Page 53 of Tamed for Her Pleasure

Yet more guards arrive at the door to assist in holding the man. Food is scooped up in a spoon from the mess on the floor. The man is held. A spoonful is forced into his mouth before they clamp his jaw shut and pinch his nose. He thrashes and fights, but all too soon, he swallows.

The doctor approaches the food, lifts a broken plate towards his nose, and sniffs lightly. “It has no odor that I can tell. But if it is what I think it is, it will work swiftly.”

The captured man is wide-eyed. He begins to sweat, shakes his head, and tries to pull away again.

They hold him fast.

And then he coughs. And coughs. And blood and spittle leak out the corner of his mouth.

“My father will see him hanged,” Penelope hisses. “Find out who he works for.”

“You will not have much time with him,” the doctor says, rising. “Alfred’s strong constitution is likely the only reason he is still alive.”

“Take him from my sight,” Penelope commands. “And inform my father.”

The man is dragged from the room, and Penelope rushes to my side. She rests her palm against my forehead. “Settle yourself, please. You are making yourself cough.”

Her frantic eyes shift to the doctor who has joined us at the bed. “What can we do?”

He shakes his head, expression grave. “Very little, my lady. There is no known antidote. The best we can do that can ease the symptoms. But his body needs to fight it on its own.”

Tears begin to trickle down her face. There are many ways a man might consider himself to die. Being poisoned was never one.

Her hand is soft and gentle in mine. The doctor rummages in a bag. My chest feels like somebody is poking it with a hot knife.

The doctor produces a small dark vial. “This will help with some of the pain.”

I shake my head and grunt.

“Please, Alfred,” she says, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. “Let him help you. I trust him with my life. He tended my mother when I was born. He will give you naught that harms you. Nobody shall. Even if I have to taste the food myself before you eat it.”

I growl at the mere thought of her taking poison in my stead. But I relent on whatever the doctor might give me that might ease some of this fiery pain.

It is hard to swallow it down. It feels like syrup with a strange bitter undertone. I cough. A fresh cloth is presented to me. My eyes grow heavy. Fuck. I am not ready to die.

Penelope

Alfred falls into restless delirium.

My father arrives flanked by his loyal guards, his countenance a mix of worry and seriousness.

“The man who disguised himself as a servant has met his end. He divulged no information about his accomplice.” My father, his voice laced with concern, moves closer to me and, bending down, plants a gentle kiss on my forehead.

My cheeks are damp with the endless tears that fall.

“I love him,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. “I knew it from the first moment I met him and when he brought you to me. And that he was just as in love with you.”

Another sob breaks from my chest. The servants are ordered from the room, although the doctor remains vigilant. My father sits beside me and holds me, even as I hold my beloved Alfred’s hand.

“He is stable,” the doctor says. “His pulse is slow but steady, and his breathing is steady, too. We can do no more but let it run its course.”

“I need to know who did this,” I say.

“Indeed,” my father agrees. “I have an idea. One that is not without its risks. Given those risks pertain to you, I am reluctant to take such an approach.”

I would take any risk for Alfred to see the culprit brought to swift justice. “Tell me,” I demand.

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