“Starving.”
“I’ll ring for some broth.”
“What about a steak?”
Emalyn chuckled. “Let’s start with the broth.”
He tried to push up farther in the bed, but she pressed against his shoulder. “Stop. You could pull your stitches. When the maid comes, I’ll send for Michael. We can help you sit up more.”
“How long since...” He let his voice trail off. He still could not put what happened into words.
“Five days.” She paused as the door opened and she requested that broth be sent up and Michael be sent to the bedchamber. The door closed and she went on. “You were awake the day after for a bit, but in a great deal of pain. The doctors increased the dosage on the laudanum, and you have been asleep off and on since. But they think you should not remain sedated any longer. You need nourishment.” She stroked his hair, pushing the curls away from his face. “What do you remember?”
He swallowed, the thickness of his tongue less restricting. “It all feels like a dream.”
“That’s the laudanum. That drug is both a blessing and a curse. Always gave me the most horrific nightmares.”
“When did you—”
“Childbirth. Also that time Maximilian stepped on my foot.”
Thomas smiled, ignoring the first part of her answer. “He can be a beast.” He swallowed. “How is he? Did the shot—”
She stroked his arm. “He’s fine. A couple of scratches. Michael has been taking care of him.”
The door opened, and Thomas heard Michael’s voice. “Mother?”
She stood. “Come help me with your brother. He needs to sit up more. You lift, I’ll take care of the pillows.”
Michael was a dark shadow as he moved next to the bed. “Let me do the lifting.”
“Be my guest. I can barely lift my hand.”
Michael chuckled, then slid one arm beneath Thomas’s shoulders and the other under his rear. “Ready?”
“Heave ho.”
Michael lifted Thomas with an unexpected ease, raising his shoulders to a steeper angle. A sharp ache pierced Thomas’s chest and abdomen, and he gave an involuntary groan.
“Sorry,” muttered Michael.
“Expected,” Thomas said between clenched teeth.
The pillows behind him were fluffed and stacked higher, pressing against his back. Michael settled his brother down, then stood back.
Thomas squinted again, trying to focus on his brother’s form. “When did you get to be so strong?”
“You have been courting the softer sex. I have been wrestling with thousand-pound animals.”
Thomas barked a laugh, then moaned, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I think the laudanum is wearing off.”
It was Michael’s turn to laugh. “Oh, no, brother, it’s just beginning.”
Two hours later, Thomas realized his brother had not been joking. What began as an uncomfortable ache in his shoulder slowly intensified, spreading into his chest. Every twitch, every shift became a burning agony. He resisted the urge to ask for the painkiller, but his mother could see the pain on his face. As she prepared the dosage, he murmured, “I thought they wanted me to stop taking it.”
She shook her head. “You do not just stop taking laudanum. You reduce it bit by bit. This is half what they were using to keep you asleep. It will help you rest.”
Which it did. The pain eased although the ache remained. His eyesight improved, and he itched less. The dreams, however, came with an unexpected intensity—visions of the attack, a swirling street fog that choked and constricted around his arms and legs, fire that swept over him, screams of his family as they were roasted alive.
