“Is this your father’s chamber?”
He gave his head a little shake. “How did you know?”
“I can sense the sickness within.”
Before he could react, Juliana had raised her hand, knocked once and pushed open the sturdy wooden panel.
Tristan stood frozen by surprise, before scurrying after her into the large, high-ceilinged room.
At once, three things assaulted his senses. One was the thick, nauseating scent of illness. Then came the unsettling darkness, such a contrast to the bright morning outside. The shutters, he saw, were so tightly closed that not a chink of light came through. Only half a dozen candles cast a feeble glow into the room. Then came the worst of all: the sight of his father.
Tristan let out a sound that was half a sob and half a growl of anguish.
Angus de Neville had always been a large-framed, powerful man, and his personal strength and unrelenting vitality gave his height an extra dimension. Whenever he walked into a room, heads turned towards him. Whenever he spoke, people listened. But the man on the bed was not a giant amongst men. He seemed small, diminished, only just recognisable as the mighty Earl of Wolvesley.
His father’s eyes were closed. His hair, still more golden than silver, spread lankly over the pillows. His breathing was faint. Too faint.
Tristan put a hand over his heart, needing a moment to recover. His mother, who had been kneeling by the bed seemingly in prayer, turned tired eyes towards them.
At once, her gaze narrowed and Tristan sought the right words to defend his decision. But Juliana was unfazed. She swept into a low, graceful curtsy and remained there until his mother spoke.
“You may rise.”
Juliana kept her gaze turned to the rushes on the wooden floor. “I will not presume to come closer, my lady, without your permission.”
Morwenna waved a hand. “Come. Sit. You can do no harm now, I suppose.”
Tristan went to embrace her, once again humbled by how small and fragile she felt in his arms. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he whispered against her blonde hair. He saw now that she was right. The night that had passed would have been better spent in here, with his father, than in some wild chase through the woods.
My father is dying.It was impossible and yet it was true.
As the fight went out of him, he fought an urge to lean against her, like he had as a boy. But he was the future earl and the one who should offer comfort and strength to those that needed it.
“There is naught to forgive.” Her face was wet with tears. “I do not hold your efforts to save him against you.” She smiled weakly. “Even if I disapprove of your methods.”
They both turned to the man on the bed, who they loved and revered above all others. Juliana was leaning over his prone form, her dark eyes scanning his face.
“I must examine him,” she declared.
Morwenna gave a strangled sound and turned away. “I cannot watch.”
Tristan nodded to give Juliana his permission, then led his mother to a tapestried chair pulled near the bed. The heat of the room was oppressive, muddling his thoughts. He dropped to his knees and clasped Morwenna’s hands in his own. “What can I do?”
“Just be here,” she whispered. “Do not leave me again.”
Salty tears stung his eyes and he blinked them away. “I will not go anywhere.”
“I thought of sending for Jonah and your sisters.” His mother’s hands trembled. “But Frida should not travel in her condition and the news is bound to distress her. I worry it will harm the babe.”
Tristan processed this. There was no method by which they could bring Jonah and Esme home without alerting Frida as to the reason.
“And Isabella cannot leave Westchester with her own husband so unwell.” Morwenna’s voice cracked and Tristan thought this added burden of responsibility was about to break her.
“Let us wait just a little while longer,” he urged. He wanted to add that such alarm may yet be unnecessary, but he could not form the words.
Rustlings from the bed indicated that Juliana was pulling away the covers. Like his mother, Tristan felt he could not watch. To see his father so incapacitated caused him actual physical pain. He fixed his gaze on a flickering candle and tried to steady his breathing.
Time slowed down so he knew not whether minutes or hours had passed before Juliana came to stand before them.
