Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

“He could have, but why would he do it? He knows you dislike him, but why would he want you dead? That makes no sense, Meggie. Now, here’s some more laudanum for you. Dr. Pritchart says just a few more drops of this will send you off into a very nice place where there isn’t any more pain.”

“That would be good,” she said and drank down the barley water laced with laudanum.

“Will the girl live?”

“Yes,” Thomas said to his mother, and walked to the sideboard to pour himself some brandy. “Her name is Meggie, not ‘the girl,’ and she is your daughter-in-law. Speak of her properly, Mother.”

“You should hear what Libby calls her.”

“And what would that be?”

“A little ingrate.”

Thomas’s eyebrow shot up. “Why would Aunt Libby call her that?”

“She believes it is Meggie who is forcing you to have William marry that worthless girl. All because she’s a vicar’s daughter and is very rigid in her morality, too rigid obviously. Libby also says she likely highly disapproves of her liaison with Lord Kipper, and she has no right.”

“I will tell Aunt Libby otherwise,” Thomas said. “Surely you corrected her, assured her that I am even more staid than my wife.”

“No I did not. I don’t wish you to be staid. A bit of wickedness from you wouldn’t be amiss, Thomas.”

“William has performed enough wickedness for the both of us.”

“His is just a boy’s wickedness.”

“William is a man,” he said, then just shrugged. His mother many times baffled him. He said, “Barnacle told me that Lord Kipper was here asking about Meggie.”

“He doesn’t think William should marry until your sweet wife is able to attend. He is afraid she will die and then poor William would be attending both a funeral and his own wedding, which will be, you must admit, like a second funeral.”

Thomas sighed. There was so much to be done here at Pendragon, but none of it was important. The only thing that was important was Meggie. He had to find out who had shot her. He had a very bad feeling about a third attempt. He left his mother, went to the small estate room, and wrote a letter to Meggie’s father. It was his right to know there was trouble. It was the hardest letter he’d had to write in his life.

“Open your mouth, Meggie.”

Meggie obeyed, but she didn’t open her eyes. It was potato soup and it was delicious. She kept eating until Thomas said, “You ate the entire bowl. I’m proud of you. Now, how does your shoulder feel?”

“Not as bad as yesterday.”

“Good. There’s no infection, no fever. You’ve got grit and guts, that’s what Dr. Pritchart said. You’re so strong, he doesn’t believe he’ll have to coddle you even when you birth our children.”

The last was said with a good deal of satisfaction, and Meggie smiled, now opening her eyes to look up at him. She frowned. “You’ve lost weight, Thomas. You should have eaten some of that soup.”

“Now that I know you’re not going to heaven before your time, I will get food down my gullet again.” He lightly traced his fingertips over her cheeks, her brows, smoothed her hair behind her ears, leaned down, and kissed her.

“You scared me out of a good year of life.”

“I was afraid of that. I knew I couldn’t die, knew it would flatten you. You feel things so very deeply.”

A black brow shot up a good inch. He felt things deeply? “What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

“I mean that if something final happened to me, you wouldn’t recover. You would feel guilty and it would gnaw at you.”

“It would be warranted. It’s more than that, Meggie. Perhaps you finally realize how important you are to me.”

“Oh yes. Possibly as important as you are to me.”

She yawned even as those words of hers floated through the still air to his ears. He went still. He wanted to ask her what she meant, but he didn’t. He watched as her eyes closed. He listened as her breathing evened into a light sleep. He thanked God she’d survived.

“It must be luncheon potato soup.”