Page 81 of Stay with Me

The young archer shook his head, his expression grave. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, sire. If Lord Worth’s guards already have it, then they likely passed it to us when they came the other day.”

Dread twisted at Nicholas’s innards. That was the way of the plague. It spread like an army advancing in the night, taking everyone unaware.

“We will have to pray that is not the case.” Nicholas watched as the portcullis rose one slow inch at a time, already silently petitioning God that the poor people of Devil’s Bend would be spared another tragedy amongst the many they’d already suffered. “Either way, you must depart for the village with all haste.”

The young man nodded. Nicholas didn’t need to spell out the reason for the haste. Everyone knew just how quickly the disease could spread, and the men deserved to say good-bye to their loved ones if the plague had indeed infected Devil’s Bend.

Even so, the man hesitated.

“I shall be fine on my own here since Simon and all his men are ill and can do me no harm.”

The archer nodded and started to turn away but then stopped. “I’m sorry about your wife, sire. She was a fine lady, and I could tell she made you a happy man.”

Nicholas’s throat clogged with emotion. He couldn’t formulate a response and simply gave a nod. As the portcullis clanged to a halt, he strode into the gatehouse. He approached his mother, reached for her hand, and kissed her fingers in greeting.

She smiled at him sadly. “I am honestly sorry, Nicholas. I wish I could have met this woman who made you so happy.”

He had been happy with Sybil—happier than he’d been in a very long time. Though he’d hoped for many years of such happiness with her, he would have to cherish the few memories he had rather than sinking down into despair. The task would be difficult, but he had to do it, lest he grow into a man like Eric rather than Walter.

As he crossed through the outer bailey and into the inner courtyard, he could behold how dire the situation had become in such a short time. Doors were closed on the thatched workshops along the wall. A few fearful faces peeked out of the cracks of shutters as he passed, laborers having closed themselves off with the hope of avoiding the disease.

A lone dog nosed at a pile of scraps outside the servants’ entrance, and a young boy was drawing water from the well. But otherwise, the usual chores and activities had come to a standstill. The silence hung as heavily—if not more so—than what he’d noticed from outside.

He followed his mother up the stone steps toward the main entrance, the tall center keep rising several stories above them inall its stately glory. It had been a while since he’d arrived at the castle so openly.

The inside of the castle was as deserted as the outside. The servants had either locked themselves away for self-preservation or were too sick to notice his presence.

The doorway at the top of the dungeon stairway was open, and a waft of cold, damp air greeted them. No guards stood watch anywhere. They’d abandoned their post either from illness or because they’d learned their prisoner was dead.

He made quick work of finding a torch before hastening down the steps. Upon reaching the bottom, he held the light up. At the sight of a deserted gaming table and stools, his thoughts returned to the night Sybil had helped him escape. She’d saved his life, even though she’d hardly known him, just as she’d done for the people of Devil’s Bend.

She’d been an honorable and noble woman.

The ache in his throat pulsed, and tears stung the backs of his eyes.

The cell keys hung on the wall peg near the door. As he opened the thick panel and stepped inside, he was again taken back to the first vision of her, when she’d flipped him over onto his back. Her eyes had sparked with fire, and her beauty had been enchanting.

With a heaviness to his steps that matched the heaviness in his chest, he started down the row of cells, peering through each barred door until he found her lying motionless and covered by the blanket in the cell he’d occupied. At least one of the guards had the decency to allow her the blanket his mother had provided.

He latched the torch into the wall holder, then easily found the key and unlocked the door. In two steps he was at Sybil’s side. Unable to prevent a groan of anguish, he dropped to his knees, gathered her in his arms, and drew her against his chest.

“Oh, my love.” He kissed the top of her head, not caring that he was exposing himself to the plague. He needed this chance to touch her again one last time, even though she was cold and listless. Her arms flopped away, unable to wrap around him the way they had in the past.

The burning in his throat swelled so he wanted to roar out his grief. But his mother stood in the doorway behind him. Instead, he bent in and pressed another kiss to Sybil’s head. If he had the ability to forfeit his life so she could live, he would do it without a second thought.

“I have loved you, wife,” he whispered in her ear fiercely, “as I have loved no other.” It was the truth. If only he’d had time to show her how sacrificial his love could be... the way Walter had indicated a husband ought to love his wife.

He squeezed her tight and at the same time squeezed his eyes to hold back tears. He didn’t easily give way to tears. But this moment, losing her, it was just as painful as losing Jane, if not more so.

At a soft, warm puff against his neck, he froze.

Had Sybil just released a breath?

He thrust her back and stared at her face, his heart hammering so fast he almost felt light-headed. Her head lolled lifelessly, her beautiful face was pale, and she didn’t move, not even a twitch.

Had he just imagined a breath?

He pressed shaking fingers to her lips, hoping to feel more. He held them there for long seconds.

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