Giles sighed, long and deep. “I think you have the right of it, Gabriel.” He straightened. “If you would bring the decanter from the Rose room to my chamber, I’d appreciate it. And also let the others know I’ll sleep for a while. They’re to clean her and see if she needs a doctor, then let her be. A night’s rest in a clean bed with a clean body and warm linens should help, if she’s not seriously ill.”
“’Tis as good as done, sir.”
“I’m not a sir, Gabriel. I’m just Giles.”
“As you say, sir.” Gabriel turned away. “I’ll have the brandy to you in a trice. As soon as I find the Rose room.”
Giles chuckled and shook his head tiredly. The lad might as well learn the lay of the land. He could end up as a Wolfbridge man yet.
There were so many things Giles had yet to do. But at the moment, the only thing he could think of was a glass of brandy and his own bed. His body was betraying him; no longer could he go for so long without sleep. Angry at himself, but too tired to fight it, he surrendered and climbed the stairs.
*~~*~~*
Heat.
Warmth.
Something was touching her, something warm. But she was cold. So cold. She shivered violently, unable to stop the shudders.
Hands touched her and she wanted to scream, to cry out in fear. Hands were bad, they hurt, they made her skin ache.
There were more hands, and more warmth, but she stayed so veryverycold, as if her bones were made of ice. So why was she burning up? What was happening to her?
Stroking. Something was stroking her, something soft and warm and—wet? She smelled something bad and wanted to vomit but her body couldn’t, there was nothing there. Soft whispers sounded in her ears, words she could not understand, but in a tone of voice that promised comfort and ease.
She was dying, she knew. Perhaps she was already dead, and these hands were cleansing her body. She would be buried clean, ready to face her Lord as best she could.
Her teeth chattered, the chill still lingering, the cold everywhere. But…she was lying on softness and surrounded by light…she wished she could open her eyes, but was too weak and too afraid to try. The murmur of voices around her let her know she was no longer alone, but she knew none of them.
Fear shook her, and she trembled, aching still, every move seemed like too much effort…too much pain to resist. She would succumb. Sleep. It was the only way to escape the bleak hopelessness.
“Die,” she managed, through cracked lips. “Let me die.”
She was lifted, raised a little and a cool touch on those lips made her open her mouth.
Water. Sweet water.
The pain in her mouth as the sweetness pierced her cheeks—the smooth warm water swilled around to soften the dryness, making her want to swallow.
“Drink, my dear,drink…”
The voice encouraged her, and she obeyed, a tiny drop at first, then more following, tracing its way down to a body starved of food and water for too long…
“Enough for now. You shall have more in a little while.”
Whispers, just whispers, but they managed to break into her mind, to force their way past the barriers she’d created as she faced her death.
Lying back against softness, she felt again the delicious warmth of hot cloths stroking her body. The scent…oh what was that wonderful scent…roses, she recognised the rich fragrance. Perhaps Heaven was a rose garden after all.
Dry now, smooth and clean for a change, comfortable…and warm. She shivered a little, still blurry in her thoughts, still believing she was about to die.
But she was beneath thick covers, scented with roses. If death was her destination, then she would go to face it as bravely as she could.
“She’ll do for now,” a voice spoke somewhere near her. “Sleep, a little more honey water if she wakes, and we’ll see how she does.”
“The fever?” Another voice.
“It might be just the lack of food. Starvation can cause it. She has no injuries other than those you’d expect. I’ve cleaned and wrapped that bite on her foot, and it’s a worry, but it’s not infected and I suspect barely a day old.”
