Once more, he had arrived too late.
Violent sobs tore out of the depths of his soul. “Catherine, my God. Catherine, Catherine.”
“Your Grace. Your Grace. We must move her,” an urgent voice said, but he did not register what was being said. “Your Grace, begging your pardon, but you must move aside.” Someone grabbed his arm to pull him away from her, but it had taken a hold of him, the black despair of old, tearing through him with a pain stronger than a dozen swords piercing through his heart.
“Catherine,” he gasped.
“We have to move her,” the voice said urgently. “We can save her, but you must allow us to move her.”
They separated him from her, and she was carriedinto the house. He stumbled after her, feeling as if he was trapped in an eternal nightmare.
The children huddled in a corner,weeping quietly.
Evie, red-eyed and shaken, attempted to comfort them.
Julius had refused to be separated this time. “I will not leave her,” he’d bitten out, not allowing any contradiction. He was there when the doctor and the nurse had undressed her, examined her, and washed away the blood and bandaged her head. He’d held her hand, cold and limp, the whole time.
“A head injury,” the doctor explained. “She is unconscious.”
Unconscious. It took a while for the word to sink in.
“You mean, she is not—not dead?” It fell from his lips.
“No, Your Grace. Her pulse is beating, though faintly.”
Relief spread through him and left him weak in the legs and he’d toppled into a seat.
“And now?”
“Now you must wait. God willing, she will regain consciousness soon. We must wait.”
He nodded. “I will stay here and wait.”
He remained by her side all night and all day, watching her white, immobile face, the soft curve of her lips, and the shadow of her long lashes as they lay against her creamy cheeks.
His hand shook violently as he rubbed his forehead.
Once again, he’d been too late to prevent disaster.
Too late to tell her the one and only thing that ever mattered, that he loved her.
Why hadn’t he done it before? Why was he so consistently unable to protect her? Why was he always too late?
Why did she always die?
She, the only love of his life.
He’d barely survived the last time. He knew he would not survive this time. If she died, he would die right there with her. He would be done, and they could bury him right next to her. The mere thought of the yawning emptiness of a life without Catherine was so agonising that he gasped with pain.
“Oh God, let her live,” tore from his soul.
Something hot rushed into his eyes and he blinked. It filled his eyes and trickled out, down his cheeks and onto the hands he clasped tightly.
At first, he did not know what it was.
His fingers touched his cheeks and came away wet.
Tears.
