“What about his leg?” Matthew asked. “It was a bad break.”
“It was. Providing the poison stays away, he should keep it and walk again.”
Matthew was satisfied. Giving the physic a few gold coins for his troubles, he turned back to his father as Luke escorted the surgeon from the room. Matthew checked his father’s pulse, lifted an eyelid and, content with what he saw, allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Whatever foolish attempt his father had made was not going to claim him, at least not at the moment.
Mark and John were in the room, seated in various corners. Caroline had come in and out, bringing water and bandages and drink to those involved in Adam’s care. Aunt Livia, unable to stomach the sight of her brother, had taken to her bed, leaving the house somewhat quiet. It was always quiet when she was still, always bordering on happy chaos when she was about.
For the first time in hours, Matthew’s mind was able to expand beyond the immediate needs of his father. His thoughts moved to the evening, perhaps some food, and a warm bedwith Alixandrea beside him. He hadn’t seen her since the onset of events, but knowing how she felt about blood and wounds, wasn’t surprised nor offended. He assumed she had found a warm, quiet corner in which to wait. He suddenly found himself looking very much forward to seeing her.
“I should find my wife and tell her he will be all right,” he muttered. “Mark, keep a vigilant eye while I am gone. I shan’t be long.”
In the corner, Mark stirred. “By all means, go find her,” he rumbled. He had neglected to tell his brother that he had seen his wife wander away earlier in the day. In fact, he had been deliberate in his withholding. “Tell her that her attempts to keep you occupied while our father tried to destroy himself thankfully did not come to fruition.”
Matthew froze, his narrowed gaze turning to his brother. “I can only hope that I did not hear you correctly.”
Mark’s nearly-black eyes glittered with the twist of the flames. “You heard me.”
Matthew did not say anything for a moment, but the expression on his face morphed into one only seen in battle. The hardness, the fury, was indescribable.
“You will come out into the hall with me.”
John leapt up from his stool in the corner. “He did not mean it, Matt. He is upset. We are all upset.”
“I meant every word,” Mark snapped. “Had Matt not been so preoccupied with his new chit, none of this….”
Matthew was already flying across the room. John was a big lad, but not big enough to stop his brothers from battling. Nonetheless, he bravely threw himself between Matthew and Mark before Matthew could get a good hold of him.
“No, Matt,” John pleaded, struggling to hold his eldest brother at bay. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He is frightened and tired.”
Matthew sandwiched John between himself and Mark. He had hold of Mark’s shoulder, the other hand grabbing his neck.
“Never again will you slander my wife or accuse her of something that is not of her doing,” he hissed. “If I ever hear another negative word out of your mouth about her, I shall kill you.”
They knew he meant every word. Mark managed to move his head enough to get Matthew’s hand off his throat, winding both of his hands around John to get at Matthew’s face.
“I am not saying anything other than the truth,” he snarled. “You allowed her to speak with father when you knew what might happen. You allowed her to provoke him into this… this madness. And see what has happened?”
“I was there when she spoke to him. She said nothing that you and I have not said over the past twelve years. He was, in fact, responding to her far better than he ever responded to us. I will not allow you to blame her for this.”
The punches began to fly then. John wisely stopped trying to prevent such a thing and yanked himself out of harm’s way.
“Stop it!” he shouted. “You’ll hurt each other! You’ll hurt father!”
Matthew slowed his actions but he still had a good grip on Mark. Mark, for his part, had given Matthew a lovely bloodied lip. Rather than throwing any more punches near their father’s convalescent bed, Matthew started pulling Mark from the room; he was so much stronger than his brother that the battle was a little one-sided. But Mark was a scrapper and would not surrender easily.
John saw what was happening and once again tried to intervene. He rushed forward, attempting to remove Matthew’s hands from Mark’s body.
“Stop it,” he pleaded. “Now is not the time for this. Father is injured and we do not need either one of you injured, too. Stop it, I say!”
By now, the commotion had roused part of the house. A few Rosehill servants stood in the hall, fearfully watching the tussle going on inside. Caroline, having been tending Aunt Livia, had been summoned by a frightened maid. When she came to the doorway, she shrieked in dismay.
“Matthew!” she gasped. “Mark! Stop it this instant!”
Matthew and Mark stood just inside the doorway, wrestling with each other more than actually fighting. Neither one of them was listening to reason; they seemed more intent to see who could wrangle the other to the floor and Matthew had a substantial advantage. Mark finally stumbled and bumped his father’s bed; Adam’s body jolted. More grunting and struggling between the brothers ensued until a familiar voice drifted upon the air.
“Matthew,” Adam rasped. “Mark, cease this folly. Have you both gone mad?”
In mid-battle, the brothers froze and stared at their father. Struggles instantly forgotten, they went to his bedside.
