by Laura Landon
Mrs. Pollock had straightened the covers over Lady Fledgemont and put fresh water in the basin. Several clean cloths lay on the table and she rinsed one in the water and dabbed it against the lady’s face.
He suddenly wanted to laugh. After all they’d been through, he could still only think of her as Lady Fledgemont. Not by her given name.
Her name was Collette. He knew it was. But Collette didn’t fit her. A name like that seemed too…contrived. As if she’d made it up for the stage.
He suddenly wondered what name she’d been born with. Mary, perhaps. Or Jane. Something that embodied a natural goodness and wholeness. Something that encompassed all that was gentle and kind.
He knew how futile it was to think of her in such familiar terms. He would continue to think of her as Lady Fledgemont. That was safer. The further he could separate himself from her the safer his heart would be.
He walked to the bed and looked from the babe sleeping near the hearth to the woman lying on the bed. She’d seen the gunman and had thrown herself in front of the babe to protect him.
A wave of guilt grabbed hold of him and refused to let go. She’d been shot because he hadn’t done his job, because he hadn’t fully believed her and taken the necessary precautions. Oh, yes, he’d believed someone had broken into her home. He’d even believed she thought the intruder meant to harm the babe. But he hadn’t believed that someone had actually intended to kill Jonathan.
Now, he did. And it was possible that someone was Penderly.
She’d been shot because he’d refused to believe Penderly could harm the babe. Because he’d been so driven with the need to atone for the son he’d taken from Penderly, that he hadn’t been objective about Penderly’s motives. Austin called himself every kind of fool. How could he have been so blind? How could he have been taken in so completely?
If she died, it would be his fault. Hers would be one more life he could add to the long list of innocent people who’d died at his hand.
He took in a pain-filled breath, then turned his gaze when he realized he wasn’t alone. Mrs. Pollock stood beside him.
“The babe’s asleep. Did you want me to care for him in my room, or care for him here?”
“He’ll stay here. Lady Fledgemont needs to know he’s close by.”
“After what happened, I thought as much. I’ll warm some milk and be back in a bit. When he wakes he’ll no doubt be demanding to be fed.”
“Yes, no doubt.”
“Is there anything else you need, sir?”
“Yes, Mrs. Pollock. I need to send a message. Is there someone who can deliver it?”
“O’course. Young Jamie can. I’ll send him right up.”
Mrs. Pollock opened the door but turned back before she left the room. “She’ll be all right, sir. She’s young, and strong. She’ll survive. See if she don’t.”
Austin nodded, then glanced back to the woman lying on the bed. He prayed she did. He didn’t know how he’d live with the guilt of one more person whose life he’d destroyed. Especially someone who had taken possession of his heart.
When the door closed behind Mrs. Pollock, he went to the small table and took a piece of paper from the top drawer. He knew what he had to do. And he had to do it before she was well enough to try to stop him.
Chapter 8
A faint rustling disturbed him during the night. At first he thought it might be noise from the inn below—until he remembered the inn had closed hours ago.
He shook himself awake and looked toward the bed. Hell!
He bolted to where she thrashed beneath the covers and pressed his forearm across her chest to hold her still. With his free hand, he rinsed a cloth in the water and wiped her face. She was burning with fever.
Damn!
“Lie still, my lady. You don’t want to undo all the doctor did.”
Her head moved from side to side. “Jonathan!”
“Jonathan’s safe. He’s asleep.”
“No! Penderly has him! He’s going to kill him!”
“Jonathan’s asleep near the hearth.”
Her head thrashed from side to side. “She warned me. He won’t let him live!”
She was delirious. She wasn’t making sense. But that wasn’t unusual once fever set. Austin gathered her closer and held her tight to keep her from tearing open the wound. She opened her eyes, but the eyes staring at him weren’t clear. They were cloudy with pain and fever.
“Help me. Please!” She grabbed his shirt in her fist. “Help me find Jonathan.”
The door opened and Austin looked over his shoulder. Mrs. Pollock rushed toward the bed. “She’s burning up,” he said.
“Ah, the poor dear. I prayed the fever wouldn’t come, but feared it would.”
The commotion in the room woke Jonathan and he let them know it. The fussing babe made Lady Fledgemont even more restless.
“He has him. Penderly has him. Find him. Please!”
Austin used both hands to anchor her down. “No, he’s right here.” He nodded to Mrs. Pollock. “Get the babe. She needs to see him.”
Mrs. Pollock picked Jonathan up and brought him to the bed. “See, my lady. Here’s the wee lad.” She held Jonathan close enough that Lady Fledgemont could see him. “He’s right here. No one has him.”
“Jonathan!”
She struggled even more and Austin motioned for Mrs. Pollock to place the babe in her arms. Lady Fledgemont’s thrashing stopped when she held him.
“I’ll get the milk I warmed earlier. The lad won’t go back to sleep until he’s eaten.” Mrs. Pollock lowered her gaze to the bed. “Will you be all right with the babe? I just need to go to the next room.”
“I’ll be fine.”
It wasn’t the babe Austin was worried about, but Lady Fledgemont. He knew from experience how quickly death could claim someone with a fever.
“Here,” Mrs. Pollock said handing him the rag toy Jonathan was so fond of. “This will occupy him until I get back.”
Austin gave Jonathan the toy and the babe stuffed it into his mouth.
For a few short minutes, Lady Fledgemont closed her eyes and seemed relaxed. Suddenly, her eyes shot open and she bolted upright with Jonathan in her arms. “We have to leave,” she said on a gasp. “He’s coming. He’s coming for the babe.”
She struggled to rise from the bed and Austin used both hands to ease her back down. “We’re safe here. No one will find us here.”
She struggled again and Austin held her quiet while he pressed cool rags to her face. “Jonathan is safe now. I’ll keep him safe.”
Her movements grew more agitated and he was afraid her thrashing might harm the baby. She whipped her head from side to side and Austin took the infant from beside her and laid him on the floor. “So much death,” she keened. “They’re all dead.”
“No one is dead.”
“Yes. Mama is,” she sobbed. “And Papa. And poor Lady Fledgemont. And the man.”
She stiffened on the bed and her fever-filled eyes opened wide. Her gaze bore into him. She lifted her hand and pulled him close to her. “I killed him,” she whispered in his ear. “He’s gone.”
Austin felt a wave of panic. “Who did you kill, Lady Fledgemont?”
“The man.” She lay quiet and stared at him with eyes he knew saw no one. “He’s where no one will find him.”
He gathered her closer. She was talking out of her head. She hadn’t killed anyone. She wasn’t capable of murder.
A heavy sheen of perspiration covered her forehead and cheeks and she pulled to remove her covers. He held her steady with one hand and rinsed a cloth in the basin of cool water. When he placed it on her face she tried to twist away from him.
“Stay still, my sweet.”
She sagged against him then closed her eyes. “All dead,” she whispered. “Poor Jonathan. All alone.”
She didn’t make sense. “Then you had better get well, my lady. Jonathan needs you. Every babe needs his mother.”
“I’m
his mother now,” she rasped. “He’s mine now.”
Austin told her how important it was for her to get well until Mrs. Pollock returned with Jonathan’s milk and a pail of fresh water. And just in time. Jonathan was crying in earnest now.
“How’s the lady doing?” Mrs. Pollock asked as she picked Jonathan up and started to feed him. The babe quieted instantly.
“She’s talking out of her head.”
Austin rinsed one cloth after another in the fresh water Mrs. Pollock brought with her and cooled Lady Fledgemont’s face and arms and chest.
“I brought extra blankets,” Mrs. Pollock said, pointing to the end of the bed. “In case you need them.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Lady Fledgemont shivered. Austin placed several covers over her trembling body but he knew they wouldn’t keep her warm. He’d experienced the same with Gabe on the way home from the Crimea. And Gabe had almost died.
Austin raced to the hearth and threw more logs on the fire. “Hold on, sweetheart. You’ll be warm soon.”
He piled more blankets over her but they did little good. He needed to get her closer to the fire.
A sturdy wooden chair sat next to the door and he moved it closer to the hearth. He walked back to the bed and as carefully as he could, he scooped her into his arms and carried her across the room. He sat in the chair and held her close. “Hold on to me, sweetheart. I’ll keep you warm.”
She tucked her head beneath his chin and nestled closer. His body reacted to her nearness with a burning heat that had nothing to do with the blazing fire in the grate. He was glad she wouldn’t remember anything from this night and wished that he would be so lucky.
“The babe is sleeping, sir,” Mrs. Pollock whispered. “I’ll lay him in his bed then go below and make a pot of willow bark tea. My mum always swore that was best for a fever.”
“Thank you,” he answered.
The door opened then closed behind Mrs. Pollock, but he couldn’t shift his gaze from the woman in his arms. She was as beautiful as Penderly had described her. She was the most remarkable woman he’d ever met. And the bravest. She’d thrown herself in front of her son to protect him. No wonder Fledgemont had given up everything to be with her. If he’d been in Fledgemont’s shoes, he’d have made the same choice.
He brushed her thick auburn hair from her forehead then cupped his palm to her cheek. Her eyes slowly opened and she looked at him. “Stay with me, Lady Fledgemont,” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Her head moved from side to side. “Too late,” she whispered in a raspy voice. “Dead.” Her eyes drifted shut again but she wasn’t asleep. Neither was she awake. “Poor lady,” she murmured. “She’s dead.”
“No,” Austin argued, brushing the hair from her face. “You’re not dead. You’re alive and you’re going to stay alive to raise your son.”
There was a noise at the door and Mrs. Pollock returned. “Here’s the tea. See if you can’t get the lady to drink some.” She set a cup on the table nearby. “I’ll sleep in the room next to you. That way I’ll hear the babe if he wakes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pollock.”
“Not at all, Captain. Call if you need something.”
“I will.”
She walked to the door and opened it, then stopped. “If the lady lives,” she said before she left, “she’ll have you to thank, Captain.”
He looked over his shoulder to where the innkeeper’s wife stood in the doorway. “She’ll live,” he said, willing his words to become a reality.
“Yes, Captain. She will.”
…
For the next two days she alternated between a raging fever and shivering chills. He did everything he could but nothing seemed to help. He lowered her almost-naked body into cold water when she burned with fever, and covered her with a mountain of quilts when she trembled with chills.
Through it all, Maude cared for the babe. The woman worked tirelessly. Only when Jonathan slept did she sit for a few moments before she went below to bring up a tray with food for him to eat and to brew some of her special herb tea for Lady Fledgemont. But Austin couldn’t eat.
He hadn’t felt this helpless since he’d struggled to keep Gabe alive. The signs were the same. The fear he experienced was as terrifying.
Every time Lady Fledgemont fell into unconsciousness, he feared she wouldn’t wake up. Every time her breathing became shallow, he listened to make sure it hadn’t stopped. Every time she took a gulping gasp, he feared it would be her last.
He spent endless hours at her bedside holding her hand, rubbing slow, lazy circles against her flesh with his thumb. Once or twice, he thought she squeezed his fingers in response, but he wasn’t certain. As long as her hand remained warm in his, he knew she was still alive.
Late on the second day, he convinced himself the chills and fever were positive signs. As long as she trembled from the cold and thrashed from the heat, she was fighting to stay alive.
“Do you need anything else before I turn in?” Mrs. Pollock asked when she came to check on Jonathan a final time.
“No, you’ve done enough today. Get some sleep. I’ll take care of the babe if he wakes during the night.”
The innkeeper’s wife placed a steaming mug of tea on the bedside table and added a generous amount of whiskey to the cup. “Drink this before it gets cool. You need it.”
Austin smiled at her.
She gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. “You’re a rare one, Captain Landwell. It’s not every man who would care for someone the way you’ve cared for the lady.”
“That doesn’t make me special.”
“Oh, that makes you very special, indeed.” She walked to the door, but stopped before she left the room. “Or, perhaps it’s the lady who’s special. And you’re wise enough to realize it.”
She was gone before he could tell her that she misunderstood. That there wasn’t room in his life for anyone special. Especially this woman. Once he proved Penderly wasn’t behind the attempts to kill Jonathan, she’d hate him.
He leaned back in the chair and took a long swallow of the whiskey-laced tea. The scalding liquid burned as it slid down this throat and spread molten warmth through his chest. A calm settled over him, a growing resolve to do the only thing he could—no matter the outcome.
In a way, Maude was right. Lady Fledgemont was special—very special. But he would never admit it to anyone. Especially to himself. And never to her.
He finished the tea before it cooled, then slid his chair closer to the bed. With his fingers twined with hers, he lowered his head to the mattress and closed his eyes. He prayed that she would get better soon because she was getting weaker by the hour. If the fever didn’t break soon, he was afraid he’d lose her.
…
Sarah tried to swallow but her throat was so parched she couldn’t manage. She desperately wanted something to drink, desperately wanted to cool the fire raging inside her.
She tried to open her eyes, but the first few times she made the attempt, nothing happened. What was wrong with her?
Visions of something she knew she’d eventually have to remember tried to surface, but the painful memories seemed blocked. She sank back against the covers and let her mind absorb her surroundings. She was still at the inn where she’d stopped with Jonathan.
Jonathan!
Her eyes opened wide and she turned her gaze to the basket where he slept. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was still there, sleeping soundly.
She tried to move, but spikes of pain shot through her shoulder. She sank back into the bed and lay still.
Her shoulder was bandaged and her arm was tied to her body. Her other arm was free, but her fingers were…
She focused on her hand. Austin Landwell’s large hand lay beside hers, his fingers clasping hers. She suddenly felt very…safe.
His chair was close to the bed and his head rested on the quilt near her. Sleeping in that position must be terribly uncomfortable, but comfor
t probably wasn’t overly important to a man like him. He’d survived the war, and if even half of what she’d heard about conditions in the Crimea was true, he’d endured nights far more hellish and far less comfortable than this.
He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a long time. She wondered how long.
A lamp burned on the table beside the bed, lighting the room just enough for shadows to dance against the ceiling and walls. It was still dark, yet whether it was evening or the middle of the night she didn’t know. The lamp, however, made it light enough in the room to see his features.
He was so unbelievably handsome. Even though his dark blond hair was mussed and his face was covered with heavy stubble, his sharply chiseled features caused a stirring of emotions she wasn’t used to battling.
This wasn’t the first time being near him had affected her like this. No matter how hard she fought it, she constantly experienced the same attraction. What was wrong with her? Her father had often entertained men from the parish. More than one had even offered to marry her. But the thought of spending her life with any of them hadn’t interested her in the least. She thought, however, she would be married by now if any of them had caused her heart to race like this man did.
She was embarrassed by such brazen thoughts and reprimanded herself for indulging in foolish thinking. But issuing the order didn’t stop her imagination from working. She kept her gaze locked on him and studied everything about him more closely.
Her fingers ached to touch his hair, to brush the heavy strands from his forehead. She wanted to cup her palm against his cheek and feel the bristly stubble. She should be embarrassed that her mind had taken her down such a path, but suddenly, wanting to know everything about him seemed the most natural thing in the world.