On wobbly legs, she entered and walked to the bowl. Her fingers trembled as she laid the halved stone near the other.
“I return you to your home,” Emma whispered. Another tear slid down her cheek. Foolish. ’Twas but a gemstone, an inanimate object hewn from the earth. Though it didn’t make sense, it felt as if a part of her was torn away.
“That is because it is yours.”
At the older woman’s whisper, Emma whirled.
The elder stood before her, sadness woven upon her face, a woman Sir Alexander claimed no longer existed.
“Sir Alexander believes my spirit lives,” the woman explained. “He but fights the fact you see me and why.”
Emma closed her eyes. “No, you are not here.” Exhaustion had brought on this illusion.
“Nae, lass, ’tis no illusion.”
With her body trembling, Emma peered through her lashes.
The elder remained.
She gathered her courage. This woman, real or delusional, needed to understand. “Patrik and his gemstone belong here. This is his home, not mine. That he has made great steps in reclaiming his family is a blessing. If he lives—”
A sob escaped her, then another, the storm of emotions she’d held so long within spilling out. As she fought for control, the room spun around her. Emma put her hand to her head, fighting to focus. Staggering, she made it to the bed, barely.
A sad smile touched the weathered face as she looked down. “Sleep, my child. It has been too long since you have truly found rest.”
The soft voice curled around Emma like a tender hand. “No,” she whispered, “I must return to my chamber. I cannot stay here.” Heaviness weighed upon her. Unable to form coherent thought, she curled upon the bed. A sense of peace filled her. From above the fairies stared down. And she swore she saw one smile.
The healer stowed her herbs, a grimace weighing upon her wizened face. She nodded to Lord Grey. “Sir Patrik is gravely ill. Worse, he shows signs of a fever.”
“Will he live?” Seathan asked.
Alexander’s gut tightened at the question.
“I do not know,” she replied. “Only time will tell.”
The creak of the door had Alexander glancing toward the entry. Nichola stood at the doorway. “Go to our chamber. I will be there when I can.”
Face pale, his wife stepped inside. “I wish to see Patrik.”
Seathan nodded to the healer. “Leave us.”
The healer cast an unsure glance between them, secured the last bag of herbs, then hurried out.
Tense silence filled the chamber.
“Patrik is gravely ill. We do not know if he will . . .” Alexander muttered a curse.
Anguish darkened Nichola’s eyes. “God no.”
Alexander took his wife’s hand, cupped it in his own. “Go, please.”
“I would like to stay,” Nichola said, “if only for a while.”
At the rumble of voices, Patrik forced his eyes open. A pounding in his skull rewarded his efforts. His vision was blurred. Through sheer will, he focused. Stilled. “Nichola?”
At Patrik’s rough whisper, she whirled. With hesitant steps, she crossed the room. “I am here.”
Through the blur of pain, emotion swept Patrik as he stared at the woman he’d tried to kill.
