Bohannon looked more distressed. “With all due respect, sir, why would I?”
Why, indeed.Rhys held back an oath and reached for his matchcoat as Bohannon switched from being upset to surprised.
“Where are you going, sir?”
“To see your sister.”
Though the road was slick with mud and ice, Rhys had rarely ridden faster. Both he and Copper were winded by the time they arrived in Chatham. Bohannon followed at a distance as if still grappling with the day’s disruption. Rhys wasted no time taking the lane behind the Bohannon house to where the stable stood. He rode Copper straight through the open door, then dismounted, his need to see Mae making his movements sharp with haste.
His knock on the back door summoned Mrs. Hurst, whose grieved look told him more than he wanted. “I’ve come to see Miss Bohannon who’s ill.”
“Yes, sir.” She stepped aside, holding the door open. “Mr. Aaron will be here soon with more medicine.”
Rhys brushed past her, passed from the kitchen into the entry hall, and rounded the newel post. On the stair landing stood Coralie, arms crossed. She still wore the black of mourning, jarring him further.
“Pardon, General Harlow, what are you doing?”
“I’ve come to see your sister.”
“She’s not fit to be seen.”
He removed his cocked hat, her bristling resistance like a wall. “I’ll make that determination.”
He moved past her with haste. Mae’s door was closed. He turned the knob and took a deep breath as he opened it, slowing himself lest he startle her.
Coralie hurried after him as if determined to keep him out. “How unseemly for an officer to force his way in here and demand to see—”
He shut Mae’s door on her heated words when what he wanted was to lock it. Would she follow and make a scene?
Though it was midday, little light crept past the closed shutters. The four-poster bed seemed immense, the form beneath the linens too still. Mae was turned away from him. Somehow that reached inside and wrung him hard, as if her back to him was a personal slight.
“Mae.” He spoke her name softly as he pulled up a chair by the edge of the bed.
Beyond the door he could hear heated voices. Coralie and Bohannon? His eyes roamed over the woman before him, tip to toe beneath the sheet. Her hair, that halo of yellow silk, was no longer worn up but bound in a braid. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. His gaze hung on the lace trim of her nightgown. A thin blue ribbon hung about her neck, something tucked beneath the fabric. The mother-of-pearl heart?
That wrung him too. Did it mean that much to her, this lost, retrieved ... nothing? He resisted the urge to tug on the ribbon to free it. Instead he took her limp hand as it lay palm up on the sheet.
“Mae.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them, eyes never leaving her face. It was the first time he’d used her forename, though he’d called her that in his head and heart from the moment they’d met. Throat tight, he repeated it. “Mae.”
She didn’t stir, but he saw the reassuring rise and fall of her chest—still far too shallow for his liking.
The arguing in the hall grew more fraught. His gaze shot to the closed door, and he clenched his jaw lest he yell and silence them. When he turned back, Mae opened her eyes and he forgot to breathe.
“General...?” Her voice was faint. Too faint. As if it took every bit of her to form just one word.
“Nay, Mae.Rhys.”
A slight smile. Her eyes closed again and he sensed her leaving, pulling away like an ebb tide. Out of reach, beyond his control.
“Stay with me, Mae.” He kissed her fingers again when what he wanted was to kiss her parted lips.
She grew more still. Was she breathing? He fought down the fear she would die in his presence. He’d seen so much death. Too many good men cut down in battle or by disease, their lives shriveled and spent. The pox was just as merciless.
“Mae, I beg you—”
The door opened with a creak of hinges. Aaron stood there, his expression as concerned as Coralie’s had been surly. Rhys stood and realized the arguing beyond the door had stopped.
“She opened her eyes briefly,” he said hoarsely.
