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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

B y the time Cyrus arrived back at the castle with Teresa, it was not clear who required a physician more.

He shook as he lifted Teresa down from the horse and, against her protests, wielded her into the castle. Yet, the strength in his arms and of his determination did not fail him, carrying her with ease to the nearest room—an old drawing room—where he set her down upon a timeworn chaise.

“Belinda!” he barked, in a manner that was not at all like himself. “Where are you all?”

He marched out into the hallway, shouting again.

The housekeeper appeared a few moments later, hurrying down the hall toward him, her chatelaine rattling and clinking. There was concern in her eyes as she slowed to a standstill, observing her master as if she did not recognize him.

“Have someone fetch the physician,” Cyrus commanded, pausing. “No, forget that. Tend to my wife. I shall fetch the physician myself.”

He made to walk past her, but the housekeeper’s hand shot out, grasping him boldly by the elbow.

“You look pale, Your Grace,” she said gently. “I don’t know that it would be wise for you to go riding to the village. I’ll send one of the boys instead; they’re swift enough.”

He glared down at her, too overwrought to remind himself that this was not her fault, or anyone’s fault except his. “Do not make me repeat my order.”

“Her Grace is… unwell?” Belinda asked, her throat bobbing as she let go of his elbow.

“She fell. She has a cut to her brow and a wounded ankle, and who knows what else,” he shot back, striding off before she could frustrate him with further questions.

He needed to get out of the castle. He needed to get away from his wife. He needed to put as much distance between them as possible, or his mind would never clear, and now, more than ever, he needed a clear head so he would know how to proceed.

An hour and several miles of hard riding later, with the physician in tow, Cyrus felt no calmer than he had when he had left Darnley Castle.

“Everything is in hand, Your Grace. I am sure there is nothing to worry about,” the doctor said, far too cheerfully, as he was shown into the old drawing room.

For all I know, she is dead already. For all I know, this may yet kill her.

Not wanting to peek in, in case his fears were confirmed, Cyrus relegated himself to the hallway outside. There, he threatened to wear a hole in the flagstones as he marched back and forth, back and forth, his brain far louder than the thud of his footsteps.

“Your Grace?” Belinda appeared, somewhat nervously, from the door that led to the servant’s corridor.

Cyrus halted. “What?”

“I… thought you would like to know that she really does seem to be all right,” the housekeeper said with an encouraging smile. “She was talking cheerily enough to me, though… she is worried about you. I think you gave her quite the fright.”

His eyes narrowed. “ I gave her quite the fright?”

“What I mean is,” the housekeeper tried again, “that she hasn’t seen you like that before. Nor have I, in truth. I think she might like some reassurance that you are all right, after the physician has given his verdict.”

But I am not all right. I am not all right at all.

He resumed his pacing, his gaze lowered to the cracks in the floor.

He had assumed that Belinda would leave him be, but she merely retreated to a wooden chair set back in a nearby alcove, jigging her leg on the knee of the other, joining her anxiety with his.

Neither said another word to the other, until the drawing room door opened some minutes later and the physician stepped out with that irksome smile on his face.

“As I suspected, all is well,” he said brightly. “Nothing some rest and a bandage cannot remedy. A hot bath, perhaps, for the ankle. It is not broken, but it will be tender for a while. Aside from that, she is entirely healthy.”

Cyrus glowered at the man. The physician’s cheery demeanor faltered for a moment, his fingertips fidgeting with the buttons of his coat.

“It is good news, Your Grace,” the physician said cautiously, his voice tight.

For now.

Cyrus glanced at the partially open door of the drawing room, his instincts torn into two sides: one half wanted to march in there and pull Teresa into his arms, kissing her with all the relief that should have swept through his mind; the other half wanted to get back into the saddle and ride until the land ended, for that was the only place far enough to ensure his curse did not infect her.

“Your Grace?” The physician coughed. “Were you injured in the same incident? Is there something I can do for you? I have a tonic for… such moments.”

“Save all your medicine for her,” Cyrus replied coolly. “There is nothing I need.”

A milder smile returned to the physician’s face. “Very good. Then, I shall be on my way.” He hesitated. “I will call again tomorrow to ensure all continues to be well, and then every few days, if that would please you?”

“That will suffice,” Cyrus growled.

“Excellent.” The physician paused again, as if he meant to say more, but he clearly thought better of it. With an awkward nod of his head, he left the castle in haste.

Belinda rose from her chair, her hand to her chest. “That is a relief, eh, Your Grace? I expect you’ll be eager to go in and see her. Shall I fetch a tea tray? I still maintain that there’s very little that can’t be fixed with tea and cake.”

“Yes, fetch her a tea tray,” Cyrus replied. “I will be in my study.”

“Your Grace?”

He turned, flashing a look at her that furrowed her brow. A look that demanded no challenge.

If he went into that room, he would be tempting fate. Flouting it, in truth. And he might be convinced to make a choice that was not the least bit wise. If he stayed away, he knew he could make the difficult decision that needed to be made.

“I will be in my study,” he repeated, walking off to face what he was certain would be the longest night of his life.

“He is not coming, is he?” Teresa asked wanly.

Her head pounded as she struggled to sit up, eager for a sip of the hot, sweet tea Belinda had brought. She did not yet have the stomach for a bite of the decadent cake on the tray.

“Oh, don’t you worry yourself about that,” Belinda said too cheerily. “He didn’t want to intrude while you were resting, but he’ll come in to see you soon enough.”

Teresa squinted at the older woman. “Please, Belinda, do not start lying to me. He was acting strangely when I fell, and that peculiarity has not gone away.” She paused for thought. “Has he ever shown a fear of sickness or injury?”

“Not that I’m aware of, and I’ve been here a long time,” Belinda replied with a sigh. “He just… needs some peace, I think, and then all will be well.”

Teresa was not quite convinced, but she did not have the wherewithal to protest. Her head hurt rather a lot, her ankle seemed to have gained its own heartbeat, and her stomach was unsettled from the ride back to the castle.

Not to mention whatever unpleasant tonic the physician had insisted on her drinking.

He is odd, as you are odd. He will be fine in due course.

She clung to that thought as she sipped the hot, sugared tea. She did not normally like her tea with sugar, but there was something so comforting about it when one was not feeling very well.

“You do not have to stay here and fuss over me,” Teresa said with a smile, watching Belinda shift uncomfortably in the nearby armchair. “I promise I shall not do anything outlandish. All I mean to do is rest, as the physician commanded.”

Belinda shook her head. “It’s no trouble at all, Your Grace. I would prefer to stay here with you, if you don’t mind it.” She chuckled. “Apologies, Your Grace, you must think I have something wrong with me. I’m not accustomed to sitting on the good furniture, that’s all.”

“Well, make yourself comfortable,” Teresa encouraged.

She took another sip of the warming tea and wished that Cyrus was there at her side, holding her. She would rest far better if he were, with his chest for her pillow and the comfort of his slow, sleepy breathing to send her into a peaceful slumber.

I do hope he is not cross with me.

After making such great strides toward the sort of marriage she had always hoped for, lingering just short of a confession, it would be a tragedy indeed if they started to take steps backward.