Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“I saw you, Byrony,” he said, smiling down at her. “You’ll be well in no time, my child.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Child? Why, you can’t be more than seven years older. Child indeed.”

“All right. Now tell me your symptoms and when they started.”

She looked hesitant for a moment, then said, drawing a deep breath, “I told Ira I wanted to leave him. He agreed. Then that night, after dinner, I didn’t feel particularly well. But last Sunday, I was fine again. Remember I saw you in church?”

“I remember. Did you have an upset stomach, nausea?”

“Yes. Then I started feeling so weak. I didn’t know until after you’d left, I guess, what Ira and Irene were doing. I overheard them arguing.” She closed her eyes a moment, blocking out the horror. “I think they were poisoning me.”

“Yes, I agree,” he said quite calmly. “Doubtless it has to do with the fact—well, never mind that now. Did you eat any dinner? or drink anything?”

“No, nothing.”

“How about something now? I promise to taste it first.”

“I’m not too hungry,” she said.

“In a little while, then. Hold still now.” He gently slipped his hand under her nightgown to her belly. “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

“How about here?”

She shook her head.

“Good.” He straightened her nightgown and rose. “Ah, here’s your rescuer. She’ll be all right, Brent, I promise.”

“Why does she look so pale?”

“She’s been in bed for five days, hasn’t eaten today, has some kind of poison in her system. I think that about covers it.”

“I’m going to kill that bastard.”

“No. Please, Brent, don’t tell him where I am. Please.”

For a man who appeared by word and attitude at least to despise this particular woman, Brent, in Saint’s eyes, looked stricken. He watched his friend sit beside her and take her hand between his large ones. “No, I won’t. You must rest now, Byrony. Get your strength back. We’ll decide once you’re well again what we’re going to do.”

“All right.” Byrony paused a moment. “I’m not alone anymore,” she whispered, more to herself than to Brent.

“No,” Brent said, “you’re not.”

She raised her hand and tentatively touched her fingertips to his jaw. “You need to eat something, Brent. Are you certain you haven’t been ill?”

Brent heard a chuckle from Saint and said, “No, not at all. I’ll tell you what, Byrony. I’ll get us both some hot soup, something nourishing. All right?”

“Yes, all right,” she said. “I don’t think I would have managed to ride to San Jose tonight.”

Saint stayed to make certain the chicken soup, Maggie’s own private recipe, didn’t make her sick. He looked rather pleased with himself when he left an hour later.

“Thank you,” Byrony said.

“I’ll call on you tomorrow, Byrony. You sleep now.”

“She’ll be asleep in ten minutes,” Brent answered for her. In fact, she was asleep when Brent returned to the bedroom after seeing Saint on his way. He stood over the bed a moment, staring down at her still face. What the hell have I done? He laughed softly at himself.

“I don’t bloody believe it. That bastard.”