The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [102]
Philip wondered if he wasn’t losing his wits. He wasn’t afraid now. No matter what else Serena was, she wouldn’t allow Aunt Arleth to hurt Sinjun.
“Go away, Serena, else I’ll crown you with a rowan cross!”
“Oh no you won’t, Aunt. You can’t hurt me and well you know it. I’ll always be too strong for you, and too good.”
Aunt Arleth looked pale and furious, colder than the loch in January.
Then, to Philip’s utter relief, his father strode into the room. He stopped short and frowned at his son, who was hovering on the bed next to Joan as if he were protecting her, for God’s sake. Serena was looking vague and beautiful, like a fairy princess who had mistakenly stepped into Bedlam and didn’t know what to do.
As for Aunt Arleth, there was no expression at all on her thin face. She was looking down at her pale hands, at the age spots that dotted the backs.
“Colin?”
He smiled now and walked to the bed. Sinjun was awake and had her wits about her, finally. “Hello, Joan. You’re back again. I’m pleased with you.”
“What’s a kelpie?”
“An evil being that lives in lochs and inland lakes. He can assume different forms. He gets his power from the devil. It’s an interesting question. Why do you wish to know?”
“I don’t know. The word just kept coming into my mind. Thank you. May I have some water?”
It was Philip who helped her to drink. “Hello to you,” she said to him. “What’s wrong, Philip? Do I look that horrid?”
The boy lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Oh no, Sinjun, you look fine. You’re better, aren’t you?”
“Yes. You know something? I’m hungry.” She looked at Aunt Arleth and said, “You dislike me and you wish me ill. I don’t understand you. I’ve done nothing to harm you.”
“This is my house, missy! I will—”
Colin said mildly, “No, Aunt Arleth. You will stay away. No more from you.” He watched her leave the room, slowly, unwillingly, and he was afraid that her mind, tenuous at best, was losing its meager hold. He turned back to hear his wife say to Philip, “Get me the pocket pistol, Philip. It’s in the pocket of my riding habit. Put it under my pillow.”
Colin said nothing. He wanted to tell her not to be such a fool, but in truth he couldn’t be at all certain that Arleth, from some misguided notion of loyalty, hadn’t tried to hurt her.
He said now, seeing that his son was fairly itching to get the pistol for her, “I will speak to Mrs. Seton about some invalidish dishes for you, Joan.”
“I remember you called me Sinjun.”
“You wouldn’t respond to your real name. I had no choice.”
Sinjun closed her eyes. She felt beyond tired, her bones so weak she knew she couldn’t lift the small pistol even to save herself. The fever was rising and she was shivering. She wanted some more water badly.
“Papa, you stay with Sinjun. I’ll talk to Mrs. Seton. Here’s the pistol, Sinjun. See, it’s right under your pillow.”
Colin gave her water to drink, then sat down beside her and watched her. She felt the flat of his hand on her forehead, then heard him curse quietly.
The heat became cold from one instant to the next and she knew that if she moved, her body would crack, just as ice would crack. She felt brittle; she knew that if she blew her breath out, she would see it, for the air was frigid in her lungs.
“I know,” Colin said. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed beside her. He drew her against the length of him, pressing her even closer, trying to give her all his warmth. He felt the tremors, the convulsive shaking, and it hurt him, this pain of hers. He wanted to know many things, but now wasn’t the time.
He held her close even when he began to sweat. When she finally slept, he still held her, his hands stroking up and down her back.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m so sorry.” He was very aware of her breasts pressing against his chest, her thighs against his, and her belly . . . no, he wouldn’t think of that. Oddly enough, even though he was hard, he felt more protectiveness toward