Page 82 of Stay with Me

“Heaven help me,” he whispered.

“Does she yet live?” his mother asked, now kneeling beside him.

“I thought I felt her breathe.” Maybe if he kissed her again. He bent in and kissed her forehead as passionately as before.Once again, he was rewarded with a soft breath, this one against his chin.

He sat up with a start, a burst of energy coursing through him. “The breath of life still flows through her.” His chest swelled. Saint’s blood. She was on the verge of dying but was somehow still clinging to life. He had to keep her that way. But how?

His thoughts raced through every possibility, and he could think of only one way to save her. He had to find holy water. Would the closet under the stairs still contain one of the bottles he’d stowed there?

Gently, he placed Sybil back onto the straw, then he jumped up, grabbed the torch, and strode down the passageway. As he crossed to the stairway closet, he tore the square door open, nearly wrenching it from the hinges. He held the torchlight inside. The hiding place seemed undisturbed.

He crawled inside, wiggled the stone loose, and scanned it. From what he could tell, it was empty. But he stuck his hand in nevertheless and skimmed the smooth stone.

Curses upon him. The second bottle was gone too. Sybil had mentioned drinking some of the holy water to allow her to travel through time. Maybe she’d taken the second one for herself.

He backed out of the closet and stood, his heart thudding with renewed urgency. Did he have time to ride to Chesterfield Park and beg Lord Durham for holy water from his supply? After all that he’d done for Lord Durham’s kin, he didn’t think the lord would deny him.

Nicholas glanced to the steep stairs. Did he dare go now that he’d been exposed to the plague? He didn’t want to put anyone else at risk. But maybe he could stand at a distance and voice his request. They could work out an exchange where no one had to get near him.

He shook his head, his frustration rising to strangle him. By the time he made the ride to Chesterfield Park and back, Sybil would be dead, since she was nearly so now. He didn’t have time.

“What do you seek?” His mother’s question cut into his silent rampage. She stood in the arched doorway watching him.

Instead of answering, he took the stairs two at a time and made his way to the curio just inside the great hall where Arthur had placed the other two bottles. Even though Nicholas had already checked there previously and hadn’t found them, he threw open the wooden doors and shoved aside glass containers, crocks, and vials of every sort and size. Several rolled out and crashed to the floor. But he didn’t care. He had to locate the bottles. Surely they were still here, just pushed farther back.

Unable to keep in a growl of frustration, he swept his arm over the shelf, dumping more items to the floor. Once again, his mother had followed and stood silently observing him. She likely thought he was demented. But he didn’t have the time to explain what he sought. Not when Sybil might possibly be taking her final breath.

“Are you searching for this?” Something in her tone halted him. He turned around, his sights locking in on a green glass bottle that she’d pulled from her pocket and now cradled in her palm.

From the color and shape, he recognized it as one of the bottles Arthur had placed in the cabinet. “How did you come upon it?”

“I keep an extra supply of my daily tonic in the cabinet. And the morn of the second earthquake, I discovered two new bottles there, including this one.”

“And where is the other?” The question came out harsher than he intended.

She shrank back almost fearfully. “I do not know. I only took the one, and when next I looked, ’twas gone. I swear it, Nicholas.”

He held out his hand for the bottle.

She hesitated. “With all the talk of holy water, I suspected ’twas what it contained, and I knew God had given it to me to keep you safe from Simon. I planned to revive you when he left you for dead.”

Her intentions were certainly noble and done out of love for him. Regardless, he needed it for Sybil. “I am safe from Simon, and now I must have it for my wife.”

“But with the plague...” Her eyes pleaded with him. “You need to take the holy water with you to save you from dying.”

Suddenly he understood why she’d allowed him to come inside the castle. She believed that if he fell ill with the plague, he could drink the holy water and be saved. The truth was, he was very likely to catch the plague. Most people exposed to it did, and he was surprised his mother hadn’t yet come down with symptoms.

“You have no thought of using the holy water for yourself?” he asked.

“I have lived long enough. The only thing that matters to me is that you survive.”

What good would it do to save himself at the expense of the people he loved? How could he live knowing he’d chosen life but had allowed others to die in the process? Surely his mother knew him well enough to understand he could never do something so selfish.

However, he had no time to argue with her about his philosophies. The only thing that mattered was saving Sybil. This was what he’d just prayed for, the chance to give up his life for hers. As Walter had said, he needed to love Sybil sacrificially if he wanted to demonstrate that he truly loved her.

“I must prove that I am different than my father and Simon in my marriage by how I treat my wife. Let me give Sybil the holy water so I can do what they never could.”

Mother’s hand shook, and he feared she might drop the bottle. He wanted to snatch it from her by force and race down to Sybil. But he held himself back and prayed she would understand.

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