“Sinjun,” Colin said blankly.
“Your wife, Papa, your wife. Quickly, come now.” Philip was pulling back the covers, s
o frightened and relieved that he’d found his father that he was shaking with it.
“Joan is ill?”
“Not Joan, Papa, Sinjun. Please hurry. Aunt Arleth will let her die, I know it.”
“Blessed hell, I don’t believe this! Who came with you? What the devil happened?” But even as he spoke, Colin flung off the covers and jumped off the bed, naked and cold in the gray light of dawn.
“Speak to me, Philip!”
Philip watched his father pull on clothes, watched him splash water on his face, watched him wave Angus away when the old man appeared in the doorway.
He told him about the Cowal Swamp and the rain on the ride back to the castle and how Sinjun had taken off her riding coat and made him wear it. He told him about the cold room and the open windows and the lies Aunt Arleth had told them. He stopped then, stared with frightened eyes at his father, and started to cry, low deep sobs that brought Colin to his son instantly. He enfolded him in his arms and hugged him close. “It will be all right, Philip, you’ll see. You’ve done very well indeed. We’ll be home soon and Joan will be all right.”
“Her name is Sinjun.”
Colin forced his exhausted son to eat some hastily prepared porridge. Within a half hour, they were on horseback and off. He’d suggested that his son remain here because he was so weary, but Philip wouldn’t hear of it. “I must see that she’s all right,” he said, and in that moment Colin saw the future man in the boy, and he was pleased.
Sinjun felt strangely peaceful. She was also incredibly tired, so very weary that she just wanted to sleep and sleep, perhaps forever. There was no more pain, just this sweet desire to release her mind from herself, to give in to the gentle lassitude that tugged persistently at her. She moaned softly, the sound of her voice odd in her ears, far away really, as if that sound came from someone else. Tired, she was so very tired. How could she be so tired and not sleep? Then she heard a man’s voice, echoing in her head as if it came from a great distance, and wondered if it was her own voice she was hearing and if it was, why she was speaking. Surely there was no need to speak, not now, not forever. No, his voice was strong, deep, impatient, and commanding, surely a man’s voice, a man who wasn’t pleased about something. She’d heard that tone of voice enough times in her life from her brothers. But it wasn’t Douglas or Ryder. It couldn’t be. Now the man was speaking more closely to her, next to her ear, but she couldn’t understand his words. They weren’t important, surely not. She heard another man speaking as well, but his voice was old, softer, blurring at the edges of her mind, not intruding, bumping gently against her consciousness, then rolling away, harmless and indistinct.
The hard man’s voice was retreating, at last. Soon she would be free of it. It was gone now and her head lolled to the side, her mind eased. She felt her breath slow and slow yet more.
“Damn you, wake up! I won’t tell you again, Sinjun, wake up! You shan’t give up like this. Wake up, you damned twit!”
The shouting brought her back with a lurch of pain. Douglas shouted like that but she knew it wasn’t Douglas. No, he was far away. She felt as if she were teetering on the edge of something that was very close to her but still unseen; she was drawn to it, yet still wary of it. It was strangely seductive.
The man’s voice came again, a loud, horribly grating voice that made her brain pound. She hated it; she wanted to scream at him to be quiet. She stepped back from the edge, so angry at the interference that she even opened her eyes, wanting to protest, to yell at the man. She opened her mouth but didn’t make a sound. She was looking up at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life. Her mind absorbed his image, his black hair and incredible dark blue eyes, and that cleft in his chin, and she managed to say in a raw whisper, “You are so beautiful,” then she closed her eyes again, for she knew he must be an angel and she was here in heaven, and she wasn’t alone, and for that she was grateful.
“Damn you, open your eyes! I’m not beautiful, you little twit. Good God, I haven’t even shaved!”
“An angel doesn’t curse,” she said clearly, and once again forced her eyes open.
“I’m not an angel, I’m your bloody husband! Wake up, Sinjun, and do it now! I won’t have any more of your lazing about! No more dramatics, do you hear me? Wake up, damn your Sherbrooke eyes. Come back to me and do it now, else I’ll beat you.”
“Bloody husband,” she repeated slowly. “No, you’re right, I must come back. I can’t let Colin die. I don’t want him to die, not ever. He has to be saved, and I’m the only one to do it. He’s too honorable to save himself. He isn’t ruthless and only I can save him.”
“Then don’t leave me! You can’t save me if you die, you understand me?”
“Yes,” she said, “I understand.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to pick you up and I want you to drink. All right?”
She managed a nod. She felt a strong arm beneath her back and felt the cold glass touch her lips. She drank and drank and the water was ambrosia. It ran down her chin, soaking into her nightgown, but she was so very thirsty nothing mattered but the sweet water trickling down her throat.
“There, enough for now. Listen to me. I’m going to bathe you and get that fever down. Do you understand me? Your fever’s too high and I’ve got to get it down. But you won’t sleep again, do you understand me? Tell me you understand!”
She did, but then it escaped her. Her brain tripped off in another direction when she heard a woman’s shrill voice say, “She worsened suddenly. I was just on the point of fetching that old fool Childress when you came, Colin. It isn’t my fault she got sicker. She was nearly well before.”
Sinjun moaned because she was afraid. She tried to pull away from that woman, tried to curl up in a ball and hide from her. The beautiful man who wasn’t an angel said in a very calm voice, “Leave, Arleth. I don’t want you inside this room again. Go now.”
“She’ll lie to you, the little bitch! I’ve known you all your life. You can’t take her side against me!”
She heard his voice come again, but he was pulling away from her.
Then there was blessed silence. She suddenly felt a cool wet cloth on her face and she tried to lean upward to bury her face in it, but there was his voice again, this time soothing and so gentle, telling her to lie still, that he would see to it that she felt better. “Trust me,” he said, “trust me.” And she did. He would keep the woman away from her.