Toby tightened her grip, feeling threatened with one knight in back of her and another standing over her. She was sure they were going to snatch Ailsa away and she would not let them have her.
“Go away,” she hissed. “Go away and leave us alone.”
Stephen caressed Toby’s hand comfortingly. “Please, Toby,” he moved beyond the formalities. “Please let me take care of her for a while. You need to rest and I must tend to Ailsa. I cannot do that if you are holding her.”
“You cannot have her,” Toby sobbed.
“Why not?”
“Because she is mine.”
“Of course she is yours. I do not wish to keep her. I only want to have her for a little while as you rest.”
Toby gazed down at the ashen face of her little sister, who looked as if she was merely sleeping. No gore, no blood; just peace. Toby’s face crumpled and tears fell like rain.
“Why did you do that?” she begged the child mournfully. “Why did you fall on those stairs? You know you should have been more careful. Why did you fall?”
Stephen continued to rub at Toby’s hand, trying to offer what comfort he could. “It was an accident,” he said gently. “You cannot blame her. She simply fell.”
“Stupid!” Toby suddenly burst, shaking Ailsa angrily. “It was stupid! You should not have been running! I should have… I should have.…” Her face went slack as if a horrible thought hadjust occurred to her. “I should have held your hand. I should have grabbed you before you got too close. I should have….”
Toby was bordering on temporary insanity as she babbled; Stephen’s brow was furrowed as he and Tate passed concerned glances. “It was not your fault,” Stephen said with more firmness. “It was an accident. Please let me take Ailsa while you rest; I promise I shall give her back.”
Toby shook her head, recoiling from Stephen, realizing that Tate was behind her and trying to recoil from him, too. She ended up struggling to her feet, holding her limp sister and trying to get away from the knights. But she wasn’t strong enough to lift Ailsa entirely and she ended up dragging her sister several feet across the floor. It was pathetic and harrowing. Tate rose slowly from the bed, watching Toby struggle to get away from them. There was tremendous pain in his eyes, knowing very well what she was feeling. He had felt it once, too.
But Toby was too weak with grief and recent illness and ended up falling before she could get too far away. Huddled on the floor, she held her sister’s torso and head tightly while Ailsa’s legs lay splayed across the floor. It was clear that she was not balanced. Tate didn’t look at Stephen as he spoke to the knight; his eyes were riveted to Toby.
“I will take Toby,” he whispered. “Be prepared to grab Ailsa and take her out of here.”
Stephen nodded, heading off to his right while Tate moved to his left. They were stalking Toby, like predators, only these were predators of mercy. Toby would never gain her wits so long as she held a death-grip on her sister’s body. Tate walked up behind her, crouching down and putting his big hands on her upper arms.
“Elizabetha, sweetheart,” he tightened his grip as he spoke, his hands moving down her arms to her wrists. “Please let us have Ailsa. I promise we will be very careful with her.”
Toby wept and sputtered. “Nay,” she gasped. “She is all that I have left. She cannot… she cannot be dead.”
“She is, sweet,” Tate crooned softly, his cheek against the right side of her head. “I am so sorry for your loss. Believe me; I know what you are feeling. I have been there. But you must let us take Ailsa to prepare her for burial.”
Toby howled. “Nay!” she cried. “You cannot bury her!”
Tate’s grip around her was getting tighter as he prepared to pull her arms away from her sister’s body. “We must, love,” he had a good grasp on her wrists, making sure Stephen was prepared to strike from his position next to Ailsa. “Let Stephen take Ailsa. He will be kind to her.”
Toby shook her head and Tate decided it was time to act. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her arms away from Ailsa’s corpse. Stephen was swift and grabbed the little girl, moving for the door in one keen motion. Realizing she had been tricked, Toby turned into a wildcat; she kicked and screamed and beat at Tate even as he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bed. As Stephen slipped from the room, Tate and Toby fell onto the bed in a writhing, howling mass of grief.
Toby was screaming at the top of her lungs. Tate had both arms wrapped firmly around her so she could not get away from him; he was afraid that if she was able to get a hand free, he would find himself missing an eye. So he held her tightly, riding out the storm, knowing eventually she would exhaust herself. There was nothing more he could do. Toby twisted and cursed, showing surprising strength in her slender body, but eventually her energy left her and she ended up a quivering mass of warmth and hair in his arms.
Toby didn’t have the strength to cry any longer. She simply lay in his arms, gasping for every breath. Tate took a chance on loosening his grip and he stroked her hair, her face, whispering soothingly in her ear and telling her that all would be well. ButToby didn’t hear him; at some point, she gave a heaving gasp and suddenly lay still. Concerned, Tate felt for her pulse; it was fast but strong. And she was still breathing regularly. Realizing she had fainted, he welcomed the peace from her pain.
“Sleep well, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing her on the temple. “You have earned it.”
Propped up on an elbow, he gazed at her for a very long time, feeling such sorrow for the woman as he could not begin to describe. She had been through so much in her life; a drunk father, an invalid mother, but she had not only survived, she had thrived. Then he came along and within days destroyed everything she had worked so hard to achieve. He had destroyed her world. Now her sister was dead. If he’d never come to Cartingdon, none of this would have happened. But, then again, he would have never met Toby.
He stroked her hair again, soft strands beneath his calloused hand. He kissed her baby-soft cheek, allowing his lips to linger on the flesh. Her lips were near and he was drawn to them, gently kissing her mouth for the first time and realizing she was as sweet as he had known she would be. He kissed her lips again, once more, before very slowly rising from the bed. Although she was unconscious, he did not want to disturb her. Taking the dusty old blanket, he tucked her in carefully.
“Sleep well,” he touched her face one last time.
The room was growing dark and cold so he moved to the hearth and deftly started a small fire with the flint and kindling that was still there. Looking around, he realized there wasn’t much fuel for the fire so he put what he could on the blaze. He stood up as the flames fired up, watching Toby’s still form, fighting off a myriad of emotions swirling through his chest.
Leaving Toby to sleep, he shut the door softly behind him.
