Page 32 of Wild Hearts

CHAPTER 7

It was broad daylight by the time Tabrizia awoke. She stayed put for a while, but it grew uncomfortable when she couldn't roll over onto her back, so she gingerly slipped from the bed and tried walking a few steps. She was sore, but it could be borne, she decided. She unlaced the black corselet, now quite repugnant to her, and stripped off the black stockings. She bathed her wound gently, winced as she patted it dry with a soft towel and pulled on a pair of cotton bloomers.

Mrs. Hall came in quietly with a tray of breakfast. "Tsk, tsk, lassie, the whole castle is abuzz with tales of yer behavior." She put down the tray and opened the wardrobe. "Here's yer petticoat. Sit down, lass, and eat while I pick out a pretty frock for ye."

"I'll stand, thank you, Mrs. Hall." Her eyes brimmed with tears as she moved carefully about the room.

"Whatever must his lordship think of ye?"

Tabrizia blushed hotly. "I'll never speak to his lordship again as long as I live!" she vowed. "In fact, I'll avoid all the Cockburns today, thank you. I will visit Anne; there's sure to be no Cockburns within a mile of her."

"Watch out for that Mrs. Sinclair, I dinna trust the woman," warned Mrs. Hall.

"I don't care for her myself, but she is Anne's creature— obeys her like a dog. I don't think I need fear her."

Anne was in a pristine white night rail with silver ribbons. The pale hair glowed with a halo effect, making her look like a madonna. A box of chocolates lay open on the bed, which she graciously offered to her guest. Tabrizia popped one into her mouth and reached for another. You look very serene today," complimented Tabrizia.

"While you look agitated," said Anne with a smooth malice in her tone. "Is my husband disturbing you with his advances, I wonder? The man probably desires you because you are so like his sisters. Incest is not unheard of in these parts, you know."

Tabrizia was horrified at her words.

Anne's laughter tinkled out. "There, my dear, I've shocked you! Pay no attention to me. Lying here all day gives me an acid disposition. Sinclair, bring the paintings," she ordered, and insisted Tabrizia have another chocolate.

Tabrizia was surprised to see that the portrait was finished. It was lovely to look at. Anne had painted her without flaws. As a matter of fact, Tabrizia thought it flattered a little too much. The portrait was beautiful, with almost saintly overtones.

Tabrizia picked up the portrait to admire it. On impulse she turned it over, and there, to her horror, was a very different portrait. It was Tabrizia in death. Her neck had a knotted cord about it, choking until the eyes had popped out of their sockets. The mouth was open in a gaping scream. She swiftly laid the canvas on the bed and without a word, walked quietly from the room.

Harvest time was a great festive occasion, and it was almost upon them. It was an old tradition for the castle to feed everyone who lived on Cockburn land, including all the sheep crofters and the people from the villages. The younger Cockburns were busy the whole afternoon practicing country dances for the festival and never noticed that Tabby wasn't around.

When Paris sat down at the evening meal, his first question was, "Where is Tabrizia?"

When they couldn't tell him, he immediately left the table and went in search of her. He found her huddled on the staircase that led from his bedchamber up to her own. She gripped her middle tightly, her lips gone white with pain.

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed.

She shook her head in misery, unable to put her agony into words.

He lifted her gently and took her up to her bed. The moment he laid her down, she moaned and began to vomit. She hung over the edge of the bed, helplessly retching. In an instant he was holding her One arm held her gently, while the other held her stomach rigid, and miraculously it stopped trying to turn itself inside out. He soothingly massaged her knotted stomach muscles until they began to relax. Ordinarily, she would have been mortified to have him see her vomit, but she felt so ill, she was pitiably grateful for his care.

Paris was worried. She was only slightly better in spite of disgorging what had made her sick. He felt her head to see if she was fevered, but if anything, her skin had a cold, clammy feeling. Her ghostly pallor was alarming. "Are you feeling any better at all?" he queried.

She nodded mutely.

He brought water and towels and, with tender hands, washed the nastiness from her. Then he bent and efficiently cleaned up the mess she had made on the floor. He slipped off her shoes and urged her beneath the warm covers. He sat on the bed and waited a few moments until she seemed more settled, then he began to question her. "What did you eat today?"

"At breakfast I had only what your sisters had, and they took no harm," she said slowly.

"What about lunchtime?" he persisted.

She shook her head. "I took no lunch. I wasn't hungry after I visited Anne."

"Anne? You went up to Anne's chamber?" demanded Paris.

"Yes," faltered Tabrizia, "she had been painting my portrait."

"Did you eat any of Anne's chocolates?" he demanded.

"Yes." She raised wide eyes to his.

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