Night Fire

by Catherine Coulter

  Knight came back into the room. “I sent Geordie for Dr. Brody. Joshua is here, as well as every servant in the Abbey.”

  Burke tried to get hold of himself. He had to keep control; he had to tell them what to do. But the bloody pain was drawing him under. Then, to his astonishment, he heard Arielle say, “Please have Joshua come here and take Dorcas away, Knight. He can lock her in the sewing room at the end of the east corridor. Tell Montague to have Mrs. Pepperall watch her. Dr. Brody will see her after he takes care of Burke. As for the other servants, please have them dress and go downstairs. We will start the day. I doubt any of them would wish to return to their beds. Oh, yes, have a fire set in this room immediately.”

  My God, Burke thought, striving to keep the pain from swamping his brain, she is acting the mistress here. How wonderful. “Now, Burke,” he heard Alec say, “I want you to lie down on your back. Arielle will help you. I will keep applying the pressure. Percy, come and assist me.”

  Burke moaned—he couldn’t stop himself. “Arielle,” he whispered and reached for her.

  “I’m here,” she said, gripping his hand. “You will be all right, Burke. I promise.” She paused then: “Lannie, please have Cook prepare some coffee and tea for everyone, and whatever else you think proper. Thank you. Now, Burke, take shallow breaths. That’s it. Excellent.”

  Alec lifted the towel and saw that the bleeding had slowed considerably.

  “Please continue, Alec,” she said, looking down at the wound. “It’s almost stopped.”

  He smiled. She was holding herself together admirably. She needed to. Burke would need her to. He was beginning to believe all of Ravensworth Abbey needed her to.

  Arielle gently eased the sheet up to Burke’s waist, smoothing it across his belly, wanting to do something, anything. He’d saved her life. He’d cared enough about her to die for her. She felt a crumbling inside her, a slow release of long-embedded memories, dark memories, bitter memories. For an instant, she saw an odd image in her mind. It was a candle and it was lit, but its flame flickered as it was buffeted by the wind. The wind grew stronger, but that flame didn’t flicker out. It didn’t die. The wind was a gale now, but the candle grew brighter. Then suddenly the wind died. It was gone, over. And the candle burned brightly. In that same moment, Arielle felt warm and strong. She felt herself smiling slightly as she said to Nesta, “Please light candles. It is too dark in here for Dr. Brody when he arrives. And fetch fresh hot water, Nesta, as well as towels and bandages.”

  Nesta quickly left to follow her instructions.

  “I’m proud of you,” Burke said and tried not to crush her fingers when a wave of pain silenced him.

  She didn’t know what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. She lightly stroked her fingertips over his jaw. “You need to shave,” she said, and he smiled, albeit a very slight one.

  “There,” said Alec. “The bleeding has stopped. Now, Burke, don’t move. Brody, is that his name?” At Arielle’s nod, he continued. “When the fellow comes, I want him to be impressed by all our respective handiwork. I need your cooperation in this, Burke.”

  “He will be impressed,” said Burke, then winced, his mouth closing over his moan. He heard Arielle’s voice, so soft and comforting, whispering to him, and he found that if he concentrated on the sound of her voice, it did ease him. He remembered that April afternoon and evening after the Battle of Toulouse, when he’d lain trapped under a dead horse. He’d thought about her then, relived every moment they’d shared in order to escape from the horror that surrounded him. “Thank you, Arielle,” he said. He saw her smile; then she leaned down and gently kissed him.

  “You will be all right, I swear it. You are my husband, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Arielle’s husband. He liked the sound of that; indeed he did.

  All of Arielle’s orders had been carried out by the time Mark Brody arrived. Knight told him what happened as the two men climbed the stairs.

  Burke was lying quietly, his wife seated beside him on the bed. He managed a ghost of a smile. “I need patching up, Mark.”

  “Let’s take a look.” Mark lifted the towel and probed as gently as he could. “I remember well that saber wound in your side. You healed miraculously fast, Burke. Ah, the stab wound doesn’t appear to be all that deep, thank God. I think you’re a lucky man. Nothing vital has been injured, and the muscles look all right. About the only thing I should do is clean it well and set in a few stitches. We’ll keep bascilicum powder on it. You heard that, Arielle?” At her nod, he continued to Burke. “I’ll look at the old woman after I finish here, but I don’t understand much about this sort of thing. I can drug her and keep her relaxed and calm. Insanity, you believe?”

  Arielle answered. “It’s very complicated, Doctor. I’ve been thinking a lot about it and I fear she has been going mad, very slowly. I would just as soon not talk about what pushed her to do what she did.” She paused a moment, and Burke was appalled at the pain he saw in her eyes. “Burke and I will discuss it,” she said at last, “once he is feeling better.”

  The doctor nodded and, in silence, numbed the wound, then put in the stitches. Finally he liberally sprinkled on bascilicum powder. “There, Burke. Now for a bandage.” When it was done, Mark said, “Let me give you some laudanum. Sleep and rest are the best things for you. Don’t get up or you’ll begin bleeding again. Can you keep him in that bed, Arielle?”

  “Certainly. He isn’t stupid. He will obey me.”

  Alec chuckled and Burke groaned.

  “I’m a betting man, and my groats are on Arielle,” Knight said.

  It was late afternoon, damp and drizzling. The bedchamber was as gray and gloomy as the out-of-doors. Knight sat in the high-backed wing chair beside Burke’s bed. It had been two days since the old woman’s attack, and Burke was mending well.

  “Ah, you’re finally awake. Get your wits together, then tell me how you feel. Or if you don’t feel like conversing, you can close your eyes and drift off again.”

  Burke felt light-headed and vague. The damned laudanum, he thought, shaking his head just a bit. The abrupt movement sent a slice of pain through his shoulder, and he quickly sucked in his breath and held himself still as a stone.

  “I’m all right,” he said at last.

  Knight grinned at that overstatement. “I do hope this is your last wound, Burke. You’ll look like a scarred warrior, and we both know it’s just because you’re so clumsy that you got wounded at all.”

  “Thank God for such good friends. I think I’ll go back to sleep.”

  Knight lightly touched his friend’s arm. “Shall I get you something to drink?”

  “Yes, brandy—”

  “Sorry, that isn’t amongst your choices. Arielle’s orders. It will have to be lemonade.”

  “Surely you’re jesting. Lemonade?”

  Knight paid him no heed. Burke watched him with vague eyes as he rose and walked to the bedside table. He poured the lemonade, leaned down, and helped Burke drink it without spilling it.

  “Good,” Burke said when he’d finished the glass. “That’s damned good. I had no idea.”

  “That’s what your wife said. She said you would kick and fuss but you would drink it if you were desperate enough and you would like it.”

  Burke smiled. He felt his head begin to clear. His shoulder was throbbing steadily but the pain was tolerable. He wanted no more laudanum, for the moment at least.

  “Sit down, Knight, and tell me what’s happening. How long have I been out of things?”

  “It’s Sunday afternoon. The old woman stabbed you at dawn on Friday morning.”

  “Ah. You poor devil—you didn’t go to the mill.”

  “There will be other fights, I fancy.” Knight paused, seeing Burke was looking thoughtfully toward the fireplace.

  He waited.

  Finally Burke said, his expression suddenly fierce, “I must get well enough to get out of this damned bed. It’s Arielle, you
see. I can’t leave her to face all the servants and all this damnable nonsense—it would simply be too much for her.”

  Knight laughed. “Didn’t you hear me tell you that it was your wife who ordered the lemonade for you?”

  “So? Lemonade, for God’s sake, that’s nothing, Knight.” That outburst brought a jab of pain that made him draw in his breath sharply. He closed his eyes and his lips became a thin line.

  Burke finally managed to get hold of himself. “Listen to me, Knight. Arielle isn’t ready yet to take control, she’s so vulnerable, you know that.”

  “Just a moment, Burke. Let me tell you a little story. No, hold still and keep quiet. Now, it was yesterday afternoon, just about this time, the weather as gloomy as it is now. George Cerlew had a problem and he asked if he could speak to her. Do you know that your wife went with him without hesitation, to the estate room, and closed the door? I very nearly interfered, but thank God I didn’t. I happened to see them walk out and she was giving him very precise, very intelligent orders. Also, I heard one of the maids earlier on Saturday tell Mrs. Pepperall that she needed to speak to Lannie about something, and Mrs. Pepperall sniffed and told her that it was her ladyship who would handle the matter. Montague began by hovering protectively over her, and now that old curmudgeon is at her beck and call, awaiting her orders. It’s been an incredible change, Burke. You have no need to worry.”

  But Burke was shaking his head, unconvinced. “It’s shock, Knight. When she comes down from that, she’ll be terrified and helpless.”

  “I think not. She’s quite calm, not like she was when you were first wounded. She was in shock then, but not now. Now she is mistress of Ravensworth Abbey.”

  Burke fell silent. He was thinking and thinking. It was incredible, if it were indeed true. He tried to piece together his life during the past two and a half days. All he could remember, besides the pain and the periods of vague dimness, was Arielle’s face and her soft, sweet voice. He remembered the feel of her cool hands on him, how she held his head so he could sip at liquids.

  “But she was with me all the time,” he said.

  “Much of it. On Friday morning she called all the servants together and gave them a lecture on the care and maintenance of a wounded earl. She’s a general, Burke. She’s tough. Believe it. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “Incredible,” Burke said and lapsed into thoughtful silence again. It had taken him to be felled before she lost her fear. But it appeared that she had lost it. He remembered how she’d always been exquisitely polite to George Cerlew and had avoided him, just as she’d left the reins of the Abbey management to Mrs. Pepperall. “Well, well,” he said. “How is Lannie taking all this?”

  “Lannie is deferring completely to Arielle as if Arielle were the matriarch of longstanding at Ravensworth. Indeed, given the behavior of both Arielle and the servants, you’d think she was at least fifty years old and has been in charge for the past forty-nine of those fifty years. Percy, as you can well imagine, is being very supportive of his beloved, a profound relief for the rest of us, I can assure you.”

  Burke was still grinning when the door to his bedchamber quietly opened and Arielle came in. She was followed by Dr. Brody, whose presence brought a grimace to Burke’s face.

  “You’re awake, I see,” she said. She sent a suspicious look toward Knight. “You didn’t wake him, did you?”

  Knight raised defensive hands. “No, ma’am, acquit me of anything so reprehensible. He came to himself and insisted on telling me all sorts of questionable jests. I have dutifully laughed. Now it’s your turn.”

  Arielle nodded, smiling only slightly, and then she leaned over Burke. He watched her expression change from one of severity to the softest, sweetest look he’d ever seen.

  “Hello,” she said and gently smoothed his hair from his forehead.

  “Hello yourself, sweetheart. I see you allowed that flesh torturer to follow you up.”

  “Yes, but he won’t hurt you, I promise. He must simply look at the wound and change your bandage. You mustn’t worry now, Burke. I’ll be here.”

  He was so startled by her poise that a moan of pain that he should have contained had he been paying attention, slipped out of him when the doctor chanced to unwittingly jerk up a corner of the bandage. Arielle said sharply, “Do pay attention, Mark. Are you all right, Burke?”

  “Yes,” he said, giving her a bemused smile. She took his hand between her two smaller ones.

  She continued speaking to him as the doctor worked, and although Burke knew what she was doing, he still appreciated it. “Yes, indeed, your color is much improved today. I think I will shave you if you wish it. I like you with a beard, though. Well, not quite yet precisely a beard.”

  “Prickly whiskers?”

  “But very handsome prickly whiskers.”

  She felt him tighten his fingers around hers at a jab of pain and she said quickly, “Mark says that if your stomach feels all right, you can have something more than just soup. Would you like that? Perhaps some rice pudding and toast? Cook has already prepared them for you. I will join you for dinner, naturally.”

  “Rice pudding,” Burke repeated in a voice of loathing.

  “I tasted it and had Cook add a bit more vanilla. It now tastes delicious, I promise.”

  When he was done, Dr. Brody said, “Excellent progress, Burke. You’ll be back to your full activity in about two weeks, I’d say. Another three or four days in bed. Then I’ll take out the stitches a couple of days after that. You will see that he obeys me, Arielle?”

  “Certainly. The earl is a reasonable man.”

  Knight laughed at that. “Only because he’s been unconscious.”

  Burke just smiled, saying nothing. He watched his wife walk with Mark from the bedchamber. Her walk was different, of all things. She was straighter, her shoulders back farther, her head held in a confident way. Everything about her bespoke confidence. It was odd and it was exhilarating. “I should have done myself in sooner,” he said to himself.

  Knight heard him. “It has turned out remarkably well, hasn’t it? Not that I approve of your lying flat on your back, of course. But Arielle, well, she’s got guts, Burke.”

  “Yes.” Burke said. “Guts.”

  “Before Arielle returns,” Knight said quickly, bringing Burke’s attention to him, “the old woman, Dorcas, she’s still here, locked in a room on the third floor. Arielle has someone with her all the time. She’s utterly batty, Burke. She keeps raving about harlots and sluts and trollops. When I saw her once yesterday, her language was so foul that even I was shocked. She thought I was you and she called me evil and Satan and other assorted nasty names. You do know why she tried to kill Arielle, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Burke. “It’s really very simple. She came into this bedchamber that night and saw us making love. She saw that Arielle wasn’t being forced or abused. She saw her little victim much enjoying herself. In her mind, I guess a female was supposed to hate men and their appetites; a good female was never supposed to submit willingly. She was to be beaten and abused instead. Arielle was perfect for her until she married me; until finally, she came to me. Then she became like the others—a slut and a whore, a creature to be destroyed.”

  “My God.”

  “Yes. It is probably more complicated than that, but that is the gist of it, I believe.” He looked up as he spoke and saw Arielle standing just inside the door. He hadn’t heard her enter. She was staring at him, her face pale, her arms crossed defensively over her breasts.

  He said very matter-of-factly, “Hello, sweetheart. Have you come to force some vile medicine down my throat? I should prefer a kiss, truly, but if something vile it must be, then I’ll put on a properly brave front.”

  Knight started at Arielle’s expression and Burke’s nonsense, then carefully arranged his expression into none at all.

  Arielle shook her head, forcing a smile. “No ghastly potions for you, my lord.”

  “Good. Come her
e and sit beside me. My head is aching.”

  His voice rose to a near whine and she cocked her head at him. Knight blinked at that tone but firmly kept any opinion to himself. He did give Burke a rather stunned look.

  “It’s all right,” she said and seated herself carefully beside him. “Just close your eyes and I’ll massage your temples.”

  “It hurts,” he said.

  Knight, shooting another bemused look toward Burke, said only, “I will see you later,” and quitted the bedchamber. He laughed softly. Soon, Knight thought, it would be all right for him to leave Ravensworth Abbey.

  “Is that better?”

  Her voice was soft and warm and her lightly pressing fingertips were sheer magic, even though his head wasn’t aching at all. “Just a little,” he said.

  “I heard you speaking to Knight about Dorcas and her motives. I wish you hadn’t been so very, well, open about it, but I believe you are right.”

  He cocked an eye open, looked at her closely, and said, “Please don’t be embarrassed, Arielle. Knight and I have known each other since we were eight years old. We met the first time the summer of 1794. All we could talk about—we were bloodthirsty little hellions—was Madame Guillotine, of course. Robespierre was killed that year, executed. We reveled in that, as you can imagine. Knight is, I suppose, like a brother, more so than Montrose ever was. We even bought our commissions at the same time.”

  “He knows all about me, then, doesn’t he? You’ve told him everything.”

  Her voice was quiet, strained, and he said easily, “Yes, enough. He is very fond of you, of course. I think he’d already guessed a lot of things about Dorcas. I value his opinion and I hope that you will come to do so as well.”

  “She couldn’t accept that I would enjoy letting a man touch me, make love to me, that I would be a willing partner.”

  “I believe so. Ah, don’t stop, that feels wonderful.”

  She smiled at him even though she still felt swamped with embarrassment about Knight. Burke’s cheeks were rough with whiskers, his hair tousled. The stark white bandage contrasted sharply with the dark curling hair and the smooth olive flesh of his chest. The sheet came only to his stomach. She looked at him, below his waist, seeing the outline of him through the sheet, and she felt a softening deep inside her, a wanting, a burgeoning of need. It surprised her. For the past two and a half days she and Joshua had taken care of him, taken care of all his needs. She hadn’t seen him as a man, not really. He’d been Burke, certainly, her husband, but he’d been her patient. Now, though—She drew in her breath and tried to force herself to concentrate on her massage.