Page 83 of Stay with Me

After another second of hesitation, she held it out. “I also want you to be different than your father and Simon. But I do not want to lose you.”

“Does Holy Scripture not say that the man who loses his life for Christ’s sake will find it?” Was that, then, the true secret to life? In the sacrificing and dying to oneself, a person could find a deeper sense of purpose and joy?

With tears welling in her eyes, she thrust the bottle into his hands.

He bowed his head to her. “Thank you, Mother.” Then without another word, he sprinted back to the dungeon. As he fell to his knees beside Sybil, his breathing was labored and his pulse pounded.

He reached for her, but as before, he could behold no visible signs that she was alive. Was he too late?

“Stay with me, Sybil.” His demand was harsh, borne of need for just a few days more with her. If that’s all he could get before the plague caught up with him, he would take that instead of naught.

Gently, he slipped his hand behind her neck and lifted her head. He’d already removed the cork, and now he tipped the bottle up, careful to touch it to her lips. From what he’d assessed, she didn’t seem to have the plague. He could see none of the usual symptoms. It was almost as if she’d simply fallen asleep but couldn’t wake up.

“You must awaken for me,” he whispered, dribbling the liquid inside her mouth. There wasn’t much, which had to mean every drop was powerful and important. He couldn’t let even the tiniest amount go to waste.

As soon as he’d made sure the liquid went down her throat, he tapped the bottle again. When nothing was left, he lowered her. Then he sat back on his heels and watched her face for a sign the holy water was working its miracle.

Silently he prayed, knowing he wasn’t worthy of this beautiful, smart, and courageous woman. But he would do all he could to ensure that she had a good life ahead of her. He would leave her everything he’d saved over the years of working for the king. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it would be enough to sustain her whether she wanted to live in the Weald with the outlaws or maybe even with Walter in Dover. Beatrice could continue to be her maidservant wherever she resided.

“Please, Sybil.” He brushed his fingers down her cheek. “Do not give up the will to live.”

She remained motionless. Too silent. Too still.

Despair seized him. Had he been too late? His body tensed with every passing second. Finally, with a cry of frustration, he drew her up, grasping her as he had before, willing his own life to flow into her.

He kissed her forehead, then her cheek. He didn’t know how he could ever make himself let go of her. He couldn’t leave her. Couldn’t accept she was gone.

An agony more intense than any he’d ever felt before cleaved his chest, taking his breath away. Heaven help him. He wanted to die beside her.

Another cry pressed for release, but he swallowed it and buried his face into her hair. He would be stronger, and he would do better this time.

Even so, he allowed himself a long last hold, relishing the softness of her hair against his cheeks and the warmth of her breath against his neck.

Warmth of her breath?

He sat up so quickly he almost dropped her. He could hardly get his fingers to her lips fast enough, but when he did, the gentle and steady flow of air in and out brought swift tears to his eyes—tears that, this time, he couldn’t hold back.

She was alive.

His shoulders sagged, his chest aching with gratitude.

At a motion in the doorway, he glanced up to find his mother standing just inside the cell, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You have shown yourself to be different than your father and Simon already in many ways, and now in this, having such great love that you are willing to lay down your own life for your wife.”

He lifted Sybil’s hand to his lips and kissed it, feeling warmth in the flesh that had been cold and clammy only moments ago.

“I shall pray that God in His mercy will spare you,” his mother continued softly, “so that you might share a lifetime of love with your wife.”

But even as Nicholas nodded his thanks, he suspected they would need another miracle for that to happen. And one miracle—having Sybil brought back from the brink of death—was enough for him.

~ 32 ~

Sybil awoke to swaying and warmth.Her body felt light and drowsy, but somehow invigorated, as though she’d slept soundly for several days.

She stretched, her muscles relaxed and her body in a state of calm and peace she’d rarely experienced before.

Arms tightened about her—strong arms with thickly corded biceps. Her face rested against a hard, muscled chest. Her head was tucked into the crook of a man’s neck. And she was sitting on his lap, on the back of a horse.

The scent of earth and woodsmoke emanated from him as strongly as his power and intensity.

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