The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2), Sahara Kelly [best thriller novels to read txt] 📗

Evan’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “It’ll be ready.” He spun around and rushed back into the Manor.

“Trouble?” Royce reached them.

“She’s barely alive,” grunted Giles, reaching in for his small burden. “I can’t begin to describe where I found her. Just…” he looked at the blankets. “Burn everything. Including what she’s wrapped in now.”

Royce sighed. “I know the procedure.”

Jeremy’s face reflected his shock. “What the…it must have been bad,” he said, helping Giles.

“Yes, it was. Let me take her inside, then we’ll strip her down to her skin and clear it all out of the house.”

The coach was emptied and sent on its way, and the sound of the door closing behind him reassured Giles. He almost staggered with relief.

“Give her to me. You’re half-dead.” Royce peeled the fur away from the woman and lifted her from Giles’s arms. He looked at Jeremy. “She has a room? The big one upstairs?”

“Should we take her there now? Or get her clean somewhere else before putting her to bed?” Jeremy carefully booted the fur out of the way.

“She’s unconscious. I think she has a fever, and she has been starving for a few weeks.”

That statement brought the two other men to a standstill as they stared at Giles.

“Yes, starving. Strip her here. She won’t know and we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. I couldn’t do it when I found her, it was too cold and she was too ill. She’s no better now, but at least it’s warm and with luck, Royce, you can determine how best to proceed.”

He nodded, and watched as Jeremy cautiously unwrapped the robe and the other blankets, finally exposing her white skin.

And it was white. Blue white, her veins making soft trails beneath the pale surface. Her wrist bones were prominent, her breathing shallow.

She had barely any breasts to speak of, and the hollows next to her hipbones spoke of more than a few weeks of hunger.

She was, almost literally, skin and bone.

“God in Heaven,” swore Jeremy. “How could this happen?”

“I’ve seen this before. In France we’d run across villages that had no food. Napoleon raped the countryside, taking crops, horses, killing cows for meat, leaving nothing for the people.” Royce’s jaw firmed. “She’s been starving. But I hope we can catch it before her body gives up.” He glanced at Giles. “You cut her hair?”

“I had to. There were…things…”

Jeremy shuddered. “Let me take her, Royce. You should perhaps get bandages or something. In case she has wounds…”

“She wasn’t at war, Jeremy, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” agreed Royce, passing the naked woman over.

Evan appeared as they started up the stairs. “I have two buckets here and two more going.” He froze. “Oh God. Is she alive?”

“Barely,” answered Giles. “Go with them. We can’t put her in a bath, she’d drown or die of shock. Let’s wash her as best we can for now. And then we have to decide how to go on.”

He let the men take her, since he was weary to the bone. Using an old walking stick he pushed all her wrappings out of the front door. At this point he didn’t really care to deal with any of it…it wouldn’t be a problem overnight in the snow.

There was much to do, much to tell, and he wanted to know how Gabriel was doing. But exhaustion swept over him as he shut the door and he leaned against it for a moment or two.

“Mr Giles?”

He opened his eyes, finding Gabriel standing in front of him, wrapped in a thick woollen robe.

“Are you all right, sir?” The voice was low and hesitant.

“Hullo Gabriel. I’m glad to see you up and about.”

“Well, up at least,” Gabriel’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I’m sore as can be, and my bruises are rather unpleasant, but everyone has taken excellent care of me.” He dipped his head. “And I know I have you to thank for that.”

“Hush, lad. ’Tis good you are healing. But at the moment we have a greater problem.”

Gabriel nodded. “I saw her—they’re putting her in her room now. The poor thing.” He shook his head. “But she’ll be cared for. I’m thinking you, sir, would be best served by a night’s rest.” He tipped his head to one side and peeped at Giles. “And mayhap a brandy beforehand?”

Giles sighed, long and deep. “I think you have the right of it, Gabriel.” He straightened. “If you would bring the decanter from the Rose room to my chamber, I’d appreciate it. And also let the others know I’ll sleep for a while. They’re to clean her and see if she needs a doctor, then let her be. A night’s rest in a clean bed with a clean body and warm linens should help, if she’s not seriously ill.”

“’Tis as good as done, sir.”

“I’m not a sir, Gabriel. I’m just Giles.”

“As you say, sir.” Gabriel turned away. “I’ll have the brandy to you in a trice. As soon as I find the Rose room.”

Giles chuckled and shook his head tiredly. The lad might as well learn the lay of the land. He could end up as a Wolfbridge man yet.

There were so many things Giles had yet to do. But at the moment, the only thing he could think of was a glass of brandy and his own bed. His body was betraying him; no longer could he go for so long without sleep. Angry at himself, but too tired to fight it, he surrendered and climbed the stairs.

*~~*~~*

Heat.

Warmth.

Something was touching her, something warm. But she was cold. So cold. She shivered violently, unable to stop the shudders.

Hands touched her and she wanted to scream, to cry