The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2) Read online

  Royce’s indrawn breath was also quite clear. “Fuck.”

  Gabriel simply nodded. “Yes.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve, maybe? No wait. It was just before my twelfth birthday. So…eleven.”

  “Jesus, Gabriel. That’s…unpardonable.” Jeremy’s face was taut.

  The man in the bed moved slightly and then sighed. “I looked so…different. And to him I looked…well, the word he used was delicious.” He lifted an arm to wave his hand, winced and thought better of it. “Back then, I was very pale. My hair was long. If I didn’t pull it back tightly, I was often mistaken for a girl.”

  “But your tutor knew better, Gabriel.” Royce’s voice was hard and cold. “He knew who and what you were.”

  “He did.”

  “Your parents? Family? Anyone come forward to help you?” Evan leaned his forearms on his knees.

  Gabriel shook his head. “I was the third son, Evan. And I looked…odd. So I was pretty much ignored during my childhood, and my mother died just after I was born. Nobody payed much attention to me except at the times when my father thought it would be fun to show off the black sheep of the family to guests.” He shook his head. “Or white sheep, in my case. My siblings are mostly dark haired.”

  “You left, I take it?” Jeremy’s hands were fists on the arms of his chair.

  “Yes. As soon as I could reasonably get away. My tutor had moved on elsewhere by then, but the damage was done. Whispers, rumours, servants talk, of course. I was happy to learn that a distant aunt wanted me to live with her.”

  “Family at least,” said Evan hopefully.

  “Yes,” agreed Gabriel. “And for a while it was better. I still got stared at, but as time passed, they became used to me, and my aunt made sure I received a decent education.”

  “But? There’s always a but…” Royce’s eyes were cold.

  “My aunt passed away. Going on six years ago. And I was out on my own, with not enough money to settle into my own establishment.” The muscles of his cheek twitched, and the others could see his teeth clench for a few moments.

  “I did what I had to do to survive, and I’ll not apologise for it. I did not enjoy it, or seek it, but…it was either that or starvation.”

  “For how long?” Evan kept his voice level.

  “What’s the date today?”

  “Dear God.” Jeremy slumped. “I am so glad they found you, Gabriel. You must have been through hell.”

  “Now and again,” he agreed. “But I survived.”

  Royce shifted, a noticeable movement of shoulders straightening, legs flexing. “What of the tutor? Did you ever see him again?”

  Gabriel raised his chin. “Yes I did. Last year.”

  “What happened?”

  “I killed him.” He paused for a dramatic moment. “But not deliberately. I caught up with him outside an inn, just before he propositioned another young lad. I hit him. Hard. He was drunk, fell over and cracked his skull on a nearby railing.”

  “Good.” Royce nodded. “No more than he deserved.”

  “I tried to feel sorry for what I’d done.” Gabriel couldn’t meet their gazes. “I professed remorse to the authorities, of course. And the lad stood up for me, putting all the blame on him. I was not detained, and the ruling was brought in as accidental death.”

  “Finally,” said Jeremy with relief. “Justice.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” answered Gabriel. “But…”

  “But what?” asked Evan.

  Gabriel looked around, his eyes a brilliant blue in the candlelight. “You all know who and what you are. What it takes for you to feel happy, and…and loved. I don’t.” He took a moment to collect himself. “I don’t know what it’s like to love and be loved by the right person. I’ve taken a man’s life, but I’ve never had a woman. Touched a woman. But the touches I have had…I haven’t liked very much. So where does that leave me? Am I to face a life that never knows the kind of happiness being loved can bring? Because if so, then one of you ought to break a few more ribs and throw my neck in for good measure, since I cannot begin to guess whether that kind of life is worth living.”

  Chapter Eight

  Nothing had ever looked more welcoming than the lights of Wolfbridge Manor.

  It had just begun to snow as the coach rolled up the driveway to the front steps, and Giles was more than ready to jump out, breathe clean cold air and deliver his passenger into her new home.

  The interior had become stuffy and noisome over the past few hours, and although he could not find himself angry with Lady Gwyneth, he knew she’d be a lot better after a thorough washing from head to toe. He pulled out the blankets first, dropping them beside the coach, happy to see the front door open and the gentlemen emerge to help.

  “Everything all right, Giles?” Jeremy was at his side. “Um…something doesn’t smell too good.”

  “That would be her Ladyship,” sighed Giles. “It’s a long story, but you’d better get Evan boiling more water.”

  “He’s used to it,” quipped Jeremy, wrinkling his nose. “Should we…er…the stable, do you think?”

  Giles saw the other two heading their way. “Evan,” he called. “We need hot water, soap, and towels. Lots of each.”

  Evan’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “It’ll be ready.” He spun around and rushed back into the Manor.

  “Trouble?” Royce reached them.

  “She’s barely alive,” grunted Giles, reaching in for his small burden. “I can’t begin to describe where I found her. Just…” he looked at the blankets. “Burn everything. Including what she’s wrapped in now.”

  Royce sighed. “I know the procedure.”

  Jeremy’s face reflected his shock. “What the…it must have been bad,” he said, helping Giles.

  “Yes, it was. Let me take her inside, then we’ll strip her down to her skin and clear it all out of the house.”

  The coach was emptied and sent on its way, and the sound of the door closing behind him reassured Giles. He almost staggered with relief.

  “Give her to me. You’re half-dead.” Royce peeled the fur away from the woman and lifted her from Giles’s arms. He looked at Jeremy. “She has a room? The big one upstairs?”

  “Should we take her there now? Or get her clean somewhere else before putting her to bed?” Jeremy carefully booted the fur out of the way.

  “She’s unconscious. I think she has a fever, and she has been starving for a few weeks.”

  That statement brought the two other men to a standstill as they stared at Giles.

  “Yes, starving. Strip her here. She won’t know and we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. I couldn’t do it when I found her, it was too cold and she was too ill. She’s no better now, but at least it’s warm and with luck, Royce, you can determine how best to proceed.”

  He nodded, and watched as Jeremy cautiously unwrapped the robe and the other blankets, finally exposing her white skin.

  And it was white. Blue white, her veins making soft trails beneath the pale surface. Her wrist bones were prominent, her breathing shallow.

  She had barely any breasts to speak of, and the hollows next to her hipbones spoke of more than a few weeks of hunger.

  She was, almost literally, skin and bone.

  “God in Heaven,” swore Jeremy. “How could this happen?”

  “I’ve seen this before. In France we’d run across villages that had no food. Napoleon raped the countryside, taking crops, horses, killing cows for meat, leaving nothing for the people.” Royce’s jaw firmed. “She’s been starving. But I hope we can catch it before her body gives up.” He glanced at Giles. “You cut her hair?”

  “I had to. There were…things…”

  Jeremy shuddered. “Let me take her, Royce. You should perhaps get bandages or something. In case she has wounds…”

  “She wasn’t at war, Jeremy, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” agreed Royce, passing the naked woman over.

/>   Evan appeared as they started up the stairs. “I have two buckets here and two more going.” He froze. “Oh God. Is she alive?”

  “Barely,” answered Giles. “Go with them. We can’t put her in a bath, she’d drown or die of shock. Let’s wash her as best we can for now. And then we have to decide how to go on.”

  He let the men take her, since he was weary to the bone. Using an old walking stick he pushed all her wrappings out of the front door. At this point he didn’t really care to deal with any of it…it wouldn’t be a problem overnight in the snow.

  There was much to do, much to tell, and he wanted to know how Gabriel was doing. But exhaustion swept over him as he shut the door and he leaned against it for a moment or two.

  “Mr Giles?”

  He opened his eyes, finding Gabriel standing in front of him, wrapped in a thick woollen robe.

  “Are you all right, sir?” The voice was low and hesitant.

  “Hullo Gabriel. I’m glad to see you up and about.”

  “Well, up at least,” Gabriel’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I’m sore as can be, and my bruises are rather unpleasant, but everyone has taken excellent care of me.” He dipped his head. “And I know I have you to thank for that.”

  “Hush, lad. ’Tis good you are healing. But at the moment we have a greater problem.”

  Gabriel nodded. “I saw her—they’re putting her in her room now. The poor thing.” He shook his head. “But she’ll be cared for. I’m thinking you, sir, would be best served by a night’s rest.” He tipped his head to one side and peeped at Giles. “And mayhap a brandy beforehand?”

  Giles sighed, long and deep. “I think you have the right of it, Gabriel.” He straightened. “If you would bring the decanter from the Rose room to my chamber, I’d appreciate it. And also let the others know I’ll sleep for a while. They’re to clean her and see if she needs a doctor, then let her be. A night’s rest in a clean bed with a clean body and warm linens should help, if she’s not seriously ill.”

  “’Tis as good as done, sir.”

  “I’m not a sir, Gabriel. I’m just Giles.”

  “As you say, sir.” Gabriel turned away. “I’ll have the brandy to you in a trice. As soon as I find the Rose room.”

  Giles chuckled and shook his head tiredly. The lad might as well learn the lay of the land. He could end up as a Wolfbridge man yet.

  There were so many things Giles had yet to do. But at the moment, the only thing he could think of was a glass of brandy and his own bed. His body was betraying him; no longer could he go for so long without sleep. Angry at himself, but too tired to fight it, he surrendered and climbed the stairs.

  *~~*~~*

  Heat.

  Warmth.

  Something was touching her, something warm. But she was cold. So cold. She shivered violently, unable to stop the shudders.

  Hands touched her and she wanted to scream, to cry out in fear. Hands were bad, they hurt, they made her skin ache.

  There were more hands, and more warmth, but she stayed so very very cold, as if her bones were made of ice. So why was she burning up? What was happening to her?

  Stroking. Something was stroking her, something soft and warm and—wet? She smelled something bad and wanted to vomit but her body couldn’t, there was nothing there. Soft whispers sounded in her ears, words she could not understand, but in a tone of voice that promised comfort and ease.

  She was dying, she knew. Perhaps she was already dead, and these hands were cleansing her body. She would be buried clean, ready to face her Lord as best she could.

  Her teeth chattered, the chill still lingering, the cold everywhere. But…she was lying on softness and surrounded by light…she wished she could open her eyes, but was too weak and too afraid to try. The murmur of voices around her let her know she was no longer alone, but she knew none of them.

  Fear shook her, and she trembled, aching still, every move seemed like too much effort…too much pain to resist. She would succumb. Sleep. It was the only way to escape the bleak hopelessness.

  “Die,” she managed, through cracked lips. “Let me die.”

  She was lifted, raised a little and a cool touch on those lips made her open her mouth.

  Water. Sweet water.

  The pain in her mouth as the sweetness pierced her cheeks—the smooth warm water swilled around to soften the dryness, making her want to swallow.

  “Drink, my dear, drink…”

  The voice encouraged her, and she obeyed, a tiny drop at first, then more following, tracing its way down to a body starved of food and water for too long…

  “Enough for now. You shall have more in a little while.”

  Whispers, just whispers, but they managed to break into her mind, to force their way past the barriers she’d created as she faced her death.

  Lying back against softness, she felt again the delicious warmth of hot cloths stroking her body. The scent…oh what was that wonderful scent…roses, she recognised the rich fragrance. Perhaps Heaven was a rose garden after all.

  Dry now, smooth and clean for a change, comfortable…and warm. She shivered a little, still blurry in her thoughts, still believing she was about to die.

  But she was beneath thick covers, scented with roses. If death was her destination, then she would go to face it as bravely as she could.

  “She’ll do for now,” a voice spoke somewhere near her. “Sleep, a little more honey water if she wakes, and we’ll see how she does.”

  “The fever?” Another voice.

  “It might be just the lack of food. Starvation can cause it. She has no injuries other than those you’d expect. I’ve cleaned and wrapped that bite on her foot, and it’s a worry, but it’s not infected and I suspect barely a day old.”

  “So it’s wait and see then?” One more voice.

  “It is.” The speaker came closer. “You will not leave us, my Lady. You are not allowed to die. We need you, do you hear me?”

  She turned her head a little and tried to open her eyes.

  But she could not summon enough energy. Sleep was toying with her, or perhaps it was the ultimate rest claiming her. She didn’t know, but there was no fight left in her to postpone the inevitable.

  As she slipped into the oblivion, one vague thought danced through her confusion.

  All the voices were male…

  *~~*~~*

  Giles was embarrassed that he’d slept the entire night. He should have risen after a restorative nap and gone to check on Gabriel and on Lady Gwyneth.

  Even though Gabriel had been up and around the evening before, and had found the Rose room with no problems, Giles still wanted to talk to him, and the others, before deciding what to do with him. And there was the matter of what, if any, connections to Wolfbridge he had.

  All these matters jostled for precedence in his head as he walked in to breakfast.

  “Evan, you are a man of great brilliance in the kitchen,” he said, walking to the sideboard. “You also read minds. I awoke with a craving for fresh bread.” He helped himself to several slices of the loaf that sat, still warm, next to the other dishes.

  “Years of experience, Giles,” grinned Evan, who was taking the covers off the other plates. “How are you this morning? If you’ll forgive the expression, you looked absolutely knackered last night.”

  Giles chuckled. “Pithy, but apt.” He went to the table and took a seat. “Jeremy and Royce about yet?”

  “Royce popped down to the stables; he likes horses, so he’s helping out if the weather’s bad. Jeremy’s up…”

  “And ready for food,” said the man himself as he walked in. “Good morning, Giles. I trust you slept well.”

  “Like the proverbial log,” he replied. “I hope you all will forgive my absence. I should have been there when you tended to Lady Gwyneth.”

  Royce strolled in, his cheeks flushed with cold, his hair ruffled. “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” he commented. “We could have summoned an entire ba
ttalion into that room and she wouldn’t have known.”

  Giles sighed. “All right, well, since you’re here, sit all of you, please. I must know how she is.”

  Evan nodded. “I sat with her for the first half of the night. She barely moved. There were a few groans, she seemed to approach consciousness just before midnight, so I gave her a few sips more of the honey water.”

  Royce sat down with a full plate. “That’s the ticket. Her body is going to take some time to build its strength back up. We can’t give her solid food right now. It would damn near kill her. So honey water, sugar water…get that into her and help her body start to work properly again. Then tiny bits of food.” He took a bite of bread and raised his eyebrows at Evan. “Excellent, my friend. This will restore her once she’s ready for it.”

  “I took over at midnight. We arranged shifts.” Jeremy rotated his shoulders as if he were stiff from sitting. “She was silent. So silent. Barely a sound or a movement. It was…a little frightening, to tell the truth. I had to get up every now and again to make sure she still breathed.”

  Royce nodded. “That’s a good sign. If the fever was running high, she’d have been tossing and turning. I took a quick look before I came down, and she’s still warm, but I’d say less so than yesterday. After breakfast I’ll make certain that bite on her foot hasn’t flared into anything that needs treating.”

  “And now?”

  “Gabriel’s with her,” answered Royce.

  “Ah yes. Gabriel.” Giles looked around. “He is better?”

  “Mostly superficial,” Royce nodded. “Except for his rib, which will take a bit of time, he’ll be fine.”

  Jeremy put down his teacup. “What is to be done with him, Giles?”

  And that was the question. Giles finished the bread and washed it down with his own cup of tea before speaking.

  “How do you feel about him being here?”

  There were blank looks.

  “I don’t understand,” said Evan.

  “Well, do you object to his presence? There’s a chance that his preferences are not yours when it comes to the pursuit of pleasure, shall we say.”