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Chapter 26
Simon placed a warm cloth against Ellie’s forehead, holding her hand tight. It was hard to look at her; her lips were blue from the cold despite the room’s warmth, her skin was icy to the touch, and her teeth clattered from time to time in weak shivers. Simon had rummaged through the Castle’s belongings first thing in the morning to find a thick, woolen gown she could wear, along with two blankets he now wrapped tightly around her.
“Shhh, I’m here,” he whispered despairingly as he stroked her soft chestnut hair. She was so frail and weak, laying on the bed motionless, and he felt dejected. All the wealth, reputation, power, it was all useless now. He wanted to protect her, but he was powerless.
He placed the back of his hand to her forehead to gauge her temperature for the fourth time in an hour; she seemed to be recovering little by little. But she had been outside in the cold for God-knows how long, and with the unlikelihood of receiving any medical attention during the unrelenting snowstorm, time wasn’t on her side.
“If there’s someone that can make it through this, it’s you,” he mumbled. as his eyes began to redden.
They had watered a few times during the night and the day. He wasn’t one to cry, but seeing her like this caused a terrible ache to heave inside his chest, and he kept touching her to ensure that she was still here, with him, and not in some faraway place.
He couldn’t drink, sleep, or do anything without leaving her side, and so he seldom did unless for her own comfort. If she was to wake up, he needed to know. He’d never had to care for someone in such a state—living most his life independent, but now he truly understood what people meant when they said life was but a fleeting moment. He had so many words he still wished for her to hear, so many regrets, she couldn’t leave now.
The winter hail trickled against the glass window of the bedchambers, drowning out the crackling of the fire. The blizzard had softened over the night, but every time he remembered the cause of all this anguish, he would lose control of his temper.
He was trying as hard as humanly possible not to succumb to fury, despite his insides twisting every time Ellie mumbled, shivered, or tightened her grip on his hand. Antonia had warned him that yelling wouldn’t achieve anything, and it would only distress Ellie. And despite him knowing it, he wanted to scream. At them, at himself, at Ellie too. She had been so careless and selfless to run out in the storm with no regard to her own wellbeing. But every time his eyes traveled to her pale cheeks, his heart would sink in pain.
A moan escaped Ellie’s lips, and he inched closer, hoping to hear if she was asking for anything. But all he felt was her breath against his ears, and he fell back to the bedside in despondence. There must be something he could do. He had heard tales of parents taking care of their children when they were sick; unfortunately, with his poor excuse of a family, he himself had no such luck. Now, he found himself wishing they were still here for the first time ever, they would surely know what to do. He pressed his face into his arm as he sat with his knees to his chest.
A light knock followed by some faint footsteps pushed him to look up. Antonia walked carefully into the room, her eyebrows scrunched together in worry and disapproval; though he didn’t care.
“She’s still cold,” he rasped. “Instruct the maids to warm more linens, as many as possible. I’ll try wrapping them around her skin, it’ll keep her warm.”
“Your Grace, you should eat something—”
“Don’t. Don’t make me repeat myself. Instruct them to warm the linens.”
Antonia pursed her lips together, nodding and exiting the room. He could already picture Ellie glaring at him with disappointment every time he shouted or spoke snappishly to the servants. But she would understand. They had made it a habit to remind him to eat, bathe, or sleep every time they entered, and every time, he made a point to ignore them as if they didn’t exist. It was infuriating. Ellie was still unconscious, cold, and in pain; how could he think of himself at a time like this?
After what felt like hours, the door creaked open once more, and two maids—Fenella and a slightly shorter maid, rushed inside with linens folded in their arms. They placed it next to Simon on the bed, curtseying and standing still and stiff as they waited for any further instructions.
Clambering up to his feet, he walked over to them. “You,” he pointed at the short, plumpy maid, “ask Cook to prepare some warm broth. As for you,” he turned to Fenella, “take hold of the linens and pass them to me one at a time.”
They both nodded in silence. Fenella stepped toward him, clenching the linens in her hands and assisting him in removing the woolen blanket from Ellie’s body. They unbuttoned the woolen gown, placing the dry, warmed linens against the chemise and holding them there.
Ellie sighed in relief, her stiff limbs suddenly relaxing.
“You’re all right,” he whispered in her ear, holding her palm in his hands.
He could feel the maid’s confused glance penetrate the back of his neck, but he didn’t care. Ellie and her little sounds of life were the only things that forced him to push on. If it wasn’t for them, he would only be a shell of his former self. He needed this; to remain as close to her as possible and hear her breathing and her soothing heartbeat.
He groaned at the thought of something unpleasant that rushed through his body with what he recognized as guilt. Walter. In his panic and fear, he forgot to ask if the man was alive and well. Ellie wouldn’t be happy with him for that, he knew it.
“How is Walter?”
“P-pardon me, Your Grace?”
“Good God—” he took a deep breath, trying to relax, “Is Walter safe? Is he being treated?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Luckily he escaped with no injuries, he was only fatigued.”
“That’s pleasant news. Make sure you tell him to rest up, I’ll have others attend to the stables in the meantime.”
“Erm, Your Grace…will Lady Ellie be all right?”
Simon turned his head away, focusing back on Ellie, unsure how to respond to her. After a short but lasting moment, Fenella curtseyed and walked out of the room.
No sooner, the door opened once more, and he stopped himself from muttering curses under his breath. He wanted to be left alone with her, but he had asked for them to come after all. Antonia entered the room with a bowlful of steaming broth, accompanied by another maid; a yellow-eyed brunette with a frown and a permanently wrinkled forehead.
