To wake up to his sweet words of praise every morn?
To tuck her head into the warm and welcoming crook of his massive shoulder each night?
They could forge a beautiful future together.A future of which even her father would approve.One that had started with the bridegroom rescuing the bride, just like in the stories of old.
They could have a perfect life.A life full of bairns to raise.Precious pets for her.Grand tournaments for him.Salmon for supper every night.
Perhaps her father was right.Perhaps Sir Hew could—andshould—be dissuaded from his holy pursuits.
She climbed back into bed with a smile.She could dissuade him.If anyone knew how to use charm, it was Carenza.She’d been taught to be a perfect daughter.A perfect lady.A perfect hostess.
How much harder was it to be a perfect prospective bride?
She was too excited to sleep.
If Hew had called her a beautiful angel when she was a charred mess, what would he say when she was freshly bathed and dressed in her finest clothing?
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t wrest a servant from their bed.Especially not after the late night revels of Samhain.But these were special circumstances.
So, using the excuse of it being the Sabbath and All Saints Day, she coaxed a servant to heat water for her bath, which she would take in the solar.Then, stealing past her snoring father, who had commandeered her bedchamber in her absence, she dug through her chest to find her favorite gown.It was of silk imported from Lucca, but the best thing about it was its color.It was a rare shade of vivid blue, almost as violet as a thistle.And her father told her it matched her eyes perfectly.
By the time the lavender-scented bath was ready, the servants were up and about.A maidservant helped her bathe and scrubbed the ash from her hair.Then she fashioned it into a flattering style that swept her waist, with loops of tiny braids and white ribbons as decoration.
She finished dressing just before the bells of prime.With a smile that for once wasn’t forced, she left the solar and glided along the passage toward her father’s chamber.
She was astonished to find the door ajar.
Who had entered the chamber?
Peering through the crack of the door, she saw Peris, hovering at Hew’s bedside.Hew was still asleep.The physician was putting drops of opium into a cup of wine for him.She didn’t want Peris to think she’d abandoned Hew.But she didn’t want to disturb his critical measurements.So she hesitated.
He slipped in one drop.Two.Three.Four.Five.Six.Seven.Eight.
Her jaw dropped.She accidentally leaned against the door, pushing it open.
Startled, Peris quickly righted the vial of opium tincture and swirled the cup of wine as if nothing was wrong.But he reddened and scowled.
“There ye are,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes.“I didn’t know if ye were comin’ back.”
“O’ course.”
She didn’t want to alarm him.Maybe he’d miscounted or drifted off while putting in the opium drops.Maybe it had been an honest mistake.She didn’t want to embarrass the physician.But she had to make sure Hew didn’t drink the deadly wine.And for that, she had to put Peris at ease.
“Was the man in the infirmary hurt badly?”
He stoppered the vial and replied snappishly, “He fell from a gallopin’ horse, so aye.”Then he put the empty Bordeaux bottle on the table.“He’ll likely die on the morrow or the next day.”
She lifted her brows.“But ye’re a skilled physician.How can ye be so sure?”
“I always do the best I can,” he grumbled.“But ’tis God’s will who lives and who dies.”
“O’ course.”
She wondered if he thought it was God’s will to put extra opium into Hew’s wine.
“Ye must be tired,” she said.“Ye can’t have had much sleep.”She stepped forward and reached for the cup.“I can take o’er if you like.Ye can rest.”
The bells of prime rang out then.Peris, startled, snatched back the cup before she could wrap her hand around it.
