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

There were more hands, and more warmth, but she stayed so very very cold, as if her bones were made of ice. So why was she burning up? What was happening to her?

Stroking. Something was stroking her, something soft and warm and—wet? She smelled something bad and wanted to vomit but her body couldn’t, there was nothing there. Soft whispers sounded in her ears, words she could not understand, but in a tone of voice that promised comfort and ease.

She was dying, she knew. Perhaps she was already dead, and these hands were cleansing her body. She would be buried clean, ready to face her Lord as best she could.

Her teeth chattered, the chill still lingering, the cold everywhere. But…she was lying on softness and surrounded by light…she wished she could open her eyes, but was too weak and too afraid to try. The murmur of voices around her let her know she was no longer alone, but she knew none of them.

Fear shook her, and she trembled, aching still, every move seemed like too much effort…too much pain to resist. She would succumb. Sleep. It was the only way to escape the bleak hopelessness.

“Die,” she managed, through cracked lips. “Let me die.”

She was lifted, raised a little and a cool touch on those lips made her open her mouth.

Water. Sweet water.

The pain in her mouth as the sweetness pierced her cheeks—the smooth warm water swilled around to soften the dryness, making her want to swallow.

“Drink, my dear, drink…”

The voice encouraged her, and she obeyed, a tiny drop at first, then more following, tracing its way down to a body starved of food and water for too long…

“Enough for now. You shall have more in a little while.”

Whispers, just whispers, but they managed to break into her mind, to force their way past the barriers she’d created as she faced her death.

Lying back against softness, she felt again the delicious warmth of hot cloths stroking her body. The scent…oh what was that wonderful scent…roses, she recognised the rich fragrance. Perhaps Heaven was a rose garden after all.

Dry now, smooth and clean for a change, comfortable…and warm. She shivered a little, still blurry in her thoughts, still believing she was about to die.

But she was beneath thick covers, scented with roses. If death was her destination, then she would go to face it as bravely as she could.

“She’ll do for now,” a voice spoke somewhere near her. “Sleep, a little more honey water if she wakes, and we’ll see how she does.”

“The fever?” Another voice.

“It might be just the lack of food. Starvation can cause it. She has no injuries other than those you’d expect. I’ve cleaned and wrapped that bite on her foot, and it’s a worry, but it’s not infected and I suspect barely a day old.”

“So it’s wait and see then?” One more voice.

“It is.” The speaker came closer. “You will not leave us, my Lady. You are not allowed to die. We need you, do you hear me?”

She turned her head a little and tried to open her eyes.

But she could not summon enough energy. Sleep was toying with her, or perhaps it was the ultimate rest claiming her. She didn’t know, but there was no fight left in her to postpone the inevitable.

As she slipped into the oblivion, one vague thought danced through her confusion.

All the voices were male…

*~~*~~*

Giles was embarrassed that he’d slept the entire night. He should have risen after a restorative nap and gone to check on Gabriel and on Lady Gwyneth.

Even though Gabriel had been up and around the evening before, and had found the Rose room with no problems, Giles still wanted to talk to him, and the others, before deciding what to do with him. And there was the matter of what, if any, connections to Wolfbridge he had.

All these matters jostled for precedence in his head as he walked in to breakfast.

“Evan, you are a man of great brilliance in the kitchen,” he said, walking to the sideboard. “You also read minds. I awoke with a craving for fresh bread.” He helped himself to several slices of the loaf that sat, still warm, next to the other dishes.

“Years of experience, Giles,” grinned Evan, who was taking the covers off the other plates. “How are you this morning? If you’ll forgive the expression, you looked absolutely knackered last night.”

Giles chuckled. “Pithy, but apt.” He went to the table and took a seat. “Jeremy and Royce about yet?”

“Royce popped down to the stables; he likes horses, so he’s helping out if the weather’s bad. Jeremy’s up…”

“And ready for food,” said the man himself as he walked in. “Good morning, Giles. I trust you slept well.”

“Like the proverbial log,” he replied. “I hope you all will forgive my absence. I should have been there when you tended to Lady Gwyneth.”

Royce strolled in, his cheeks flushed with cold, his hair ruffled. “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” he commented. “We could have summoned an entire battalion into that room and she wouldn’t have known.”

Giles sighed. “All right, well, since you’re here, sit all of you, please. I must know how she is.”

Evan nodded. “I sat with her for the first half of the night. She barely moved. There were a few groans, she seemed to approach consciousness just before midnight, so I gave her a few sips more of the honey water.”

Royce sat down with a full plate. “That’s the ticket. Her body is going to take some time to build its strength back up. We can’t give her solid food right now. It would damn near kill her. So honey water, sugar water…get that into her and help her body