“Did you find a way to poison my parents?” Catherine blurted, staring at her Aunt.
The woman’s reaction was one of shock, as would be expected. But it was not the shock of being accused of something patently ridiculous. It was the shock of being discovered in an act that had been considered utterly secret. Catherine’s heart stopped as she saw it. Looking to her Uncle, she saw the glance that went between them. Stafford simply smiled, unaware.
“Swear it before God,” Catherine pressed emphatically.
Benjamin licked his lips. Nora scoffed.
“I will do no such thing. Such an inventive mind you have always had, Catherine. I wish it could be turned away from such wicked thoughts.”
But Catherine knew.
She rose—barely. Her legs buckled, and she caught herself against the edge of the table. Aaron stood in a flash, steadying her with an arm around her waist. She leaned into him, the warmth of him anchoring her when the world tilted.
“We will take our leave,” Aaron said, voice calm as cut steel. “Before I repay cruelty with something less civilized.”
They left, her aunt and uncle’s scandalized muttering following them across the foyer.
The carriage rattled away from the manor. Catherine stared out at the hedgerows flashing past, heart pounding.
“You see it now,” Aaron sighed, “the truth of the poppy. They sought to keep you weak. I am yet to pinpoint why exactly.”
“Yes,” Catherine whispered, “I… I believe you. But I will not take it from you. I will not be beholden to it ever again. I will free myself.”
He looked at her then, truly looked, as though weighing her soul.
“There is only one way, and it is kill or cure.”
She nodded. “I suspected as much. I will endure the sickness until it passes. I will not die of it.”
“It will be agony.”
“I would rather suffer for a time than be a slave all my life.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he nodded once. Sharply.
“So be it.”
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Catherine. Her dress felt as though it were fashioned of lead. Her hair dragged her head steeply. Aaron’s shoulder seemed an inviting pillow. His arm went around her, and his lips softly dashed the top of her head.
“Thank you for helping me,” she shivered.
“You are my wife.”
“Innameonly,” she reminded him.
“Then consider this to be me keeping up appearances,” he replied, drily.
“I shall,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to go back to Caerleon while I feel like this. I don’t want the staff to see me so weakened.”
“Illness is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Please... I would like to be alone somewhere to endure this in silence.”
“Impossible,” he shot down at once. “I would not leave you in your hour of need.”
“Aaron would say that…” She smiled weakly.
There came no reply. No question of her choice of words. A silence stretched for several minutes.
