Bess had worried - Of course she had, she always did.
The Gray Death was becoming a much more serious problem for those who caught it, and so the days had been distracting enough. And yet still the time in which Garric was gone had stretched on and on, and the nights spent alone were spent wondering how he fared. His was a dangerous profession, and she had long since learnt to dealt with that. But even knowing he was risking his life never did prepare her for when he returned home wounded. Still, she had greeted him with indescribable relief and had patched him up without scolding or protest, silently hoping he would come back in better condition next time.
Bess had gone out to the garden some time after Garric had settled in, fetching herbs that would ease any lingering pain his wounds gave him. She quietly slipped back into the house, heart softening at the sight of him cleaning his sword and knives. It was true, yes, that she found it difficult to love him as a husband instead of a friend. But in moments like these, she found her love bordering almost where it should be.
"Is the wound still troubling you?" Bess asked quietly, watching his expression carefully just in case he decided to bravely brushed it off. She had bound it up just hours ago, but she had no doubt it might be hurting him. Bess took her seat across from him, gently crushing the herbs with the mortar and pestle in her hand.