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“No,” Evan acknowledged. “Did you meet someone by chance?”
Rhys moved his shoulder a little; it was almost a shrug.
“A friend?”
This time it was definite denial.
“Someone you do not like? An enemy?”
Again the shrug, this time angry, impatient.
“Did you go straight to St. Giles?”
Rhys nodded very slowly, as if he had trouble remembering.
“Had you been there before?” Evan asked, lowering his voice.
Rhys nodded, his eyes unwavering.
“Did you know your father was going there also?”
Rhys stiffened, his body tightening till the muscles seemed locked.
“Did you?” Evan repeated.
Rhys cringed back into the pillow, wincing as the movement hurt him. He tried to speak, his mouth forming the words, his throat striving, but no sounds came. He started to tremble. He could not get his breath and gasped, the air dragging and catching in his throat.
Sylvestra bent forward. “Stop it!” she commanded Evan. “Leave him alone.” She placed herself between them as if Evan were offering some physical threat. She swiveled to face Rhys, but he cowered away from her too, as if he could not distinguish the difference.
Sylvestra’s face was ashen. She struggled for something to say to him, but it was beyond her reason or even her emotion to reach. She was baffled, frightened and hurt.
“You must both leave,” Hester said firmly. “Please! Now!” As if assuming their obedience, she turned to Rhys, who was shuddering violently and sounded in danger of choking. “Stop it,” she said to him loudly and clearly. “Nobody is going to hurt you now. Don’t try to say anything.… Just breathe in and out steadily. Very steadily. Do as I tell you.”
She heard the door close as Evan and Sylvestra left.
Gradually, Rhys’s hysteria subsided. He began to breathe regularly. The scraping sound in his throat eased and he trembled instead of shaking.
“Keep on breathing slowly,” she told him. “Gently. In, out. In, out.” She smiled at him.
Warily, shakily, he smiled back.
“Now I am going to get you a little hot milk and a herbal draught to make you feel better. You need to rest.”
Fear darkened his eyes again.
“No one will come in.”
It was no comfort.
Then she thought perhaps she understood. He was afraid of dreams. The horror lay within him.
“You don’t need to sleep. Just lie there quietly. It won’t make you sleep.”
He relaxed, his eyes searching hers, trying to make her understand.
But he did sleep, for several hours, and she sat beside him, watching, ready to waken him if he showed signs of distress.
Corriden Wade came in the late afternoon. He looked anxious when Hester told him of Rhys’s distress and of the nightmare which had produced such prolonged pain and hysteria. His face creased with sharp concern, his own physical discomfort from the fall from his horse forgotten.
