Calypso Magic (Magic Trilogy 2)

"It is my fault," said Lucia, her face parchment pale in the dim carriage light.

"No," Lyonel said, "none of it is your fault. Who is your doctor, Lucia? We will send Jamison for him immediately."

Diana burrowed into the warmth, but she couldn't stop the awful cold. It was deep inside her, and it hurt so badly. She realized she was being carried, but she couldn't make herself react. She heard voices, one of them Lyon's, and he sounded so very curt, like a general giving orders to his soldiers.

More voices. Was that Didier? No, he never raised his voice, never did anything that would reflect poorly on his dignity.

Hands were on her, pulling off her clothes, and she fought them, instinctively. Soothing voices. Lucia? Grumber?

She forced herself outward and stared up into the face of a strange man. He looked like the painting of a bird she had seen once, so thin, his neck ridiculously long. She said aloud, very clearly, "You are a stork?"

Dr. McComber laughed and patted her cheek. "No, miss, I'm just a fellow who is going to try to make you feel better. Now, you just hold still."

"I hurt," she said, and knew that her voice sounded like a confused child's.

"Yes, I imagine that you do. Tell me exactly where you hurt."

But she couldn't seem to speak a complete thought, just words. The stork nodded, as if satisfied.

"Lyon," she whispered.

"You want another animal with the stork?"

"Lyonel," she repeated.

Dr. McComber turned in question to Lucia.

"I'll get him," she said. She found him striding up and down the corridor, his head lowered, his hands thrust in his breeches' pockets.

"Diana wants you."

"Is she all right, Lucia? What does McComber say?"

"I don't know as yet."

Lyon walked very quickly toward the bed. McComber rose and blinked at him. "How is she?"

There was a small cry from the bed.

Lyon didn't wait for an answer. He eased down gently beside Diana and took her hand. Her eyes were closed, her breathing labored.

"I don't understand," he said. "She cried. Why did she cry?"

"She doesn't know she's crying, my lord. She is unconscious."

"What is wrong with her?"

"I should say that she could move into pneumonia, but we will hope not. Her ladyship informs me that she fell into a stream near Richmond and rode all the way back to London in wet clothes."

Lyonel cursed and McComber stared at him. "What are you doing for her?"

McComber shrugged. "There is nothing much to be done, my lord. Hot cloths on her chest, alcohol rubs to keep down the fever. Laudanum periodically for the pain."

It had to be asked. "Will she survive this?"

"She's a strong girl. She will have excellent nursing. I don't know."

To Lyonel's shock, Lucia, the indominable old tartar, began sobbing.