like 'Uncle Bear.'" Martine insisted as she turned pleading eyes up the Gilbert's even as her lids drooped with exhaustion. "Can I call you 'Uncle Bear'?"

Gilbert smiled tenderly at the child and swallowed back a lump of emotions as he slowly nodded. Martine grinned in return, satisfied, and settled down in her place beneath his arm. She played happily with her doll, whispering softly to it as she snuggled in close. Someone had tamed her coppery locks into two pigtailed braids which hung behind her little ears. She wore the pleasing scent of warm milk and sunshine and he relished the aroma. Obviously, someone had given her a bath. Indeed all three children looked clean and presentable if a bit sleepily rumpled.

"I'm sorry if we woke you Uncle Gilbert." Felicia stood beside her brother, scowling down at her little sister. "Martine had a bad dream and insisted on finding her doll."

Gilbert waved away the concern, smiling to show he wasn't disturbed by their arrival.

"Uncle Gilbert." Teddy slid to his knees nearby, grinning ear-to-ear. "I'm so glad to see you are awake. Are you feeling better?"

Gilbert nodded in reply as he leaned back against the gravestone.

"Your animals were fine." Teddy reassured him. "We fed the chickens and milked the cow."

Gilbert reached out and clapped a hand on the lad's shoulder in gratitude, causing Teddy to blush and duck his head, grinning with pride. Obviously, the boy was unaccustomed to being praised. Gilbert vowed to remedy that in future.

"Your castle is marvelous." Teddy enthused.

"Is there a princess in the castle?" Martine piped, staring up at him in wide-eyed wonder.

"Of course not silly." Felicia sneered. "It's a castle, not a palace."

"It's Uncle Gilbert's castle and we're going to live there." Teddy nearly bounced with excitement and Gilbert chuckled.

“Are we really going to live with you in a castle?” Martine yawned.

He nodded and grinned at their enthusiasm when the three cheered, even as he shushed them. It really was amazing. These children had been through so much tragedy in their young lives and yet they could still find pleasure in the simplest of things.

"Uncle Bear, why aren't you wearing a shirt?" Martine asked boldly.

Trust the little imp to point out that most uncomfortable detail. Gilbert shook his head as he lifted one shoulder in a clueless shrug. He had no idea where his shirt was.

"Most of the other men aren't wearing shirts either." Teddy was quick to inform them.

Gilbert frowned, eyeing the lad in some confusion.

"Why?" Martine inquired innocently, voicing the question aloud.

"The women gave their skirts and dresses to the men to fight the fire." Felicia imparted with a superior air. "So the men gave their shirts to the women so that they would be decently covered."

"It was Aunt Bea's idea." Teddy announced proudly.

Gilbert's eyebrows rose at this surprising revelation.

"Uncle Bear, where is Aunt Bea?" Martine asked with a huge yawn.

Gilbert thought he would like the answer to that for himself.

"She said she was going to stay here and watch over Uncle Gilbert until he got better." Teddy offered knowingly.

"So where is she then?" Felicia threw her hands out indicating the small area. "Obviously she isn't here."

"Maybe she had to go to the water-closet." Martine suggested, sleepily snuggling into Gilbert's side.

Felicia gasped in shock and then wagged her finger reproachfully. She opened her mouth to berate her sister but Gilbert held up his hand and shook his head at her. He frowned, showing his displeasure. He really didn't care to listen to them squabbling. He motioned for Felicia to take a seat on the blanket and be quiet. The girl grudgingly obeyed in sullen silence, glaring at her sister who had drifted off to sleep.Then her gaze fell to her lap and Gilbert could see her pouting.

He reached out and playfully tugged on one of Felicia's blonde braids. When the girl lifted her eyes to meet his, he smiled at her and shook his head, trying to soothe her injured feelings. He wasn't angry with her. He only interfered because he felt she was being too hard on her little sister.

"Lourson." A male voice whispered urgently.

Gilbert looked up just as Sumter and Deputy Parker stepped around the largest of the gravestones surrounding them.

"Lourson, there's trouble afoot." Sumter told him gravely. "Narwhal has escaped."