His skin already draining.
No, no.
“Confess to the murder of every single life you took.” Mrs. Musgrave’s voice cracked. “Or watch the only person you love, and the only person I love, bleed to death.”
Move.The command quivered throughout all of his muscles as he turned on his side and faced her. He swept his fingers to her face, grabbed the back of her neck, and scooted her closer to him.
Her eyes stayed closed. For too long she had pressed into him and staunched his blood flow with the folds of her dress. Prayers had breezed from her lips. He knew, not because the words possessed sound but because they’d stirred from her so many times before.
In the apothecary shop as she leaned over the white-covered bed, draping some cool cloth across the skin of a fevered brow. Or late at night, when she prepared a poultice. Or at church, the Sunday after someone died.
He never thought she would pray this way for him.
That he’d pray the same way back.
That he’d beg again.
God, please.His eyes closed too. The room was empty. Too long ago, the old goat had gone limp in his chair and the three blackguards had scattered to guard the house. “A horse,” someone had said, their voice rough and faded. “Comin’ up the drive.”
Mrs. Musgrave had whimpered something. Tom couldn’t remember what.
Then everyone was gone, the room was silent, and a long stream of sunlight shimmered in through a crack in the drawing room draperies. Colors flitted across his vision. Every time he blinked, the weight was stronger, the pull deeper, luring him into blackness with the cool siren of numbness.
Dinnae let her die.
Meg’s face nuzzled closer. Her nose against his.
“I’m sorry.” Did she hear him? When she didn’t answer, he drew nearer still, the rug chafing his cheek. “Ye need to run.”
“No.”
“The window.”
“They will see me.”
“Lass—”
“I have no strength.”
He said nothing, because he didn’t have strength either. Her pulse throbbed beneath his palm and kept him alive. “Ye’re crying.”
She nodded.
“Dinnae cry.”
“I wanted to sew more of them.”
“What?”
“Curtains. For the windows. In the cottage.”
“They dinnae need curtains.”
“I knew you would say that.” She smiled, the frailest laugh brushing his face. “I wanted to find an armchair too. I think you would have looked nice in it … sitting in front of the hearth.”
“I dinnae like to sit.”
“I would have sat with you.”
