Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

He might die anyway.

Thrusting that thought aside, she reiterated to herself her decision on how best to deal with her husband's mental breakdown. Once his wits returned, she would simply hold him to his vow-and force him to talk to her, and she would talk to him. And keep talking until she had straightened out his wayward thinking. It was, of course, nonsensical to imagine she had poisoned him-no one else in the household, not even Worboys, believed that.

But only Richard knew that she'd drugged him before-she could appreciate that in that dizzy moment when the drug had fought to rip his wits from him, he might have remembered that fact and extrapolated without thinking things through.

She could forgive him-but she wasn't about to let her past misdemeanor combine with his drug-induced daze to set a wall between them.

She would talk until the wall fell down.

There was, however, a hurdle looming in her path-very likely a large hurdle; at least, she imagined his brother would be large. Large and forceful. Powerful. Used to being obeyed, to having his edicts complied with.

Grimacing, Catriona swung about and marched around the bed, just for a change of scenery. Of perspective.

She wasn't now sure she'd done the right thing in encouraging Worboys to carry out Richard's order and summon his brother the duke. At the time, she'd been of the mind that as she'd nothing to hide, there was no reason she couldn't face the inquisition. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought things through in that instance-thought about what might happen if Richard's brother-a man known to everyone as Devil and presumably a potent source of authority-insisted on removing Richard from her care. Decreed that Richard, still unconscious, would be better tended in London.

Could she-would she be able to-refuse?

If he was taken away before she made sure he understood she hadn't poisoned him, would she get the chance to right his mind later-would he return if he believed, for whatever twisted reasons, that she was behind his poisoning?

The thought went around and around as she paced up and down. And got nowhere. She couldn't, in fact, concentrate on that point, too overwhelmed by the far more scarifying prospect raised by the possibility of Richard being taken from her care.

If he was, he might not live.

And she doubted she could explain that to his brother, or anyone not acquainted with the ways of The Lady.

Sighing, she halted and reached a hand to Richard's wrist. His pulse was still steady, if far too weak. Once again, she mentally reviewed her treatment, searched for any options she had not yet tried. But she'd done all she could-without knowing the specific poison for certain, she couldn't risk doing any more.

She knew, of course, who had poisoned him, but the culprit was no longer in the manor, in the vale, for her to question. It seemed Algaria had slipped the poison-a poison only she and Catriona had access to-into Richard's mug, then left immediately, ostensibly to travel to her own cottage, which she sometimes did, but never without informing Catriona first.

The fact that Algaria hadn't waited to gauge her potion's effect suggested she'd been in no doubt it would work. Quelling a shudder, Catriona resumed her pacing and considered the three possible poisons-hemlock, henbane, and wolfsbane. All were deadly, but the last was the hardest to treat. She couldn't, however, overlook the possibility that a mixture had been used, so she'd had to combine remedies for all three.

She knew that wouldn't be enough.

Which was why she was there by the bed, would always be there, every minute until he awakened. Until she knew he was safe. She had to be there to anchor him to this world if need be, if his connection with it grew too weak. She'd never done such a thing before, but she knew about the region she mentally dubbed "neither nor." The region in which life ceased to have meaning, the threshold between the real world and that other.

She'd stood on that threshold once before, on the night after her parents had died. Her mother had come to her in her sleep-from the dream state to "neither nor" was no great step. Having died in the arms of a man who had loved her deeply, and who she had loved in return, her mother had had no real cause to linger-she'd held back only to bid her adieu.

So she knew the way to that region, knew it was cold, swirling with chill grey mists, treacherous in that it had no reality to which human senses could cling. Any who stepped into it had to rely on their other senses, and their link to any other in that void would only hold true if there was a strong connection between the two souls-like a mother and child, or a husband and wife bound by love.

If the connection wasn't there, then in trying to reach Richard and hold him to life, she would risk losing herself.

She didn't care-if he died, life wouldn't be worth living, but she'd have to live it anyway, without him. The thought was guaranteed to stiffen her spine, to fire her determination. She would not lose him. Or herself. She had faith enough for both of them-faith in his need of her, as much as in her love for him.

The first trial came in the early watches of the morning, when his breathing slowed and he slipped into the greyness. On her knees beside the bed, Catriona drew in a deep breath and resolutely closed her eyes. With one fist clenched about the twin pendants between her breasts, with the other she held his hand and followed him, into the void beyond the world.

He was there, but blind and weak, helpless as a day-old kitten; gently, she turned him around and brought him home.

Over the next days, and the next nights, she fought by his side, time and again stepping into that grey nothingness to lead him back, to give him her strength, her life, so he could continue to live.

The effort drained her. She could have done with Algaria beside her, but that, of course, was not to be. About them, the manor lay quiet, hushed, yet she was conscious of a soothing, steady stream of support, of prayers and wishes for his health and hers. Without him, life still went on, but it was as if, with his retreat from their world, the heightened sense of life he'd brought to them had sunk into hibernation.

Mrs. Broom and McArdle brought her food and drink; Worboys was in constant, surprisingly helpful, attendance. He knew his master's state was serious, yet, after that first moment of weakness, he had remained the staunchest in his certainty that Richard would shortly wake hale and whole.

"Invincible, the lot of them," he'd assured her when she'd commented on his unswerving confidence. He'd gone on to relate the Cynsters' successes at Waterloo.

It had given her comfort, and some hope, for which she was grateful.

But she alone knew what harmful forces had been unleashed against him-what powerful poison had been fed to him-and only she could heal him and hold him fast to this world.