“What about her arm?” Lachlan asked.
The doctor explained that he had set the bone in place and that it was fortunate that Lady Catherine had not been conscious during the procedure, or they would have heard her screams in the farthest reaches of the house.
Lachlan thought of his wife suddenly. How clearly he could recall the sound of her cries, the horror and the pain. He almost doubled over in agony at the thought of Catherine enduring such an ordeal.
There was nothing to do now but wait, the doctor told him, so Lachlan went to her bedside, got down on his knees, and cupped his hands together. Bowing his head, he prayed that she would wake up and that the fever would never take hold.
For the next hour, he held her uninjured hand in his. He wept quietly, his tears dripping onto her arm, and told her that he loved her. He pleaded with her, in shuddering, painful sobs, to wake up, but she offered no response.
Day turned to night, and he was devastated. Would he have to see her buried in the ground? He could not bear to think of it.
Darkness enveloped the room. A maid crept in to light candles and change the water in the basin, but Lachlan was barely conscious of her presence, for he was weary with grief and a terrible, harrowing anguish.
Why had he not loved Catherine the way he should have? he asked himself, over and over. Last night he had let her go. He had let her leave his bed because he could not love her the way she deserved and wanted to be loved.
It was all a sad, pointless waste. He had spent every day trying to protect her from a curse that was never real—and even when he learned it was a hoax, hestillcould not love her. He could not commit to her. Why? Because he feared he would lose her in childbirth? That she might die?
What wasthisthen?
Had he spared himself this pain? No, he had not. She was dying, regardless of all his careful measures and precautions.
What had he been thinking? He was not God. He was just a man, and he could not control when, and how, someone he loved would be taken from this world. All he could do was treasure each day, spend each precious moment with her, and worship her in every possible way.
He bowed his head and kissed her hand. “Please wake up, Catherine.Please…”
A knock sounded at the door, and it quietly opened before he had a chance to wipe the tears from his face.
Raonaid walked in and moved to the other side of the bed. “How is she?”
“No change,” he replied in a husky, shaky voice. “I cannot bear it, Raonaid. I cannot lose her.” He met the oracle’s deep blue gaze. “Iloveher.”
She regarded him intently for a long moment. “I suppose we have something in common, then.”
He paused. “Who would ever have imagined it?”
She nodded with a profound measure of understanding, then pushed Catherine’s hair away from her forehead and laid two tender kisses upon her eyelids. “I always knew you were with me,” she whispered to her sister, “and now that I’ve met you, I feel very different. Nothing is the same as it was. Please come back to us.”
There was still no sign of recovery, however, so Raonaid sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed.
“Where have you been?” Lachlan asked, for it was hours since Catherine was shot, and Raonaid had not returned until now.
“I remained there, in the circle,” she told him. “I wanted to see more.”
“What happened this morning?” he asked. “Did Catherine have a vision? Did she see her life? Did she remember anything?”
Raonaid shook her head. “We shared a vision, and we saw pieces of things, but nothing as a whole. When it was over she still did not remember. She was frustrated.”
Lachlan looked down at Catherine’s face, so peaceful now, and wished he could have helped her, but her lost memory was something mysterious, something beyond his control.
“What did you see?” he asked.
“There was a man,” Raonaid replied. “He was handsome, with flaxen-colored hair, and they were on a ship together, traveling abroad. They were together for quite some time. I could see it in her face, in the way she aged and matured. I would guess she was barely twenty on the ship, but later, they were in a carriage together, riding through city streets of stone. It might have been Rome.”
“She was found in Italy,” he told Raonaid.
“I know. I am also aware that King James has been living in exile in Rome, and that is where his son Charles was born, last Christmas.”
Lachlan watched Raonaid carefully in the candlelight, studying her expression, wondering if she had seen anything in her visions about the infant in the cradle. Did she know Catherine had dreamed of killing a child?
