“Will she…”
He could not finish the question. The physician shrugged. “I’ll see if she can tell me how long she was wearing that. But there’s no way to know how much was on there. She’s young and healthy. If the absorption was small enough…”
“How long before we know?”
The physician was equally blunt. “If she’s going to die, she won’t last the night.”
There was movement behind the physician and Dominic looked over the man’s shoulder to where Elizabeth stood in the doorway, her face white but perfectly composed. Dropping the leather pouch and its dangerous contents on the nearest table, the physician returned to his vigil within.
“What can I do?” Dominic asked Elizabeth.
“Find William. If he hasn’t returned from hawking, go after him. If we do not alert him at once, he’ll never forgive us.”
He’d forgotten about the king. Yes, he must be told—and discreetly. This story must not be spread abroad. Not until they had an ending to it, and could put a name to the person responsible.
Dominic went straight to the stables to commandeer a horse, but the hawking party was just riding back in. William and the French ambassador were telling each other vulgar jokes and laughing uproariously. Dominic tried to catch William’s eye, but when that failed he interrupted. “A word, Your Majesty?”
His tone must have alerted William, for he smoothly excused himself from the ambassador and the other members of the party. When Dominic whispered the news in his ear, William went noticeably pale. He motioned a page to them and said, “Report to Lord Rochford that I will be unavailable for the remainder of the day. He is to see to the comfort of the French ambassador and deal with any matters that might arise before tomorrow.”
William didn’t say another word as they paced quickly back to Elizabeth’s chambers. That suited Dominic. He could not have spoken more than the necessities if his life depended on it.
Elizabeth’s privy chamber was empty. Without pausing, William let himself into the sickroom and shut the door behind him.
After staring at that closed door for what felt like an hour, Dominic retrieved the leather pouch that held Minuette’s treacherous pendant and escaped. If he was not to be allowed into the sickroom—and why should he be? It was the province of women, whatever liberties the king might take—he preferred to shut himself up in his own rooms. There were many things he could be doing—helping Rochford with the French or beginning inquiries into how this had happened. Who had got into Minuette’s rooms and when? Where had they found monkshood? And above all, why?
But none of that mattered at the moment. Nothing mattered but that Minuette’s heart continue to beat.
It was the longest night of Dominic’s life. When he wasn’t pacing like a caged lion, he sagged to the floor with his back against the wall, arms braced on his bent knees. At first he knew time was passing because of the changes in the light coming through his window. But when darkness fell, he sat unmoving, as though he’d been suspended in a bubble where time did not exist. Almost, he envied his mother her surety of faith; at the least, a rosary would have given occupation to his hands while he waited. He almost got up then, for he knew Minuette kept her own mother’s rosary hidden in the false bottom of her jewelry casket. But he could not face her empty chamber, not until he knew whether she would return to it.
In the dark, dead hours of the night, Dominic felt his hope flicker and go out. If the end neared, he thought desperately, surely Elizabeth would summon him. She would not let Minuette go without allowing him to tell her goodbye. Even as simply her friend, he deserved that. But no one came.
When finally there was a knock on his door, he had to blink himself into reality. Lifting his head from his hands, he saw that the first faint grey of dawn had come.
The second knock was louder, and Dominic had to swallow past the terror in his throat to answer. “Who is it?”
“Harrington.”
Through his mingled hope and dread, Dominic called sharply, “What do you want?”
“I’ve a woman wants to see you.”
In the time it took him to cross the room and open the door, Dominic imagined several scenarios. Elizabeth, grieved and shaking. One of the ladies-in-waiting, summoning him at Minuette’s request. It was dawn. Had she lived through the night?
Carrie stood at Harrington’s side, looking exhausted and ill herself. But her face lit in an angelic smile when she saw Dominic. “She’s come through it, my lord. She’s tired and very weak, but her heart is beating normal and she can breathe easy now. Physician said himself that she’ll do.”
Dominic had spent so many hours preparing himself for the worst that he wasn’t ready for this. He gaped at Carrie for several moments, long enough for her smile to falter and her eyes to grow quizzical. Plainly she was wondering if he’d understood.
Finally, he found the only words that meant anything. “Thank God.”
Her smile returned. “Yes, my lord. I must get back. She’s sleeping peaceful for now and Her Highness has asked that she be kept quiet for the day. No visitors.”
“Of course.” He could wait. Minuette would live.
“My lord.” Carrie hesitated. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell her?”
It wasn’t the question so much as the look she gave him, as if she could see into the dark hours of his vigil. Her expression reminded him of Diane de Poitiers—though the two women were poles apart in appearance and dress and comportment, Carrie had the same piercing look of understanding more than she told. Did Carrie know? If she did, it was by her own intuition, for Dominic knew Minuette had not revealed their secret even to her maid. Just as he had not told Harrington—though, come to think of it, Harrington seemed to have a hint of sympathy in his own grave eyes.
Dominic thought of all the things he’d like to say to Minuette at this moment, and knew that he must say none of them. It was harder than he’d imagined, trying to think of innocent words that would raise no one’s suspicions but would convey what he wanted to Minuette herself.
