Whatever, her energy was at a high as she descended the stairs, her feet tripping, her heart light. Smiling brightly, she swept into the dining hall, beaming at all in sight. At the main table on the dais, Richard was looking down at his plate. Her heart buoyed on a wave of sheer joy, Catriona rounded the table and went to her place beside him.
He sensed her presence and tried to turn her way-tried to straighten his back, tried to lift his head and look at her.
Catriona slowed; horrified, she took in his slack features, the pallor of his skin.
Hunched, his heavy lids hooding his blue eyes, he made a heroic effort to lift his arm toward her.
He crashed out of his chair.
With a pained cry, Catriona flung herself to her knees beside him. About them, shouts and exclamations rang; chairs scraped as everyone rose. Frantically searching for a pulse at his throat, Catriona barely heard.
Then Worboys pushed through and went heavily down on his knees on Richard's other side. "Sir!"
The pain in his cry was echoed in Catriona's heart. "He's still alive." A panic like nothing she'd ever known had locked a vise about her lungs. Dragging in what air she could, she framed Richard
's face in her hands; with her thumbs, she pried open his lids.
They rose, just enough to confirm her worst fears. He was drugged-heavily, heavily drugged.
She sensed him gather his strength-he blinked and looked directly at her, his eyes focused by sheer force of will. Then, with an even greater effort, he turned his head to Worboys. ''Get Devil." He licked his dry lips. "Immediately!"
"Yes, of course, sir. But…"
Worboys' words faded as Richard, with such intense effort it was painful to watch, turned his head until, once more, he was looking at Catriona. Jaw clenching, he lifted one hand, fingers extended, to her, to her face-
A spasm twisted his features; he gave a choked gasp, and his lids fell.
His hand fell, too; his head lolled.
He was unconscious.
Only the slow beat of his heart beneath her palm stopped Catriona from wailing. Others did, believing the worst-she hushed them with a word.
"He still lives. Quickly-some wine! Then I'll need to get him to our bed."
That first night was not going to be the worst-Catriona knew it. Richard's life hung by a thread-a steadily fraying one. Only the fact that she'd been there, on the spot when the poison first took hold, had saved him-if she'd been even five minutes later, it would have been too late.
Even now, she might have been too late.
Dragging in a breath, she wrapped her arms about her, and continued her slow pace beside the bed. Before the fire would be warmer, but she didn't dare go so far away. She needed to be close, to do whatever she could quickly, when the time came. It hadn't come yet, but soon, soon…
Outside the wind howled and sobbed; she fought not to do the same. She'd done all she could thus far.
Before letting them move him, she'd tipped two glasses of the light morning wine down his throat before his instinct to swallow had faded. All through the day and into the night, she'd painstakingly coaxed liquids into him. Garlic water, honey water, and goat's milk mulled with mustard seed-all the standard remedies. Her efforts had been enough to hold him to life thus far, but it was only the beginning of his battle.
This time, his fate rested squarely in the lap of The Lady.
So she prayed, and paced, and waited-for the crisis she knew must come.
And tried not to think about the other crises looming-the ones to be faced when he regained consciousness, or even before.
The thought that he believed she'd drugged him again, this time with deadly intent, hurt beyond description, but she couldn't interpret his movements, his words, in those instants before he'd lost consciousness in any other way. He'd looked at her so strangely, so intently, so deliberately, then he'd told Worboys to fetch his brother immediately. Then he'd tried to point to her.
Whether the pain that had crossed his face had been due to the drug, or to hurt at her supposed betrayal, she couldn't decide.
But… dragging in a huge breath, she pressed her lips tight; kicking her skirts out of her way, she paced on. She was not going to let his temporary insanity get her down. She was not going to waste her time, diffuse her energies, in feeling hurt or insulted, nor in wringing her hands or indulging in tears.
The stupid man couldn't afford it-he might die if she wasn't at her best. At her strongest.