He awoke confused. The room was dark, except for a splash of moonlight streaming through the window. The bed was soft enough, but small and he needed more blanket. He tugged on the scratchy wool tucked under his chin, and when he did, his shoulder screamed in protest and his awareness came back like a gut punch.
Jolting from the bed, he raced out the door and into the dark hall of the house. Which room was Madelaine’s? Everything appeared different at night. He threw open several doors before he found her room, almost stumbling in his eagerness to see her. She moaned, and he fell to her side and laid a hand on her brow, only to draw back in horror at the fiery heat of her skin. Fever! “Plumbe!”
Within seconds, Plumbe barreled through the door with Rose on his heels.
“She’s on fire,” Grey said as he stroked her forehead.
The physician placed his hand on Madelaine’s forehead, his lips pressing together. “Fever’s taken hold.”
“Please do something.”
“Rose, bring the water basin and sponge.”
His wife hurried out of the room and came back within moments with a basin sloshing with water. She dipped a sponge into the water.
“Let me,” Grey said, his voice a desperate thread-bare plea.
Rose handed the sponge to him. “Start at her head and work down.”
He nodded, rolled up his sleeves, and gently brought the sponge to her forehead. She moaned and thrashed about, making him have to grit his teeth together on a string of curses.
He wiped her face, then her long slender arms and legs. “Stay with me,” he whispered, not caring that Plumbe and his wife could hear him. Grey continued to sponge her until his arm burned from the motion. Pausing, he placed a hand against her forehead. “God damn it. It’s not working.”
Rose came toward him and took the sponge. She dropped it in the basin and eyed him with sympathy. “No more for now.”
“What then?” He tried to focus with his blurry vision.
“Pray,” Rose said simply. “Ask God to be merciful and bring your woman back to you.”
As Plumbe and Rose shuffled out of the room, Grey dropped to his knees and prayed. “Please,” he whispered. “Nothing matters but her.I love her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and swallowed, lest the tears overcome him. But what the bloody hell did it matter if they did? He opened his eyes. Tears trickled down his face. Tears he’d never allowed himself to shed as a boy, or a young man, or even as a man when he’d felt alone. It felt bloody foreign but he cried. For her, he cried. “Take me. Me.”
The litany continued until his throat was raw, and he couldn’t speak another word. Exhausted, he rose and pressed his head against her chest to hear the steady thump of her heart. Whatever barriers he had once erected, Madelaine had destroyed. He wanted only to love her for the rest of his life.
Heat rolled across Madelaine’s body like a raging fire, burning her face, neck, arms, legs, destroying her from the inside out. The merciless heat would not let up. It engulfed her, making her want to scream and come out of her skin.
Was she asleep or awake? Was this a nightmare or her reality? She could see nothing but rolling waves of brilliant red. The flame called to her, beckoned her to come closer. She tried to resist, but the flames slithered toward her like a stealthy snake and coiled its heat around her ankles to drag her, screaming and thrashing, into the turbulent flames.
Fire crackled around her, the smell of smoke infusing her nose and lungs. She coughed and her eyes watered but strangely now that she stood in the heat, peace came over her.
When next she was aware, her skin felt odd, not burning and melting off her bones as it had before, nor mildly warm as it had most recently. She looked around, really looked into the flames, and they parted before her. Eagerly, she walked through the towering wall of red that danced on either side of her some twenty feet up. When she came to the end of the burning tunnel the flames gave way to lush green grass, a brilliant blue sky and the edge of a river bank.
She knew this river. Scurrying to her knees and then her belly, she leaned over the edge of the embankment and dipped her fingers in the cold water. The coolness made her throat ache. She cupped her hands and drank greedily, handful after handful, of the water, until it dribbled down her chin and she almost choked on her last mouthful. God that felt good! She splashed the water all over her body, crying out at the momentary release from the pain. After a while, she no longer felt the burning, and the thirst in her throat was quenched.
She flipped onto her back and slid her hands behind her head to stare at the huge, fluffy clouds above her. A bird flew in circles high up in the sky, and if she strained very hard, she could hear the flapping of its powerful wings as it soared. She wanted to fly free like that bird. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished with all her heart, and when she opened them she was hovering in the air, not flying, but looking down at herself lying in a bed with rumpled sheets half over her bare legs.
She gazed at herself in wonder. She didn’t remember her legs being so pretty. Her skin appeared almost translucent, and if she stared long enough she thought she could make out her bones underneath her skin.Impossible. Her eyes wandered to her face, skin bloodless and shimmering with sweat, her cheekbones protruding. She reached down to run a finger over a sharp cheekbone and smooth back her tangled, matted hair when her eyes suddenly opened.
Heramber eyes stared back at her with all the understanding of a mother’s love. She reached out, her hand touching the hand of her other self that lay in the bed. “Come,” her other self whispered. “Time to go.”
She turned hand in hand with the other her to fly away, but a man standing at the foot of the bed caught her attention. His eyes, blue like the sky before a winter storm, looked straight into her soul. She knew him, but couldn’t recall his name, yet her heart squeezed at the sight of him.
She loved him.
He squeezed his eyes shut as she stared, his shoulders shaking with a tremor that vibrated the air she floated in. A dark-haired woman moved to stand beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and the shimmering tears made Madelaine want to cry.
She didn’t want him to be so sad, so broken. She glanced up at the bright sky calling her then to her right to tell the mirror her to go, but her other self was no longer there. “Stay,” a voice—her mother’s voice—said to her. “I’m proud of you. I love you.”
Cool tears trailed down Madelaine’s cheek. She glanced once more at the sky, took a deep breath and locked her gaze on the man. She’d stay. He needed her.
