Watching Lucas thrash about on the bed was not terrifying – it was his words that froze her soul. Sometimes, she couldn’t make them out but other times they were clear and strong – he would beg someone to stop, then curse them roundly to hell within the same breath.
The wound he’d sustained did not look too serious now it was clean, and although it had bled copiously on the journey home, it had quickly stopped once he’d been settled into bed with a compress. She suspected that once he was awake, he’d have rather a bad head, but it was the cold that worried them more; it seemed to have seeped into him deeply and they’d rubbed his freezing hands and feet to bring back some colour.
Mrs Reynolds came hurrying in with the same herbal draught that Lucas had given Daphne. The weather was too bad for the village doctor to be sent for and so she and Mrs Reynolds had discussed treatment. Laudanum had been dismissed, despite the housekeeper’s promise to only add a drop, and every four hours, they attempted to make him drink the disgusting herbal concoction.
Rosalind had more success with this. He seemed to quieten with her voice and had even muttered her name several times, which she saw as encouraging. It was now very early morning, and she crossed to the fire to add more coal whilst Mrs Reynolds straightened his bed sheets.
“Get some sleep and food, Miss. Cooper’s downstairs with tea and toast, and you’ll be no help to the major if you faint. I promise I won’t leave him.”
Indeed, Rosalind did feel rather light-headed, and nodding, she made her way outside, only to bump into Benedict.
“How is he?”
“Restless and he hasn’t woken properly. He is drinking, however, and the fever is low. I thank God we found him when we did.”
“Youfound him, Rosalind. He would have died if not for your dreams.” He clucked her under the chin, knowing she hated it.
“I am only getting something to eat and then I will return.”
“Is there any use in my saying that it isveryimproper of you to take such intimate care of the man?”
“He’s unconscious. What do you think he’s going to do?” she said, eyes twinkling.
“Perhaps it’s nothisactions I’m worried about.”
Rosalind batted his arm. “I would never take advantage of an unconscious man. And besides, you haven’t left Daphne’s side? Would you prefer someone else to take care of her?”
“Hmm.”
“Benedict,” she said slowly as they descended the stairs, “has Lucas ever spoken to you about his time in France?”
“God no. Bit…familiar to talk of that kind of thing.”
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “What do men talk about?”
“Women, horses, dogs, women, war and women.”
“You are a liar, dear Benedict.”
“Well, maybe supplant the women with horses and then you’d be nearer the truth. Why do you ask?”
“Just some of the things he says in his delirium. And he has the most appalling scars on his chest, not from the fire – these are knife or whip.” The words stuck in her throat and she bit her lip to stop the tremble.
Benedict paused and laid his hands on her shoulders. “We have no idea of what he was engaged in when he was captured, but even an officer would have been…questioned.”
“Tortured.”
“Maybe so. But it is a consequence of war, or more specifically being captured. All soldiers know that.”
She nodded dolefully. He may be right but that didn’t make it any easier.
They both heard the sound of tea being poured in the breakfast room and her stomach growled at being ignored, so they hastened their step.
Lucas tried to pull himself from the fire. It was so hot and it was burning his body – he flung himself over. Something tightened around his torso, clammy and constricting; he attempted to sit up and tear at the offending item, flinging it over his head.
Blessed coolness enveloped his body for a moment, before his head started clanging with pain, and he fell back against softness.
Cold moisture met his torso and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever felt. It travelled over his chest, his arms and neck, dragging glorious relief in its path. It left him suddenly and he mumbled, “Come back,” but it didn’t sound right, merely a parched crack of a sentence.
