Page 90 of Stay with Me

She took the bottle out from among the others and shook it. A small amount of liquid inside sloshed against the sides. Her fingers brushed against a second engraving on the opposite side of the vial. It was a simple flower. She traced each raised petal and then returned to theW.

A distant part of her brain scrambled to uncover the clue, but her mind was growing fuzzier with each passing moment. Her energy was waning. And she knew from what had happened to her body in the dungeon that she was fading. She didn’t have long before she would be incoherent.

“For pity’s sake. Think, Sybil.” With the tip of her knife, she pried out the cork that stoppered the bottle. It crumbled, telling her the vial hadn’t been used in ages, maybe even for centuries. At the very least, Father Fritz had never opened it.

Once the mouth of the bottle was free, she swished the liquid again and then sniffed.

It was odorless.

She sat back on her heels. “Walsingham.” Her mind spun to remember all the details Harrison had told her. A shrine had existed there—the Shrine of Our Lady. It had been a popular pilgrimage spot, much like Canterbury Cathedral... because of the miracles that happened there.

Harrison’s antiquarian had searched Walsingham for ampullae containing the holy water and had found just one. And it’d had theWon one side forWalsinghamand the flower on the other representing new life. When Harrison had ingested the holy water, it had helped him travel back in time. Of course, at the time, she’d been skeptical of the ability of the water to instigate the time crossings. But now, she knew better. Much better.

What if the liquid in the brown vial was more of the holy water that had once come from Walsingham?

She swished it again. If she had to estimate, she’d say it held a cup of liquid.

A thrill wound through her. If this was truly holy water, then she’d discovered a treasure of the greatest sort.

A flash of blinding pain pierced her head and nausea rose swiftly. She pressed a hand against her head and drew in a deep breath. She was losing time and couldn’t waste another second.

The holy water always seemed to take some time to run its course through a person’s system and work its miracle. That meant she had to give a dose to Nicholas before she took a sip. If she didn’t provide him a drink first, he might not be alive when she awoke—if she awoke.

Crawling on her hands and knees, she inched toward the bed, carrying a spoon and the bottle as carefully as she would a crown jewel. When she reached the edge, she pulled herself up until she was sitting beside Nicholas. But the effort only caused the pain in her head to radiate, becoming unbearable so that she had no choice but to bend over and retch into the chamber pot.

As she straightened, she fought the dizziness that threatened to plunge her into oblivion. Then, drawing in a deep breath, she measured out a tablespoon and used the last of her strength to lift Nicholas’s head. She tipped the spoon to his mouth and dribbled in the liquid.

With the room spinning around her, she poured out another spoonful. She situated the bottle safely on the floor. Then she placed the spoon in her mouth and let the liquid slide down her throat. In the next instant she fell against Nicholas, and the world went black.

~ 35 ~

Warmth flowed through Nicholasand surrounded him, almost as if he were soaking in a hot spring.

What had happened to him? Had he died and gone to paradise?

The last thing he remembered was that he’d been suffering from the plague. He’d made it into the cottage ere collapsing into bed. He’d been feverish during the few times he’d awoken and been lucid. He’d called for a drink, but no one had come, neither Sybil nor Father Fritz.

He’d tried to get up a time or two, but the swelling under his arm had been so painful that the efforts hadn’t been worth it. After what had felt like an eternity, his fever had escalated so that he’d fallen in and out of slumber, not caring what became of the world around him. He’d known he was dying, and whenever he could, he’d prayed for Sybil, that she’d stay healthy and wouldn’t catch the plague from him.

He stretched one leg, and the thin straw mattress beneath him shifted... and a leg tangled with his.

He tried to lift an arm, but it was pinned down by a body—a very soft, warm, curvy body.

Full consciousness coursed through him, awakening every nerve, every limb, every inch of him... to the reality that a woman was lying on top of him.

His eyes flew open to the glow of morning light. While not bright, it was enough for him to know that Sybil was with himand boldly spread out over him, her body covering his, her face tucked into the crook of his neck.

Helpless frustration wound around his gut, replacing all the warmth from moments ago. She shouldn’t be lying with him in the bed, not when he was dying of the plague. She needed to stay far away from him.

He’d get out of bed, would lie on the floor if need be.

Carefully he shifted, reaching for her hips to lift her off. As his fingers connected with her waist, they brushed against her bare flesh. From what he could ascertain, she’d changed into her old clothing, including the tight leggings and the short, close-fitting shift. Apparently, during her sleep, the short shift had crept up, leaving an inch at her waist uncovered. And now his fingers rested in that spot—that soft, alluring spot.

He brushed his thumb over her skin and began to trace a line to her hip. But with a silent curse, he forced himself to stop.

What was he doing? He was sick, and he needed to get away from Sybil. No doubt she had already caught the disease, but just in case she hadn’t, he had to take this precaution.

He started to lift her, but she slipped her arms around him and nuzzled her nose against his neck. If that wasn’t enough, she released a contented sigh, as if she was exactly where she wanted to be.

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