Page 77 of Mending the Baron's Sins
Images flashed across his mind. He saw a handshake, two men most determinedly shaking hands, then he saw another empty glass beside him. Had he drunk from that? He could not remember if he had or not.
“Horace?”
All was dark. He had managed to open his eyes, at least he thought he had, though it took him a minute or more to trace thefact that someone was sitting beside him. He could just discern her outline in the darkness, with the window behind her framing in the softest glow of moonlight. He couldn’t turn his head to her, though he tried.
“Horace? If you can hear me…”
Orla.
He tried to lift his hand to reach to her, to let her know that he could hear every word, but his body would not obey his own order. In the end, he had to give up, the strain in his hand so strong that he could feel the muscles in his arm quivering.
“The day you fell ill, I came to you,” she whispered. “Oh, how I wish you could hear me saying this, but this room is so busy, I have had no other chance to tell you this.”
I can hear you! I can!
Yet his lips wouldn’t part, and his voice would not come to answer her.
Her hand took hold of his. Her fingers were warm and soft in his own. It was then he realized that the burning sensation consuming his body was not so bad now. Was it something she had done that had softened the pain?
“The day you fell ill, I came to tell you something,” she murmured. He felt her lips against the back of his hand. She was kissing him lovingly. It was a sweet touch that was over far too soon for his liking. “I wanted to tell you that yes, I will come with you to London.”
Something grew excited in the back of his head. This was it! It was a chance to start again, to begin a new life, with Orla at his side, far away from this place.
“I will come with you,” she whispered again. “So you just have to get better now. You understand me?” she pleaded. “Put everything you have into getting better.” Her lips caressed the back of his hand again. If he had the strength, he would have turned his hand toward her, cupping her cheek and brushing her lips, to let her know that he could feel her touch. “Because you and I have to make that future happen now.” Her breath hitched in her throat.
Don’t cry, Orla, please, don’t cry.
“We will make it happen,” she said with passion.
Something lurched in his stomach, and this time, thankfully, it was not nausea. It was a twinge of emotion, all because Orla was so close, but just out of reach.
He tried to angle his head toward her. He wasn’t sure if he managed to make it happen or not, for the next thing he knew, he was lost in darkness once again.
He fought that black like it was a thick blanket thrown over his body, suffocating him and preventing him from breathing. He somehow managed to shift it from his body, only to find there was someone else in the room with him.
It was nighttime again, almost impossible to make out anything in the room. He knew at once Orla was not there. He could not smell the herbal fragrance that so often hung around her. Instead, he could see that thickened figure walking around his bed.
A sudden fear erupted in his stomach. This figure did not bode well. They never talked to him, as Orla did, never mopped his brow of sweat as Orla had done. They just fed him something, repeatedly, forcing him to drink whatever was burning in that glass.
The glass was raised to his lips once again, but Horace managed to force it away. He didn’t want that burning sensation, not again.
He wasn’t sure if he won the battle, or if the figure triumphed, but he soon found himself laying on his side on the bed. His head was pressed into the pillows, a weight behind his eyes feeling soheavy that he could not possibly raise his head or keep his eyes open.
His eyes fell half lidded. On a small table beside the bed, he saw a glass. It was empty, and beside that glass was a vial, shimmering in the moonlight, though the otherwise colorless liquid looked unobtrusive. It could have been water had it not been for the fact it was in such a tiny vial, suggesting its contents were not to be trusted.
Horace’s eyes fell shut.
Someone took his hand.
“I’m here,” Orla whispered. “I’m here.”
His fingers tried to hold tight to her, but he could not move them. There were other voices in the room, signs of people marching around the chamber, but Horace couldn’t concentrate on any of them. He thought only of Orla and the need to cling to her hand, though he could not make himself do it.
He understood this need now. Perhaps it had taken him too long to understand. Baffled as he was by his draw to Orla, but confined to his bed with nothing but darkness and his own thoughts for company, it had made everything plain. Orla was the one source of hope he had in this abyss, the one need he had to stay connected to the world.
I love you, Orla, and yes, I will keep trying to stay alive. I shall keep fighting this, so that someday soon I can find my way back to you.
Chapter 23
