Page 26

A soft voice cut through the roar. It was clear, though distant. Familiar. A hand, cool and sure, pressed a cloth to his brow. A blessed chill swept across his temple and down his cheeks. The fire recoiled. The sea stilled. The demons fled.

The voice murmured again, and he recognized it.

Audrey.

With a low sigh, Julius surrendered to the pull of that voice, sinking into the cool hush of her presence, the sweet balm of oblivion overtaking him.

Audrey swabbed her restless patient as he muttered and shifted beneath the damp linens. His skin was far too hot for her liking. She rinsed the cloth in the basin at her side, waited a few moments for the steam to dissipate, then applied it once more to his fevered brow. She swept it gently across his pallid face, then down the lean, muscled length of each arm, lifting them in turn to glide the linen down his flanks and across his chest.

The sheets beneath him were sodden with sweat, clinging to his back and sides like a second skin. Frowning, Audrey nibbled her lower lip, weighing her next move, when Patrick entered, carrying a fresh stack of folded linens and a larger basin filled with water.

“Should we change his sheets?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, we’d best. I’ll bring new ones directly.”

The old retainer placed the tray of folded cloths on the table, removed her jars and vials from the tray she had been using, and tucked it beneath his arm before leaving with a brisk nod.

Audrey returned to her task, running the cooling cloth once more along Julius’s clammy body. It would be best to remove as much perspiration as she could before they moved him. His chest rose and fell with shallow rhythm, his face flushed, lashes dark against his cheeks. She gently raised his head, cradling it in the crook of her arm, and brought the cup to his lips.

“Swallow, Julius,” she urged, her voice low but firm.

To her relief, his mouth opened, and he swallowed a few weak gulps of the bitter brew before sinking back into the mattress, his head rolling slightly as he exhaled. She lowered him with care, then checked the dressing with cautious fingertips. As expected, the bandage was damp—saturated from the heat of his body.

She stepped back, already calculating her next move. The wound would need cleaning and redressing. She would reapply the honey and wrap him in a dry bandage once Patrick returned, and they could shift him to strip the bed.

Glancing toward the mantel clock across the chamber, she noted how slowly the minutes passed. It was to be a long night still. Outside, the storm had abated, but the garden lay shrouded in mist and stillness. A pewter gloom hung in the air, as though the entire world had donned mourning.

Audrey rubbed at her tired eyes and sank back into the velvet wingback chair beside the bed, its worn brocade familiar beneath her fingers. Just a moment’s rest. The weight of her limbs had grown heavier with each hour, and though her stomach gave a faint pang of protest, it was only now she realized she had not eaten since morning.

She would need food soon. Strength. Julius’s fever had not yet broken, and the hours ahead demanded her full attention. But for now, she allowed herself the briefest reprieve, watching the gentle rise and fall of her patient’s chest as she waited for the work to begin anew.