“Then it is yours. Tell Jeremy if there’s anything else you would like in it.”
Gabriel nodded and walked to the door. “Thank you, Giles.” He opened the door and put his hand on the side, turning back to look at him. “Lady Gwyneth’s life may not be the only one you’ve saved this week.”
Giles, left alone in his study, accepted that Gabriel might indeed have been right.
*~~*~~*
Oh God, I ache so badly.
Gwyneth moaned as she awoke, wondering how a body could be so painful and not claim the life of the one who occupied it.
“Easy now, my Lady.”
A soft voice sounded from beside her and the bed dipped as someone sat next to her. “I have a drink for you. Sweet with honey. Just what you need to get you back on your feet.”
An arm circled her and she moaned again as she felt herself raised enough to have a cup placed to her lips. Obediently, she drank, the warm sweet water sliding down her parched throat, a blissful sensation she could barely believe.
“Ohhh,” she sighed as someone withdrew the cup. “More…”
“In a little while,” answered the voice. “We have to be careful not to overdo it. You’ve been very ill, but you’re getting better. Patience is important.”
She was allowed to lean back again into pillows, cool and fresh and smelling of roses. For the first time in longer than she could recall, she wanted to open her eyes. If this was indeed Heaven, then she would see what it looked like.
Slowly, she tried, but her eyelids seemed stiff. She frowned with frustration.
“Wait, my dear, just a moment. This may help.”
A warm cloth touched her face, lingering so gently on her eyes, moistening the skin and bringing a sigh of pleasure to her lips.
“There now, that’s better.”
It was indeed. She could lift her eyelids, and blink rapidly, her eyes rough, stinging a little. It took several moments for her to bring anything into focus; it seemed she was in a room, in bed, but it was very blurry.
A face appeared, a pale and lovely face with green eyes and the fairest hair she could ever remember seeing.
“Angel…” she mumbled, the word barely intelligible.
A light laugh answered her. “No, my Lady. My name may be Gabriel, but I can assure you I’m no angel.”
She tried to smile back, but it was an effort. Too much of an effort.
“Here. Just a little more water and then you must sleep.”
Eagerly now, she drank, more sips of the honeyed liquid. A small draught of something less sweet followed it, but she swallowed it, grateful for anything that soothed her throat.
“There you are, my dear. A tiny touch of willow bark for that fever of yours, and a good rest—you’ll be better in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Comforted by those familiar words, Gwyneth surrendered once again to the warmth and delicious softness of her surroundings, dozing off once more.
The next time she awoke, it was to a different voice.
“Good afternoon, Lady Gwyneth,” said a man next to the bed. “I am going to look at your foot in a moment or so, but it’s time for more water…”
He leaned over to raise her up and she smelled leather, sandalwood or something, damp wool and…and man.
Opening her eyes, and again fighting for focus, she saw a fair-haired man watching her, his face calm but expressionless. “Hullo. My name is Royce. You’ve been quite ill, and we’re helping you get better.”
“Yes,” she croaked.
