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“I see. Who else would be notified?”
The doctor gave him a long look. “The household staff, of course. I’m sure no one in the village is notified, but they are most likely aware because the staff must procure provisions in case the queen would like to dine or desires to stay overnight.”
“I imagine the number of people aware of the queen’s visit today would add to several dozen.”
“Easily, but if you are thinking that one of the local residents was responsible for an attempt on her life, I can assure you everyone here loves the queen. No one wishes her any ill will.”
“Of course. And yet someone tried to shoot Her Majesty.”
“I would argue that someone took advantage of the setting.” He gestured to the window, which looked out on the river and the woods just beyond. He turned back to Will and lowered his glasses. “You are not simply a courtier, Mr. Galloway.”
Will gave him a tight smile. “Thank you for your assistance, Doctor Phillips. If Lady Averley has any trouble during the night, I will send for you.”
The doctor rose. “Please do. Otherwise, I will see you first thing in the morning.”
Will saw the doctor out then went outside himself to confer with the royal guards who had stayed behind to chase the assassin. They had not been able to apprehend him, of course, but they showed Will where he had lain in wait and his means of escape. It was easy to trace the path of his hasty departure. He’d broken branches and torn his clothing on sharp foliage. Will collected the piece of blue material and placed it in his pocket. Finally, he dismissed the guards to go into the village for dinner and a room for the night. He cautioned them to keep vigilant and report anyone suspicious.
Will would have liked to go himself and question the residents of the town, but he couldn’t leave Emily alone. Will stood at the edge of the woods and looked up at the cottage. A light burned in the upper window of the chamber where Emily slept. He couldn’t leave her alone, and yet he dared not let her too close.
Only that was exactly what he needed to do if he was to be certain she was not part of the plot to kill the queen.
EMILY WOKE TO A DARK, unfamiliar place. Her head hurt, but even worse was the pain in her leg. She reached down to touch it, felt the bandage, and that action seemed to flood her with memories of just a few hours before.
She’d been shot. She could have been killed. The queen could have been killed. She gripped the sheet covering her and tried to slow her breathing. She could not succumb to fear now. She had to be strong. She hadn’t been killed, and the queen was safe.The doctor had told her she could return to the palace tomorrow. Then she would be safe as well.
Emily turned her head and saw the pitcher of water and glass on the nightstand beside her bed. Just beyond that was the other bed in the room. Someone was lying there. Perhaps it was a maid. Perhaps Pratt had come from London to care for her. “Pratt?” Emily murmured. Her voice sounded hoarse, as though creaky from disuse.
The body didn’t stir. Pratt would have been awake and on her feet in a moment, so perhaps it was not Pratt. Gingerly, Emily pushed herself up and reached for the glass. But her hand felt too large and unwieldy, and her grip failed, sending the glass tumbling to the carpeted floor.
“Emily?”
The voice was definitely not Pratt. It was a man.
She gasped, and he sat instantly. “It’s just me. Don’t be alarmed.”
“Mr. Galloway? What are you doing in here?” The panicked beating of her heart slowed and she felt relieved he was here. Safer with him nearby.
He bent to retrieve the glass and filled it with water from the pitcher. “I came to check on you. The doctor said you might have nightmares. I thought I would stay for a little while in case you woke up. I must have fallen asleep.”
Emily tried to sip the water, but her hand shook. She had to cup it with her other hand.
“Here. Let me help you.” Willoughby Galloway moved to her bed and sat on the edge. He took the glass and guided it to her lips so she could take a sip. “Better?” His gaze met hers, and she had to force herself to look away.
“Yes. My head aches and my hands feel as though they belong to someone else’s body.”
“I imagine that’s a byproduct of the medications Dr. Phillips gave you. He said he gave you something to sleep. Are you hungry?”
“Not really, but my head and my leg are throbbing.”
“May I?” he asked, lifting a hand toward her face. She nodded and he pressed a cool palm to her forehead. “You feel a bit warm. Have another sip of water.”
She did as he asked, sipping the water again, which felt good against her dry throat. Then she watched in surprise as he wet a towel with water from the basin, wrung it out, and folded it. He helped her ease back down onto her pillow and pressed the cool cloth against her forehead. Emily looked up at him. “What are you doing?”
He seemed confused by the question. “I should think it’s obvious. I’m taking care of you.”
“Why? I mean to say, shouldn’t you call a servant to do that?”
“Probably,” he said. “Do you want me to call for a servant?”
