Page 38 of Black and Silver

Minerva seemed to feel it as well. Her eyes went suddenly wide, and the movement of her tongue across the sensitive underside of his finger slowed to something sensual. He couldfeel that, given different circumstances, she would be quite adept at that particular form of pleasure.

The moment was fleeting, however. As soon as Minerva swallowed, her face pinched with pain once more.

“Perhaps I should lie down,” she panted once she released Lawrence’s finger.

“Yes, I believe you should,” Lawrence said, standing and returning the honey pot to the counter.

He came back to Minerva and lifted her into his arms. This time, she made no attempt to push him away or protest. Lawrence was able to carry her into the bedroom, unwind the quilt from her still hot, shivering body, and to tuck her properly between the sheets. He spread the quilt atop her as she sighed out and closed her eyes, then he searched the chest at the end of the bed, thankful to find more blankets there to cover her with.

When all that was done, he stood back, leaning against the doorframe, and simply watched her as she drifted off to sleep. He had never known the fear of watching someone he loved so much fall so ill so quickly. His mind danced with images of Minerva dying, as she’d insisted she would. She might fly off to her heavenly Sweden, but he would sink deep into the hell of Wessex if she left him so soon after they’d found each other.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there when the parsonage’s front door opened, then closed again, and Silas stepped gingerly across the main room, as if he were trying not to drip rainwater everywhere.

“The carriage’s axel is cracked,” he reported with a grim sigh. “We won’t be able to travel any farther until it’s repaired.”

“Do you have the tools to repair it?” Lawrence asked quietly, turning away from the bedroom and gesturing for Silas to move closer to the fireplace.

Silas shook his head. “Not only do I not have the tools, I don’t have the skills either, my lord. But there’s a village inthe distance,” he added. “I can go there and see about hiring a wainwright to make the repairs.”

Lawrence nodded. “You do that. And perhaps you could determine the whereabouts of the parson while you are there? Or ask about cures for whatever ails Lady Minerva?”

Silas must have seen the worry in Lawrence’s eyes. He smiled compassionately and placed a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. “I’ll do that, my lord. Don’t you worry. Lady Minerva will be well in no time.”

Lawrence returned the kind smile with one of his own. “Thank you, Silas.”

Silas patted his shoulder, then turned to be about his new mission. As soon as he was out of the cottage, Lawrence turned back to Minerva, his heart filled with worry. She needed to recover. She simply must grow well again soon. He had only just found her, but now he did not think he could live without her.

Chapter Thirteen

The rain would not let up, the cottage seemed to take forever to heat, and time became Lawrence’s enemy as he waited for Silas to return from whatever village he’d seen in the distance. Lawrence was loath to let Minerva out of his sight, even though she’d fallen into a deep sleep, but he was desperate enough, in his bare feet and minimal dress, to don his things again so that he could walk out to the carriage to retrieve some of his and Minerva’s baggage.

It was a terrible idea. The rain pounded mercilessly down. Without Silas there to help, he had to struggle with the trunk that contained their smaller trunks and bags on the back of the carriage. He dropped his small trunk into the mud of the insufficient stable structure and nearly spooked one of the horses into bolting in the process. The only thing that prevented the horse from fleeing in disgust was what Lawrence assumed was its own exhaustion and misery.

He did eventually manage to bring enough baggage into the house to strip down and wash completely, including his hair, dry himself, and dress in fresh, dry clothing. It was bliss.

That momentary relief faded quickly when he returned to sit by Minerva’s bedside. He’d fetched Clarence from the carriage along with his things, and with more seriousness than he supposed he should have used, he set the skull on the bedside table to watch over her along with him.

Minerva was so pale, and yet fever painted her beautiful cheeks. Her breaths were long and deep, but they had the strain of someone who was not well to them. She coughed a few times without waking, and Lawrence could tell that her throat was still very sore.

It was agony to have nothing to do but watch as whatever malevolent spirit that had ahold of Minerva tortured her. He adjusted her blankets and tested her skin in an attempt to determine whether she was too hot several times. He paced back and forth in the main room, finally setting the kettle to boil when the stove was hot enough, but then returning to watch Minerva a bit longer rather than staring at the water.

The afternoon wore into a gloomy evening, and Lawrence’s patience wore so thin that he set himself the task of washing Minerva’s hair for her without waking her. He carried a basin he’d found with clean, warm water to the side of the bed, lifted Minerva enough to layer towels under her head, then attempted to sponge and comb water through her hair until the mud came out and the water ran clean.

He succeeded in improving her condition a bit, but not in allowing her to sleep on.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice decidedly scratchy, when his ministrations disturbed her.

“Attempting to wash your hair,” Lawrence said, smiling at her and stroking the backs of his fingers across her face. He couldnot help but touch her, although, should she ask, he would say he was testing for fever.

“You’ve changed,” she said, struggling to push herself to sit.

“No, no, I am the same ridiculous oaf I’ve always been,” Lawrence said, attempting to smile.

Minerva let out a breath and sent him a sideways half-grin that nearly had Lawrence’s heart beating out of his chest.

That moment of elation was dampened when she began to cough, then groaned and clutched at her throat to indicate the pain she was in.

“I brought Clarence in to nurse you, and I made tea,” Lawrence announced, leaping frantically up from the bed, desperate to do whatever he could to ease her suffering. If there was a dragon outside the cottage that needed battling, he would have rushed to defeat it. “I’ll make you some more with honey.”

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