Page 11 of A Daring Desire

But she had little time to consider, for fretful muttering came from the bed and she set down the letter, rushing to her husband’s side.

“Black,” he said, long fingers plucking at the bed sheets as his head turned back and forth on the pillow. “Black, black, black and red… no. No, don’t want to see… Please.”

“My lord,” Cat said, putting her cool hand to his forehead. Her heart spiked at the searing heat; his skin felt as dry as parchment.

“Feathers,” he moaned, and then subsided into a coughing fit that had him writhing in agony, arching his back off the bed. Panic lit his eyes as his lungs failed him, the congestion on his chest a horrific sound compared to the shallow, desperate breaths he fought for. Yet, even when the cough subsided, his mind would not let him be easy. “No… no, no. No, I won’t look.”

“You don’t need to,” Cat said, taking his hand and holding on tight. She did not know what he spoke of, but that it was tormenting him was clear enough. “You’re safe, my lord. I’m here.”

“Hugin, poor Hugin,” he said, his misery so palpable tears sprang to her eyes. “I’ll kill you, I will.”

He tossed on the bed, fighting with the covers, his face flushed.

For a moment, Cat stood watching, paralysed with fear, but Pippin wasn’t coming, and she was all that stood between Kilbane and an untimely end to an unhappy life. Cat swallowed hard and then moved, stripping the covers from the bed. Carefully, she peeled the mustard plaster from his chest, relieved to see the skin beneath was free from irritation. Hurrying to the door, she ordered the footman who sat there, awaiting any command, to fetch a basin of cool water.

“Cool, not cold, mind,” she instructed him. “And towels, and I want a pot of coffee, as strong as you can make it. Also, I’ll need a large cooking pot suspended over the fire in the hearth, half filled with water. Now. Go!”

The footman, who had been staring at her in bewilderment, jolted to life and left at a sprint. Cat closed the door and went back to her patient.

“I’m going to take care of you, my love,” she whispered, daring to bend and press a kiss to his searing forehead. “You are going to be well again, I promise.”

He stilled, his eyelids flicking open, the astonishing violet of his eyes somehow brighter than she had ever seen them, glassy with fever. “Catherine?” he said, his dark brows tugging together, confusion in his expression.

“Yes, my lord. I’m your Catherine. I’m here.”

He made a pained sound and shook his head. “No. No, no, no,” but she did not know if it was her he objected to or if he had sunk back into the fever dream.

“I’m all you’ve got, I’m afraid,” she said ruefully. “So, you’re just going to have to make the best of it.”

Once the footman arrived, she bathed Kilbane from head to foot, allowing the air to dry him in the hope it would bring him some relief. Though she tried not to, very aware that she was trespassing upon his dignity and his privacy, it was impossible not to be rivetingly aware of the body beneath her hands. He had lost weight, his body long and lean, but the definition of muscle on hard thighs and strong arms was hard to ignore.

A knock on the door heralded Mr Berrycloth’s arrival, and he hurried to the bedside, his expression grave.

“He’s worse,” he pronounced baldly.

“Yes. He’ll be worse still before he’s better,” Cat said tartly. “We must break the fever before it incinerates him, though.”

“Your Pippin is not here,” he said, folding his arms.

“No,” Cat replied, holding onto her patience. “Pippin says I am quite capable of tending to him myself. The letter is there if you’d care to read it.”

She glared at him, daring him to suggest ordering the doctor.

Berrycloth returned her stare, the desire to do or say something writ large upon his face, but he took a deep breath and let it go and finally, he nodded. “What can I do to help?”

Cat let out a breath of relief. “Help me sit him up,” she instructed. “I need to spoon some of this coffee into him.”

“Coffee?” Berrycloth said in consternation, watching as Cat took the cup she’d poured out to cool and set it beside the bed.

“Yes, strong, cold coffee. Pippin believes the caffeine opens the air passages to help breathing.”

Berrycloth looked sceptical but refrained from comment, sliding an arm behind his master until he was upright enough for Cat to put the cup to his lips.

Kilbane groaned, a sound of such agony that Berrycloth shot her a look of distress.

“It’s not for long, and he needs the coffee. Hold him still,” she instructed, though her heart hurt at the pain she was causing.

Kilbane turned his head away, refusing the drink, but Cat persisted, finally reduced to holding his nose and tipping a mouthful down his throat. She immediately regretted this as he coughed again, but at least he’d taken a little. They laid him back down as a footman came in to set a large cast iron cauldron of water over the fire to boil.