Page 69 of The Duchess Trap
When the door closed, Catherine sank back into the chair beside the bed. The candlelight trembled with the wind, throwing shadows across Henry’s pale face.
She brushed his hair back once more, then pressed her palm gently to his cheek.
“You’re brave,” she whispered. “You’ll see. You’ll fight this.”
Her hand trembled. She could not tell if it was from fear or from the tears she refused to let fall.
Lightning flashed, casting the room in white. Henry stirred faintly, his breathing uneven.
“Hold on,” Catherine whispered again, voice cracking. “Just a little longer.”
A moment later, the door creaked open. One of the older girls, pale and frightened, clutching a bundle of towels, hovered near the doorway.
“Here, Your Grace,” she whispered. “Mrs. Simms said you might need more.”
“Thank you.” Catherine managed a weak smile, taking them. The girl lingered at the door, eyes wide.
“Will he die?” she asked in a trembling voice.
Catherine froze, unable to speak. She wanted to say no, wanted to believe it, but her throat closed around the lie.
She looked at the child instead, forcing gentleness into her tone. “We’ll make sure he won’t.”
The girl nodded and slipped away.
Catherine set the towels aside and leaned forward once more, her forehead nearly touching the bed.
“Please,” she whispered again, a plea swallowed by the sound of the rain.
Henry’s fever had climbed. His small body writhed against the damp sheets, skin flushed crimson. The sound of his shallow breathing struck her like the sharpest chill of winter.
She dipped the cloth again, wrung it out, and laid it across his forehead, whispering his name as if her voice might anchor him to this world.
“Hold on, my darling. Just hold on.”
Her own voice frightened her.
The candlelight flickered over the walls, catching the sheen of sweat on her temples. Her gown clung damp to her body, the muslin darkened with water and heat. She felt half-mad with exhaustion, half-dreaming from fear.
Mrs. Simms entered quietly, her skirts brushing the floor. “Your Grace,” she murmured, “the other children are frightened. They’re asking if they might see him.”
Catherine shook her head at once. “No. Not until the physician has seen him.”
“Yes, of course.” The matron hesitated. “Should I send another runner for the doctor?”
“Yes,” Catherine said firmly. “Send two if you must.”
Mrs. Simms nodded and turned to go. Catherine’s voice stopped her halfway through the door.
“And…send word to His Grace,” she added, barely more than a whisper. “Tell him I’ll remain here until Henry is well again.”
Mrs. Simms turned back, eyes full of sympathy. “Of course, Your Grace.”
CHAPTER 21
“Where is she?”
The words came out low, rough-edged, more command than question. Duncan didn’t slow as he crossed the threshold, rain dripping from his coat, boots striking hard against the stone floor. The narrow corridor smelled of vinegar and damp linen.
