Thea retreated to a chair by the table. She crossed her arms, hugging her body close. She remembered times like this with Boyd. He’d disappear for days and then drag himself home. She’d sit and watch and pray as his body battled the ravages of his indulgences.
And then one day he’d not come home ... andshe hadn’t known if she’d been sad or relieved. Months later, she’d learned of his death. They said he’d fallen off a bridge and drowned in the river Thames. It had taken time before someone had found her and delivered the news.
And sometimes she wondered if Boyd hadn’t jumped off that bridge, if he hadn’t taken his own life.
Harry’s breathing continued at a labored rate. A shudder went through his body and he began snoring.
It was a terrible sound. Certainly nothing the dashing military man would take pride in when he was sober.
“Is everything all right now, my lady?”
“You tell me, Rowan,” Thea said. “He’s been like this before, hasn’t he?”
Somber golden-brown eyes considered her, and then he nodded.
“Well, we shall see how he does when he wakes,” she said.
At that moment, the footman returned with warm water and linen towels. “All right, gentlemen,” Thea said, rising to her feet. “We have work to do. Rowan, untie and undress him.” She looked to the footman. “Your name?”
“Edward, my lady.”
“Well, Edward, the three of us are going to lay these cloths over his body to sweat out what we can of any poisons in him.”
It wasn’t the choicest of assignments. Edward did not appear pleased. He moved grudgingly toward the door. Rowan set upon the task of undressing his master.
Soon more servants were involved in bringing hot water. For three hours they worked at steaming out Harry’s body. Thea had learned of this treatment from another woman whose husband had suffered from his weaknesses. She’d thought of attempting it on Boyd, but she’d never had the opportunity.
At one point, when Harry turned restless, Thea gave him a bit of port and he seemed to settle down. His breathing slowly grew more rhythmic and relaxed.
“We’re done,” Thea announced at last. “Rowan, your master should sleep through the night.”
“Should I tie him up like Lady Margaret wishes?” Rowan asked.
Thea shook her head. “We can’t keep him tied up forever. We shall have to wish for the best.” She thought of her sons. Neal would have seen to them, she knew he would have, but still, she was their mother. “I must leave.”
“I will keep watch, my lady,” Rowan said.
“Good. Come for me if there is a problem.”
Rowan answered with a deep bow.
Thea opened the bedroom door, realizing she didn’t know where anything was in the house—and then stopped in her tracks at the sight of Margaret sitting in a chair across the hall from the bedroom door.
Margaret’s thick, dark hair was down around her shoulders. Her face was tight and very pale. She rose from the chair. “How is he?”
“As good as can be expected,” Thea said.
“He frightened me this time. He looked dead when they brought him, and then he came to life and just went wild.” The woman’s nerves were stretched thin. Thea knew how she felt.
“The colonel is made of stern stuff,” Thea said. “He will survive this.”
“But will he survive the next time he does it?”
Thea shut the door, not wanting the servants to overhear their conversation. “He needs to give it up,” she said gently.
“I’ve told him that. He won’t. He says he has nothing else in life—” Her voice broke off and she looked away, crossing her arms as if holding in all of her emotion—and Thea saw the curse’s legacy.
The Chattans were not living; they were existing.They had put love, desires, dreams, wants, everything that made life worthwhile on hold because of superstition.
