There is no time to waste.
“You are acting as if you have never eaten before in your life,” Alaric said.
“I want to get back to the research,” Catherine explained. “If what you said last night is true, then we are racing against time. Who knows what could happen?”
“I do not think I am in immediate danger, Catherine.” Alaric speared a piece of meat onto his fork. “You eating so fast that you choke will not help the matter either.”
She scowled at him but knew he was right. He let out a bark of laughter, and Catherine was just about to tell him he needed to take this seriously when he made a strange sound.
“Alaric?” she frowned.
The color drained from his face, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed.
“Alaric!” Catherine screamed as she lunged toward him.
His body convulsed, pulling the tablecloth off the table. Dishes and glasses shattered, and broken China sprayed everywhere. A dark liquid trickled from the corner of Alaric’s mouth.
“Send for the physician at once!” Catherine barked, her hands on Alaric.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The sound of running footsteps filled the hall, followed by barking.
“Oliver! I cannot let him see Alaric like this!” Catherine gestured to the other footman. “Go and tell Mrs. Langley to keep Oliver away from this part of the castle. Then fetch the other footmen, and we will carry His Grace to his room.”
The footman nodded and hurried away. Alaric had ended his fit; his eyes were closed, and his body was completely still. Panic took over Catherine. “No, please, do not be dead.”
She placed a hand on his chest and felt it rise and fall beneath her. His breathing was shallow, but it was still there. His heartbeat was faint.
“If you die on me, Alaric Deverell, I swear to God I will never forgive you.” She wiped away the small dot of blood from his mouth, her heart clutching in her chest.
“Catthrn,” he murmured weakly.
Her heart pounded. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and moments later, three footmen appeared. They carefully lifted Alaric, and Catherine followed them to his room. They gently placed him in bed and began tending the fire.
Sweat dripped down Alaric’s face and neck. His lips were a ghastly shade of purple. His usual amber and cedar scent had been replaced by a sickly, sweet smell that made her stomach turn.
“The physician should be here in a few hours,” the footman said.
“A few hours?” Catherine felt panic trying to overwhelm her, but she pushed it down.
Clear head. That is what he needs. Come on, think, Catherine.
Something stirred in her mind, an old nursery rhyme about sweetness being drawn out through coal. “Bring me a cloth and warm water. And a solution of charcoal.”
Alaric’s skin was icy cold despite the beads of sweat on him.
I have to warm him up.
“At once, Your Grace.” The footman disappeared and returned what felt like hours later with a cloth and a basin of water, though it could have been only a few minutes.
Catherine dipped the cloth in it and wrung it out, gently wiping the sweat from Alaric’s brow. His skin was gray, and his breathing came in rattling wheezes.
“Catherine.” His voice broke every part of her. “Stay.”
“I am here. Do not worry. I am here.” She held one of his hands in hers and squeezed it.
His usually firm, warm grip was weaker than a child’s. His hands were clammy and cold to the touch. She pressed the charcoal solution to his lips. “Drink this.”
She had no idea if it was the right thing to do, but every part of her hoped that it was. The inky black liquid concealed the purple around his lips, and the sweet smell faded away. Catherine felt a lump form in her throat, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
