The tavern disappeared from around him, and he was returned to a different place.
They proclaimed the death of the Duke of Winchester.
Inside, Catherine tossed against the sheets. Sally bathed her brow with water.
“Why does he torment me so?” Catherine whispered, her voice thick with fever, “Why does he hide from me? He is not who he says he is. He cannot be.”
“Hush now, Your Grace,” Sally assuaged, “your mind is addled and speaks of untruths.”
“No.” Catherine’s eyes burned bright. “He is kind, though he would deny it. I have seen it... When he holds my hand. When he looks at me... But I am afraid of him, too. Afraid of what he keeps locked inside. Afraid that I want him more and more each day…”
Her chest tightened. She pressed her hand against the mattress upon which she lay. It felt solid. Fingers gripped it hard, wanting to tether herself. She was convinced that she was about to lose her contact with the real world. To be cast into outer darkness. She could not move, could not breathe.
Sally gave a sharp laugh, and it served to tether Catherine for a moment.
“The Duke?Kind? He is hard as iron. He cares for nothing but himself and his wealth. A cruel man, my lady. Ask any of his servants.”
“That—that is not true!” Catherine exclaimed with heat, “He shields it. But I know it is there. I know he is more than he lets the world see...”
“Dreams, Your Grace. He has no heart. If he has, he has buried it long ago.”
Catherine turned her face to the wall.
“…Then why am I drawn to him so?”
The words cut her deeper than any blade could. She felt tied to a man that she did not know. Who would not let her get close. But she would not give up. She would neither run away nor accept the mystery. She was determined to understand the truth.Histruth.
After a silence, she stirred again. “Sally, has he a brother?”
“Abrother?” Her maid sounded surprised. “I know nothing of it. When I came to Caerleon, the household was as you found it. The staff was all new. The Duke had replaced everyone. There was no brother. And never any talk of one.”
“Why did he replace the staff?” Catherine beseeched.
She tossed back to Sally.
The fever waxed and waned. Sometimes she saw Sally as who she was. Other times, she saw Isabella. Or Aunt Nora. Now, the fever made her bones ache, but her mind seemed to be sharp, racing faster than she could comprehend, alive with fears and doubts. Questions that multiplied until they seemed to expand in her mind.
“I… never questioned it,” Sally applied a fresh cloth to Catherine’s brow, and its cool droplets were glorious.
She felt her body sink deeper into the mattress, and the young girl beamed in satisfaction.
“I don’t rightly know, Your Grace. It does seem odd, I suppose. Having an entirely new staff.”
“Did you ask why at the time?”
“We were discouraged from speaking about the past.”
Catherine’s face creased in pain. Her stomach clenched, and she turned, curling up in the bed. Sally stroked her hair, damp with sweat, and made soothing sounds. She squeezed her eyes tight.
Is this what Mama and Papa felt? Is this how they faced their last moments? What if Aunt Nora and Uncle Benjamin were telling the truth? This could be my last breath!
“Does anyone know anything about the old Duke’s family?” Catherine heard herself ask.
Part of her wanted to talk. Wanted to be distracted. She fought to focus on Sally’s response. It seemed to come at a great delay, as though time was slowing in between. Hours passed before Sally replied, though Catherine knew it had been mere seconds.
“Therewasa man, once,” the maid said. “A letter arrived for him. I saw it. It went to Mr. McKay because no one else knew where the man had gone after Caerleon. What made you think the Duke had a brother, Your Grace? If you don’t mind me asking?”
Catherine closed her eyes.
