The Heart Queen (22 page)

Why?

But she had no time to explore them, for Reginald and the physician stood at the door. She would have to wait to ask her own questions.

The physician examined Braemoor, then drew her outside. “He is very ill,” he said. “I will bleed him, extract the poison from him. But I can guarantee nothing.”

“Nay,” she said.

Startled, the man started to bluster.

“He has already lost a great deal of blood,” she said. Losing more made little sense to Janet.

“I hardly believe you are qualified to make that decision,” he said, squinting his eyes at her. “Your husband did not fare well under your attentions.”

A chill ran down her back. Reginald and Louisa had done their work well. But she was not going to surrender.

He turned and went back into the room and stood at the side of the bed. Braemoor had submitted wordlessly to his examination, but now his eyes were angry. He obviously had heard the physician’s words. He tried to sit up, but fell back down.

“You will do as the countess asks,” Braemoor said.

“You should be bled. If not, I will take no ... responsibility.”

Braemoor squinted, as if having difficulty in focusing. “Then you have none,” he said.

“I must protest, my lord.”

“Then protest, but... do as she says.”

“Her... husband ...”

“Bloody hell, I... will not be bled,” Braemoor said.

“Aye, my lord,” the physician said, glaring at Janet. “Then I will leave some medicine to make you sleep...” He turned to Janet. “If he dies, I will report this to the authorities.” He gave her a bottle. “Mix it with water and give some to him every two hours and keep changing the poultices. Keep him as cool as possible.”

Then he left. Janet stood there, shaking. She wondered whether she had just condemned Neil to death.

His eyes were closed, as if the last few hours had completely exhausted him. For a moment, she panicked. What if she was wrong? Yet the physician had done nothing to help her husband, had not, in fact, even decided what had killed him. Still, she had hoped for some miracle.

She reached out and touched him. He was still so warm.

“Neil?” she said. But he had drifted away again. She sat next to him, worrying that she had made a terrible mistake. And yet...

Time passed. She did not know how much. She hesitated to change the poultice again for fear of waking him, and rest, she thought, would be the finest thing for him. What if she was wrong?

He started to move restlessly again. She sat next to him, sponging his body to keep it cool, changing the foul-smelling poultices, and talking to him even if she was not sure he could hear her.

Neil drifted in and out of darkness. When he woke, he had no idea how much time had passed. The world was a haze of pain and heat. But he still preferred it to the nightmares. To the faces he saw in his dreams.

He saw Will over and over again. Standing above him. Dirk raised. He remembered the pain when the man had probed for the musket ball. Most of all, he recalled bits and pieces of the man’s words. He did not know how much had become jumbled in his mind, however. How much was true? How much were lies? And how much had been twisted by the confusion in his own fevered state.

A woman. He kept remembering that. The outlaw had said a woman had told him that he might be traveling that way.

And Janet’s soft, soothing words became tangled in it. She kept drawing him back from the darkness. Her hands were so gentle. He even thought he had seen tears in her eyes. Why, of all places, would he have been brought here?

Janet’s soft questioning had done nothing to sort out the confusion. He did know, however, that his first fleeting thought that she could have been responsible was wrong. She’d had more than a few chances to let him die. Instead, she seemed at his side every time he woke, her voice encouraging, urging, refusing to let him go.

Which meant someone else in this house must have informed the bandits. And if they rid themselves of him, what of Janet? Would she be next?

It was that thought that kept him alive, that made him fight against the darkness when all he wanted was to sink back into it.

He did not know how long he had been at Lochaene. The hours, mayhap the days, had faded one into the other. Janet, or one of the servants, had been with him each time he woke, offering water or the dreadful bark mixture. He remembered a physician, or at least he thought the man a physician. A dour soul.

He opened his eyes. The heat had subsided. He still felt warm, but his body was not on fire as it had been. His gaze searched the room. Then he saw Janet dozing in a nearby arm chair, her son propped in her lap, also asleep.

A cap covered much of her hair, and she looked wan, tired. The lad snuggled in the crook of her arm. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

He tried not to make any sound. He was both thirsty and hungry, and he knew the latter to be a good sign. But he had no intention of waking her. He wondered how long she had been here, whether she had slept in her own bed. Sunlight was flooding the room, which was on the east. He thought it must be several hours past dawn.

Or what day?

He moved slightly, and he felt pain again, but it was duller now. His thigh was bandaged, and he was wearing a nightshirt again. Had it belonged to Reginald? Her husband? He tried to sit upright in the bed, and the room spun. He was so weak.

His hand went to his face. It was scratchy, rough. How many days’ beard? How long had he been away from Braemoor? Had anyone there been told of his delay? A hundred questions came to mind, and he did not like unanswered questions.

Neil moved again, and pain flooded his side, his head. But he stifled any sound. Instead, he silently tried to move each of his arms and legs. One arm was stiff, but the other seemed to work. He felt an embarrassing need.

He did not know how to behave in a sickbed. Nor had he ever had anyone care for him before. He had been wounded, but only hastily tended and stitched, and he’d needed no one to take care of intimate needs.

Someone had unclothed him, had washed him, helped him into a nightshirt. He knew she had changed foul-smelling bandages. He remembered her washing his face, her hand touching his skin. Or had that been the kiss nights earlier? Nights? A week? More?

He had to get back to Braemoor. So many things undone. So many promises to keep, particularly now that he was beginning to realize his own mortality. If he died, the properties would revert to the crown, and he knew what that would mean to the tenants to whom he’d given hope.

And the men who had shot him. Neil had never believed in turning his cheek. His uncle had taught him it was nothing but a weakness. And yet, they had also ...

Also what? And why? Again the questions descended on him.

He could not stay here. He put one leg on the floor, then the other. He tried to be silent and yet he saw Janet jerk awake, her eyes drowsy. Then they sharpened and focused on him. She rose quickly, keeping her arms around the still-sleeping boy. She very carefully laid him in the middle of the bed, then went over to Neil. Her hand touched his forehead, and she smiled shyly. Pure delight touched it, and warmth filled him. This warmth, though, was different from the bitter heat that had eaten at him.

“You are better,” she said.

“Aye, thanks to you.”

Her cheeks colored, as if she had never been thanked before.

“I was afraid ...” Her voice faltered.

He was feeling dizzy again. It was all he could do to remain sitting upright, his feet on the floor. He did not dare stand. But he had to get word to Braemoor.

“How long?” he asked.

“Since you’ve been here? Three days.”

“Since ... I left... Lochaene?”

“You were gone four days.”

So it had been near a fortnight since he had left Braemoor. “I must send word to ...”

“I would have sent Tim,” she said. “But I didn’t know who he should speak to there. Can you tell me now what happened? You did not make a great deal of sense.”

But it made no sense to him, either. “I was ambushed, shot,” he said. “They came down, apparently to finish the task. There were two of them. For some reason, the leader decided not to kill me. At first, I thought he hesitated because I had so little money or jewelry with me, and they meant to ransom me. But then ...” His voice trailed off.

“But then?” she prompted.

“I was feverish but I heard them argue ...” For some reason, he felt restrained about saying anything about the other people in the cave. They were innocents. Or were they? But he knew he did not want the authorities to comb those hills for them.

“Argue about what?” She was insistent.

“I do ... not remember. It is ... mixed up.” Why did he not tell her? Or send a message to Cumberland? Clear the brigands from the hills?

He had a chance but did not kill you
. It was as simple and as complicated as that. He did not believe in turning his cheek but neither did he welsh on a debt.

“Has anyone informed the authorities?” he asked.

“Nay,” she said. “Reginald said we should wait... until you felt better, that it might have been ... an accident.”

He tried to comprehend that. Mayhap the honorable Reginald had just hoped he would die first and no further questions would be asked. Nonetheless, he was pleased that Reginald had done nothing, regardless of his motives. He always fought his own battles and paid his own debts. And he intended to fight this one. And, if necessary, pay the debt.

How much do you owe an assassin who spares your life?

He tried to stand. He got to his feet, and the room started spinning again. He held out his hand. “Lass?”

Janet took it and he felt her warmth down to his toes. It crowded out the pain, the confusion, everything. He steadied himself.

“That is enough,” she said.

But he did not let go. He took a small step, then another, taking strength from her, although she was a small lass. Still, she had an innate toughness. And he liked having her so close. He liked it too much.

He took another step, using her for balance. But then his legs seemed to fold, and he barely made it back to the bed. He did not want to crash down on her. Then he remembered a day ago. Or more. He had ... hurt her. He swallowed hard as he sat heavily, still holding her hand. He turned it over, saw the black marks from where he had held her. Then he saw other marks. A faint bruise colored one side of her face, along with a scratch.

The sleeves of her gown came halfway down her arm and he could see more bruises and cuts.

“Did I do that?” he asked softly.

She looked down at them. “Nay. I fell from a horse the day you were brought here.”

“The truth?”

“Aye,” she said. “In your fever, you grabbed my wrist, but that is all.”

He sighed, grateful, at least, for that. “You were riding alone?”

“Aye,” she said.

He wanted to say something, but he had no right. She was not his wife, nor his charge. But nonetheless, he found himself saying very carefully, “Mayhap you should take Tim or Kevin ... with you. Now that you are aware there are outlaws not far away ...”

Her gaze met his. He had not known what weakness was until that moment. Her eyes were so bloody blue, her lips so seductive as her teeth worried them. Her hand was still in his, and the touch stirred every nerve inside him. But even worse was the way his heart reacted. With an aching awareness, he knew nothing had really changed. He still could not marry, with madness being a trait in his family.

And yet she colored his gray life like a master artist painted a sunrise. She lit every dark corner, even now with the doubt on her face. The thought that he might have physically hurt her would be far worse pain than that damned musket ball.

Despite her denials, he knew he was responsible for at least one of her bruises, and probably more than a few of much larger ones. And yet her hand rested trustingly in his.

“Tell me how I came to be here,” he said, seeking to puncture the growing intimacy blossoming between them again.

“A rider came in and just dumped you. Like a sack of potatoes,” she added with a tiny gleam in her eyes. “Then he rode off. No one saw his face. He was riding your horse.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“I saw him. I was looking outside at the time.”

Neil wished he had left the horse, too. It had been his favorite stallion. Another reason to find this Will.

Or would Will find him?

He suddenly felt very tired again. All his strength had been expended in those few steps.

She seemed to sense it and gently disengaged her hand. “Can you drink some broth?”

“Aye,” he said. “And some water.”

She handed him a cup full of water. She looked at the lad who was still sleeping on the bed. “Will you look after him while I get some broth from the cook? Just keep him between you and the wall.”

“I think I can manage that,” he said dryly.

She looked doubtful but then hurried out the door. He sat on the side of the bed, willing himself to stay upright. He leaned over and put a hand on the lad. Just then, Colin stirred, yawned, stretching out his small arms, then favored him with a sleepy grin.

Neil’s heart melted. He held out a finger, and the lad clasped it tightly and pulled himself up with it, then crawled over to him.

The lad reached up and touched his face, then frowned. “Ah, you do not like my beard, either,” Neil said.

The boy beamed at him and garbled something. All the loneliness Neil had known, all the emptiness inside seemed to fade, and his heart cracked open. A smile built inside Neil, and he found himself grinning back.

They were sitting there grinning at each other when he was suddenly aware that Janet stood at the doorway. She came over and picked up Colin, as if she feared he might hurt the bairn. He closed his eyes.
Fool
.

She did not say anything for a moment. Instead she played with her son, her hand meeting his in a mock contest of strength, then she set him down on the floor. He sat there looking first at his mother, then at Neil. After a moment, he seemed to make a decision and started crawling toward Neil.