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

A face appeared, a pale and lovely face with green eyes and the fairest hair she could ever remember seeing.

“Angel…” she mumbled, the word barely intelligible.

A light laugh answered her. “No, my Lady. My name may be Gabriel, but I can assure you I’m no angel.”

She tried to smile back, but it was an effort. Too much of an effort.

“Here. Just a little more water and then you must sleep.”

Eagerly now, she drank, more sips of the honeyed liquid. A small draught of something less sweet followed it, but she swallowed it, grateful for anything that soothed her throat.

“There you are, my dear. A tiny touch of willow bark for that fever of yours, and a good rest—you’ll be better in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Comforted by those familiar words, Gwyneth surrendered once again to the warmth and delicious softness of her surroundings, dozing off once more.

The next time she awoke, it was to a different voice.

“Good afternoon, Lady Gwyneth,” said a man next to the bed. “I am going to look at your foot in a moment or so, but it’s time for more water…”

He leaned over to raise her up and she smelled leather, sandalwood or something, damp wool and…and man.

Opening her eyes, and again fighting for focus, she saw a fair-haired man watching her, his face calm but expressionless. “Hullo. My name is Royce. You’ve been quite ill, and we’re helping you get better.”

“Yes,” she croaked.

“An excellent beginning.” He walked to the end of the bed. “You had a…a wound on your foot. I am going to see how it’s healing.”

Without waiting for any acknowledgement, he raised the linens and she felt cool air hit her legs and feet. She shivered.

“It’s all right. You’ve had a bad fever and have been suffering from malnutrition. It will take time to build your strength back to where it should be.”

He was bending over her limbs as he spoke, and his fingers were gentle as he unwound a bandage she didn’t know she had.

“I’m going to touch your foot…if you can tell me whether there is pain? Just nod or grunt or something…”

To her surprise, she felt a laugh deep inside, though still too weak to voice it.

His hands were firm but kind, there was no pinching or rough treatment; he handled her skin with what she considered respect and caution.

There was also no pain.

“Well, that is excellent. A clean wound, no signs of infection and it would seem that the healing may have started, since there is no bleeding at all.” He reached to the side. “I will put the bandage back on, and I have some ointment here that I’m told is exceptional for this sort of thing.”

She drifted a little as he spoke. It was all so…so ordinary.

“I got this from a lady named Mrs Barnsley. She came by this morning, since she’d heard of your arrival. Not much gets past her, that’s for sure. But it was nice of her to bring this little pot with her. Just the ticket for that foot of yours.”

He talked to her in a voice that soothed, eased and comforted her. No silly endearments or patronising tones, simply matter-of-fact statements and natural conversation.

“Where am I?” The words were croaky whispers.

He glanced up quickly as he tied off the bandage. “Well done, my Lady. A question. And I’ll wager that’s the first you’ve asked in quite a long time.” He covered her feet again and tucked the linens around her, making sure she was warm. “You’re at Wolfbridge Manor. And that probably means nothing to you at all. But for now, please know that we are all working to get you back to health. There’s naught else you need concern yourself with at the present.”

He walked to her side. “More water?”

She nodded. “Please.” The words were there, and with her throat and mouth now softened by the water, it was easier to speak.

She drank, this time aware of the honey that helped so much. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper as he removed the cup.

He placed his hand on her forehead, and she closed her eyes, comforted by the touch of another’s warm palm.

“Good. I think your fever is abating, so I’ll let you sleep a bit now. Perhaps more willow bark tonight, but at the moment you’ll doing just fine.” He gave her a few more sips of water.

“Please…” She turned to him as he removed the cup. “R-R-Royce?”

“Yes,” he looked at her calmly.

“Am I dead?”

He shook his head, his eyes oddly sympathetic, blue pools that sparkled a little with what she thought might be unshed tears. “No, Lady Gwyneth. It was close, but no. You are not in the least bit dead. What happened to you was the most inexcusable crime, but you have a fighting spirit, one would guess. You have survived. You are alive. And in time, you will be well.”

She sighed then, feeling so much of her fears leave her body with her breath. “Thank you.”

“Sleep now,” he commanded.

She obeyed.

Chapter Ten

“Damn it to hell and back.” Royce cursed as he flipped papers on his desk. “I know I saw that bill…where the fuck did I put it?”

Jeremy remained unmoved. “Problems?”

Royce shot him a look that should have fried him on the spot. “Yes, problems. I’m dealing with someone else’s organisation. Everyone does things differently and I can’t find what I’m looking for. The bill for the hay. January’s bill I think.”

Jeremy glanced over the papers, leaned in and pulled one free. “Would this be it?”

Royce sighed.

“Good.” Jeremy nodded. “Now I’m not here to help you find things, and neither is Giles. We want to know what you might need, other than assistance with the