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“My brother was right,” she said, offering him a weak smile. “You look terrible. Sit down before you faint.”
He didn’t argue but slumped into a chair at the dining table. The back of her neck prickled with awareness as she used nearby furniture to support her weight as she searched for the washroom. She found it on the main floor, tucked in the back of the tree beneath the stairs.
With each step, she crumbled a little more. Memories assaulted her. Terrifying. Horrific. Angry shouts. A rope strangling the breath from her. Fear for her daughters. For Joel. A sob climbed up her throat. She bit her finger to keep it from escaping.
When she entered the washroom, she froze as she spotted the woman staring back at her in the mirror. Limp, blonde hair. Sullen eyes. Pale skin splattered with flecks of blood. Purple bruises lined her neck. And Liam’s black curse now crawled across her shoulders, up her throat, and over the backs of her hands.
She leaned her weight against the small, wooden counter beneath the mirror, hanging her head. What had Calle seen in her? Was her haggard appearance why Liam had treated her so horribly while he’d spent most of his time with his mistresses?
And Joel…
Despite her initial reluctance to remarry, he hadn’t even expressed interest in a regular marriage filled with intimacy and love. Calle had chosen to marry another. Liam had chosen his mistresses. And she feared Joel would eventually stray out of their marriage if she didn’t die first. Why wouldn’t he?
A soft rap on the doorframe startled her, and she hastily wiped the moisture from her eyes.
“Did you fall in?” Joel joked in an exhausted, strained voice.
She cleared her throat, keeping her back to him. “Just a moment. I’m looking for supplies.”
After opening several drawers and a cupboard, she located antiseptic, bandages, a bone needle and thread, and medicine to fight off Joel’s infection. She kept her gaze averted as she attempted to thread the needle. Her hands shook. The thread missed. She tried again. It missed a second time.
Joel’s large, warm hand covered hers, and her shaking worsened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Forgive me. I married you to protect you. I’m doing a terrible job.”
Is there even a small chance you married me for something more?
When they’d first married, she hadn’t wanted anything more than security and friendship. But now? Something tugged on her heart for the man, and she wanted to explore what it was.
Thinking of when the three men had broken into her house, she shook her head but then grunted at the pain flaring in her neck. Her entire body ached, but at the moment, her neck hurt the worst. Her teeth chattered. Not from the cold but from shock. “I feel I would have been killed much sooner if you hadn’t stepped into our family.” Carefully, she measured out an adult dose of the medicine and watched as Joel swallowed it, wincing at what must be a bitter taste. “It should help your infection. I think it might make you sleepy, though.”
Slowly, his hands lifted to her neck, and he grimaced as his fingers gently grazed her skin. “Even so, I feel like such a failure. What would have happened if Bastien hadn’t interfered today?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, finally managing to thread the needle. After he stripped himself of his shirt and bloodied bandages, she gently touched the skin around his wound. It oozed blood and yellow liquid, surrounded by angry, red skin. “But in our circumstances, we didn’t have much to protect ourselves with. Besides…” His jaw clenched as she pierced his skin with the needle, but he otherwise gave no indication of his pain. “You lost your flute to protect me. I know how much you loved it.”
“I lo—” He paused to clear his throat, likely to hide the pain caused by her careful stitches. “I care about you more than my flute. It can be replaced. You can’t.”
Emotion burned her eyes. Joel always said the sweetest things, and she knew he meant them. His words helped ease some of the anguish and self-doubt clouding her heart.
She tied off the last of his stitches and dabbed yellowish ointment on top before dressing the wound. By the time she finished, he was swaying on his feet, his eyes unfocused from the side effects of the medicine. He stumbled, and she barely managed to catch him around his bare waist as she struggled to help him to the sofa. When she returned with a blanket from the closet and draped it over him, he began mumbling indecipherable nonsense.
“Get some sleep,” she murmured as she dared to stroke his hair. Like hers, it lay limp and was matted with blood. It didn’t take away from his handsome features in the slightest. “When you wake, I hope the infection will be gone.”
“Your…the curse…” he mumbled. “You need…I can’t…” He blinked sluggishly, fighting sleep.
Swallowing her trepidation, she bent down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for getting us here. You are so good to us.”
She inhaled sharply when he cradled her face with his rough hands, his fingers tangling in her hair. Her heart thrummed within her veins, her eyes round spheres as she stared into sleepy green eyes.
His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. And when he spoke, his words escaped as a slurred mess. “Genica never…Genica isn’t…Gen…”
His body fell limp, his hands falling away from her face as he succumbed to sleep.
Silence.
A fissure formed at the top of her heart, slowly ripping downward like parchment. A tear rolled down her cheek. In his stupor, had he thought she was Genica? Why did that hurt so much?
A soft rap at the door startled her. She swiped the tear from her cheek with the back of her hand and smoothed her skirts. She was not ready to face anyone else, especially not without Joel by her side, but she knew she must.
She opened the door.
