Lady Midnight (54 page)

She nodded sadly. "Perhaps he has found some peace, then. I can only hope so." She leaned against his shoulder, her face suddenly grimacing into a mask of pain.

"You should be in bed!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arm around her to hold her upright. "Come, I'll take you back to your room, Tina."

"No," she whispered. "You stay here with Mrs. Brown—Kate. She needs you more than I do. I can rest a bit easier now that I see she is still here."

Michael nodded, and pressed a kiss to Christina's shorn curls. "Still, take some of that laudanum the doctor left. It will help you sleep." And perhaps chase away some of the nightmares from her damnable ordeal. Julian Kirkwood
had
hurt her, no matter what she said. He had brought that pained age, that sorrow, to her eyes. But now he would never hurt anyone again.

"Of course. I will come back in a few hours, so
you
can get some sleep, too. You will be of no use to her if you become ill yourself, Michael."

"I will stay here until her fever breaks."

Christina nodded, and made her slow, unsteady way to the door, leaving Michael alone with Kate again.

He reached for the bottle of tincture of arnica that Dr. Burnside had left, and poured out a dose for Kate. She was sleeping quietly again, no murmurs or agitated movements. Her skin was still hot and dry, her breathing shallow.

"Kate," he said, placing the cool cloth on her brow, trying to sponge away the fever that was sapping the very essence of her. "Don't leave me. I can't do without you. I love you."

Chapter 30

"Katerina."

Someone was calling her name. Kate could hear it, soft and coaxing, but it came from so far away, echoing as if down a long, hollow tunnel. A hazy light glowed around her, suffused with palest pink and shimmering gold. She felt so light, buoyant even, borne up by that glow, floating free.

Where was she? The last thing she remembered was being on the road back to Thorn Hill, the sharp, cold rain endlessly pelting her head, the chill seeping into her very bones until she could bear it no longer. She remembered falling, a wave of sick dizziness breaking over her. Now she was
here.

It must be a dream, and she was still lying in the mud. But there was no time for dreaming, no time for sleep! Christina was ill—she had to get her back to Thorn Hill....

"Katerina!" The voice was louder now, more insistent. Kate spun around to find her mother emerging from the haze of pink-and-gold light.

Kate was strangely unsurprised. Ever since that night in Maria's cottage—a night that seemed a lifetime ago now—Kate had known she would see her mother again. She had even looked for her in vain on the rainy night she and Michael first made love. Now Lucrezia Bruni was here, as beautiful as she ever was in life. Her hair, as black as Kate's own, fell down her back in a loose jumble, over the shoulders of her white gown. Her violet eyes glowed as she smiled.

"Oh, Katerina," she said. "How I have missed you, my daughter, my
bambina."

Kate stared at her. "Am I dead, then?" she whispered.

"Not yet. Come, walk with me awhile."

She held out her slender hand, unadorned by the jewels she had so loved in life. It was white and cool, gentle, as Kate slipped her own fingers into her mother's clasp. They moved slowly along the corridor, through that soft air that bore the scent of summer roses. It was warm here, welcoming like a fire and a cashmere blanket on a winter's day.

"I am so proud of you, Katerina," her mother said. "I always knew you were a clever girl, but you are so brave, as well! You took my words to you in Italy much to heart and have made a grand new life for yourself. Of course, it is not the life I envisioned for you when you were a girl. You could have been the most celebrated courtesan in Venice. But no. A country house, a little girl hanging on your skirts—and she isn't even yours! I must say, though, that your young man
is
a handsome devil. He could have tempted even me to lead a life of virtue, I think."

Kate had to smile. Obviously, being a dream had not altered her mother's attention to a good-looking man one jot. "Yes. Michael is very handsome indeed."

"And you are happy with him. Happier than perhaps a grand palazzo in Venice could have ever made you. You will have a fine life with him."

Kate turned to gaze at her mother, at Lucrezia's serene and certain smile. "No."

Not even a whisper of a frown marred Lucrezia's brow, but her soft voice became puzzled. "No,
bambina
? You don't think you will have a fine life at this English house?"

Fine?
Life at Thorn Hill would be a paradise. "I can't be selfish any longer, Mother. I've learned all too well the danger of that. Look what has become of us all, just because I grasped what I wanted without a thought to anyone else! Christina could have died.

"Michael's family is embroiled in a scandal because of my past. I love them. I can't hurt them again."

"So—what? You will just run away? Keep running all your life?" Lucrezia turned to Kate, reaching out to touch her cheek in an unimaginably tender caress. "Cara, you have too noble a heart. Just like your father. You are so determined to make a sacrifice of yourself, when it is so clear to see that the only thing that could hurt that family now would be to lose you."

"But if I love them, how can I let my past hurt them?" Kate said stubbornly. Something like hope, small and bright and sweet, blossomed deep in her heart, yet how could she trust it? How could she let go of fear and truly be free?

"Cara.
What happened was not your fault. It was poor, deluded Julian Kirkwood's. I must say, I misjudged that man terribly, and so did Edward. Who would have guessed that beneath all that charm was something so dark? Ah, well—live and learn, yes? He is gone from your life now, and you, and your dear Christina, learned a valuable lesson."

"How do I know such a thing won't happen again?"

"You cannot, of course. Surely, Katerina, you know that by now. Life is never certain. And sometimes we have to let the people we love—especially intelligent young girls—make their own mistakes, even though we would sell our own souls to save them from it. Your life with your Michael will seldom be easy or simple, and you will always have to face gossip and whispers. But that is surely nothing new! People talked about us every day in Venice. You are strong,
cara.
Stronger than you give yourself credit for. And so is your Michael, and even your girls. Christina has had a bad experience, but you are here to help her make sense of it. They love you, as you love them, and that is a rare gift. Don't throw it away."

Kate inhaled deeply of the sweet, warm air. She—strong? She had always felt like the veriest coward, scared of everything. Sheep, water, gossip. Her own heart. She had overcome the sheep, and even the water on this terrible night. Surely she
could
overcome anything! If she had Michael, her angel, beside her.

"You see now, do you not?" her mother said gently.

Kate smiled at her, that tiny flower of hope growing larger and more radiant in her heart. Soon, its petals would grow to such glorious dimensions that there would surely be no room for doubt or fear. "I see—because you were here to tell me."

Lucrezia shook her head. "Oh, no,
bambina.
You knew the truth all along. You will see it even more clearly when you wake up. Now our time together grows short. But I will always be with you, Katerina. And I will expect to see grandchildren very soon."

Her mother drifted one cloud-soft kiss over Kate's brow, and then she was gone. The pink-and-gold haze around Kate grew fainter, diffusing into darkness. There was a great rushing noise, a falling sensation. All the grand weightlessness was gone, and Kate was keenly aware of the aches and pains of her body. It was dreadful, like she had survived a terrible beating. Every muscle and nerve throbbed, and she was unbearably hot.

It was wonderful! If she could have managed it, she would have shouted and laughed with the delirium of simply being alive, of having her aching body to inhabit again. But her throat was so sore, her skin so tender, that it was all she could do to pry open her gritty eyes and croak out a soft, incoherent whisper.

She was in her own bedchamber, nestled under thick piles of blankets on her own comfortable bed. It was obviously near sunset; the light from the window had a soft, milky quality, and there was no more rain. A bright fire burned and crackled in the grate.

No wonder she was so hot! The fire and the bedclothes were stifling. Slowly, groaning a bit at the painful effort, Kate eased back the blankets and inched her way up to lean against the mound of pillows.

Then she saw it—her mother's portrait, hanging on the wall directly opposite the bed, where she would be sure to glimpse it as soon as she woke. Lucrezia smiled at the world in all her sapphire and amethyst glory. For an instant, Kate thought she saw a bright, mischievous gleam in those violet eyes, but then it vanished as if it had never been.

"Grazie,
Mother," she whispered. "I'll see what I can do about those grandchildren."

A soft moan sounded from beside the bed, and Kate turned to see Michael fast asleep in a chair. He was a rumpled, unshaved mess, his shirt wrinkled, hair in desperate need of a wash, no shoes on his feet. The scars on his cheek stood out starkly against the exhausted pallor of his skin.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Michael," she whispered, trying to reach out to him with one aching hand. "Michael,
amore."

"What...?" He started awake. For a second, his gaze was unfocused, as if he, too, awoke from a delirious dream. He stared down at her for a moment, and gave an exuberant shout. "Kate! My darling Kate, you're awake. At last."

He caught up her hand and pressed it between both of his, holding it as if he would never let it go.

"At last?" she said. Her voice sounded as if it were made of sand and rocks. "How long have I been—sleeping?"

"Two days now." He released her hand only long enough to pour out a glass of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. He slid one arm beneath her shoulders to help her sit up straight, holding the glass to her parched lips.

It was the sweetest liquid she had ever tasted, truly an ambrosia. And his strong touch was heavenly.

"Two days? Really?" she asked, her throat cooler from the water. He lowered her back to the pillows, but she would not let him go. "It can't have been that long."

"I fear it has been. We have been waiting for your fever to break."

"A fever?"

"From the chill. Kate, I never should have let you go out into the storm with me! I should have locked you up here."

The storm!
Yes—now she remembered it all. Julian Kirkwood stole Christina from Thorn Hill; she and Michael had to chase them to the Semerwater, swollen and wild from the rain. Christina and Julian fell into the water....

"Christina!" she gasped. "Where is she?"

"Sh," Michael said gently, smoothing the tangled hair back from her face in a tender caress. "Christina is fine. She has a broken arm, but it was a clean break that should heal, given time. And her hair had to be cut off, though I don't think she minds that very much! She is sleeping now—you can see her soon. Amelia, too, is eager to see you. I think she is sitting out in the corridor, even though her nursemaid has ordered her to bed at least four times."

Kate laughed weakly. "Dear Amelia! How I long to see them both. And thank God Christina is well. Will her arm affect her work?"

"I think not. Christina would not let it. But you must be sure you are strong enough before you let them besiege you. You've been so ill, and I've been out of my mind with worry that I would lose you!"

"Oh, Michael,
amore.
I won't leave you—I can't. I'm afraid you are trapped with me for years to come, fanciful poetic notions and all."

Michael leaned his head close to hers, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to hers. "Praise be," he muttered. "I will hold you to that promise, Katerina Bruni—or whoever you may be."

"Kate Lindley?"

"I like the sound of that.
Mrs.
Kate Lindley."

Kate smiled up at him. "Then,
Mr.
Lindley, perhaps you would do something for your future bride?"

"Anything."