Scandal's Bride (42 page)

Catriona slept deeply into the afternoon; she awoke, still worried, but even more determimed to haul her weakened spouse back to this world—and his rightful place at her side.

“He's been unconscious for too long,” she declared, pacing once more by his bedside, her gaze on his sleeping face. “We need to do something to rouse him.”

“What?” was Devil's only question.

She was about to admit that she didn't know, when a flicker of an eyelid stopped her. She stared at Richard's face, then rushed to the bed. “Richard?”

Another definite flicker—he was trying to respond, but couldn't lift his lids.

Devil, close beside her, placed a hand on her arm when she would have spoken again. “Richard,” he said, his tone a warning, “
Maman
's coming!”

Richard's reaction was clearly visible. He tried desperately to open his eyes, but couldn't. A frown creased his brow, then slowly eased as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

“We can walk him!” Fired anew, Catriona dragged back the covers. “If he can respond, then forcing him to use his muscles will help work the poison from his system.”

Devil helped her haul Richard to his feet, but Richard was still too incapable to support his own weight; while Devil could hold him upright, he couldn't make him walk. When Catriona tried to slide under Richard's other arm and help, Devil pulled a lock of her hair. “No!” He frowned at her. “Get Henderson.”

There was enough implacability in his face to make her heave an exasperated sigh and run from the room.

Henderson came quickly. With him under one of Richard's arms and Devil under the other, they started walking Richard up and down the room. At first, it was no more than a dragging stagger, as one foot dragged, then fell in front of the other. They walked him for ten minutes, then rested, then tried again. And won a fraction more response from Richard. Heartened, they kept up the treatment, walking, resting, then walking again.

Noticing a flicker of Richard's lashes when she spoke to Henderson, Catriona spoke directly to Richard, exhorting him to greater efforts. But, after a time, he only shook his head irritatedly and became even less cooperative.

“Enough.” Devil steered their burden to the bed. “Let's have dinner, then we'll try again.”

They did, with greater response but even less cooperation. Richard wanted to be left in peace. He didn't say so, but his meaning was quite clear; he became increasingly difficult to manage, swearing in inventive mumbles at his tormentors.

But he walked—back and forth with increasing control over his limbs. When, all but exhausted himself, Devil called a halt and let Richard fall back across the bed, he had regained enough muscle control to grope blindly back onto the pillows and snuggle down.

Smiling for the first time in five days, Catriona drew up the covers and tucked him in.

As she straightened, Devil draped a brotherly arm about her shoulders and gave her a hug. “If he can remember all those French curses, he'll be back with us soon.”

Catriona's smile wavered; she grasped Devil's hand and squeezed. “Thank you.”

He grinned and flicked her cheek. “No need. He's mine, too, you know.” With that enigmatic comment, he led her to the door. “Honoria's already asleep—she said she'd watch through the small hours. I'll stay here now and wake her about midnight. You can get some sleep, then you can relieve her in the morning.”

Catriona hesitated. “Are you sure—”

“Positive.” Devil held the door and elegantly waved her through. “I'll see you in the morning.”

He did—early in the morning. When Catriona returned to the turret room to relieve Honoria a good hour before dawn, she found, not Honoria, but Devil yawning over a game of Patience set out on the covers beside Richard, still comatose.

Catriona stared at Devil. “What happened to Honoria?”

Devil looked up at her, then squinted at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Good heavens! Is that the time?” He grinned engagingly, but undeniably wearily, up at her. “It seems I forgot to summon my dear wife. Never mind.” He stood and stretched. “I'll go and wake her now.”

He looked down at Richard. “Time flies when one's having fun, but he never was much of a conversationalist.”

With a last, weary smile, he left her.

Shaking her head resignedly, Catriona tugged the armchair into place so, sunk in its comfort, she could see Richard's face. His beard had grown, concealing the gauntness of his cheeks; he looked more than faintly disreputable, slumped almost face down in the bed with his hair falling over his forehead and his arms flung out.

Catriona smiled and pulled her workbasket to her side. They would walk him again after breakfast; she'd ring for Worboys to relieve her, then go and summon Henderson and Irons. With their help, perhaps she could get Richard to throw off the lingering effects of the wolfsbane today.

Looking up at him, she listened to his breathing, steady and even, as familiar as her own. Reassured, she picked up her needle and settled to darn.

* * *

Head bent, Catriona was plying her needle in the chair beside the bed when Richard finally managed to lever up his lids. Quite why they'd been so unconscionably heavy he couldn't understand, but, at long last, they'd done what he wanted of them and opened.

The sight of his witchy wife in a pose of sweet domesticity was undeniably pleasant; he drank it in, let it soothe away the last of the panic that had gripped him when he'd drifted in the grey cold and wondered if he would die. He hadn't wanted to die, but he'd been so cold, so weak, he hadn't felt able to cling to life.

But then she'd come, slipping her warm hand in his and leading him back, out of the grey cold and into the warm darkness of their bed. She hadn't wanted him to die either—she hadn't let him go, she'd helped him cling, helped him stay. Helped him live.

He was still here, with her; looking further, he confirmed that he was in their bed, and that morning light was seeping through the curtains. He drew in a deep breath, and brought his gaze back to her well-beloved face—and noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes. In that instant, she yawned, lifting a hand to smother it, then she blinked her eyes wide and refocused on her darning.

Richard frowned; his witchy wife was undeniably pale, undeniably drawn. She didn't, now he looked more closely, look all that well.

His frown deepened.

Catriona felt it and looked up; startled, the first thing she saw was the blue of his eyes. Her heart soared, only to plummet a second later. He was frowning direfully. At her. He opened his lips—she stayed him with a raised hand. “No! Let me speak first. No matter what you think, I did
not
poison you.”

He blinked, but his frown returned immediately. He opened his lips again—

“I realize you might have jumped to that conclusion, and I can see why you might, but you're wrong. It's absolutely ridiculous to imagine that after all you've done for me and the vale, all that's passed between us, that I would suddenly turn around and poison you. If you really think that—”

“I
don't!
”

Catriona blinked and discovered Richard was no longer frowning at her—he was glowering at her.

“Of course, I don't think you poisoned me!” His gaze raked her, then returned to her face; his glower turned black. “What nonsensical notion have you been worrying yourself with?”

When she didn't answer, he swore. “I'd heard women got silly ideas when pregnant, but that takes the prize.” He looked at her more closely—then swore again. “Is that what you've been worrying yourself sick over? That I'd be fool enough to think it was you?”

Dazedly, somewhat warily, Catriona nodded. Which brought forth another round of curses.

“What a stupid, foolish notion—”

“Why did you send for your brother, then?”

“So he'd be here to protect
you
if I wasn't about to do it, of course!
Lord—!

” Running out of curses, he leaned forward, grabbed her hand and hauled her onto the bed. Pins, needle and mending went flying. Catriona gasped as she landed amid the covers.

Before she could react, he'd framed her face and was studying it closely.

“You haven't been taking care of yourself—”

“
You
were the one poisoned—” She struggled to get free, to sit up; even in his weakened state, he held her easily.

“We'll sort that out later. You obviously haven't been getting enough sleep. Pregnant women are supposed to sleep more—I would have thought you'd know that. You've staff and helpers about you . . .” He broke off, then looked into her eyes. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“
Five days,
” Catriona informed him.

“Five
days?
” Richard stared at her, then his gaze softened and dropped to her lips . . . “No wonder I'm so hungry.”

This time, Catriona knew precisely which appetite he was referring to. She opened her lips—but didn't manage to say a word.

He kissed her, gently, tenderly, then with gathering rapaciousness. Catriona felt the covers about her slide, felt the pillows shift, felt his hand slide up her leg to her garter, then stroke the soft skin above. He leaned into her, pressing her deeper into the soft mattress; she clung to the moment, savored it briefly, then thumped him on the shoulder. Hard.

He shifted slightly—she managed to drag her lips free and gasp: “
Richard!
You're not strong enough!”

He raised his head and looked down at her—as if what she'd just said was utterly impossible—then he hesitated, considered, then groaned, grimaced, closed his eyes, and rolled off her.

“Unfortunately, much as it pains me to admit it, I think you might be right.”

“Of course, I'm right!” Struggling up on one elbow, Catriona tugged the covers back over him. “You've been at death's door—literally!—for five days. You're not simply going to open your eyes and”—she gestured wildly—“get right back into things.”

He caught her eye and waggled his brows at her; ignoring her blush, she humphed. “You just stay there and rest.” She went to slide away, to back off the bed, but his arm, around her, didn't give. She looked at his face.

“I'll stay here,” he said, gently, reasonably, “provided you stay with me.” Catriona frowned; inexorably, he drew her closer. “You need to rest, too.” Drawing her down, back into his arms, he settled her head on his shoulder, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Just let me hold you while you sleep.”

He did. Swamped by relief so deep it shook her, touched that his last conscious thoughts, and now his first, had been for her, wrapped in his arms, with him safe beside her, Catriona slept.

“I
am
not an invalid!” Richard eyed the mushy food on the tray balanced across his thighs with disgust.

“You are,” Catriona declared. “And Cook made that especially for you—she's an expert at building people up.”

“I don't need building up.” His expression mutinous, Richard poked at the greyish mass with his fork. “I need letting up.”

“I think you'll find you're mistaken.”

Richard looked up. “Honoria!” His sister-in-law swept in, clearly intending to lend Catriona her support; Richard glanced back at the doorway, and to his relief saw the shadow he wanted darkening the door. “Thank God—come in commonsense.”

Brows rising, Devil strolled in. “I don't know that I've ever been called ‘common' before.” He grinned. “You need a shave.”

“Never mind that—have you seen what they're feeding me?” Devil looked. “Better you than me, brother mine.”

“You have to save me.” Richard pointed to the mushy mass. “You can't leave me to this fate.”

Straightening, Devil looked across the bed—at Catriona, staring mulishly, arms folded; at his wife, her expression implacable, her fine eyes on him. “Hmm—actually, in this case, I think I must defer to higher authority.”

Richard stared at him. “You've never done that before.”

“Ah—but you weren't married before.” Strolling around the bed, Devil collected Honoria in one arm and turned toward the door. Looking back, he added, “And neither was I. I'll come back after lunch.” Richard glared at the empty doorway, flicked a glance at Catriona, then looked down at the mush on his plate. He scooped up a forkful and ate. Swallowing, he frowned at his wife. “I'm only doing this for you, you know.”

“Good.” Some moments later, she added: “All of it.”

Richard complied. Aside from anything else, the food tasted a lot better than it looked—and he was hungry enough to eat a horse.

Both Devil and Honoria returned after lunch, after he'd cleared the tray and Catriona had taken it away.