The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) by Christine Pope

Author:Christine Pope [Pope, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Dark Valentine Press
Published: 2016-03-16T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Alas, I was not to have that dinner with the master of the castle. Even before the manservants arrived with my hot bath, I had begun to shiver and shake, chilled beyond measure, although I had stood before the fire the entire time, hoping its heat would penetrate my sodden garments and begin to warm me.

I took that bath, thinking surely soaking in the hot water would help to rid me of the cold that had sunk into every bone, every muscle, but it did very little. By the time I had climbed into a fresh chemise and drawn a shawl around me, my teeth were chattering, and my flesh had begun to break out into goosebumps. It seemed to take every ounce of strength I possessed to stumble over to the bed and climb beneath the covers.

Master Merryk found me thus, after I did not answer the knock at my door from the servants who had come to fetch the bath away. He took one look at me, laid a heavy hand on my forehead, then informed me I must stay in bed, that I was burning with a fever.

Burning? Instead it seemed as if all my limbs were encased in ice. Not that I had any true experience of what a fever was supposed to feel like, since this was the first time in my life I had ever fallen ill. The steward went and stirred up the fire, but to me it did not feel any warmer in the room. Still my teeth chattered, and his expression was grave as he said he would go to inform Lord Greymount of my condition, and would bring me some warming broth.

I wanted to protest, to say that I was supposed to have dinner with his lordship in his chambers, but the words did not seem able to force themselves past my trembling lips. All I could do was give a weak nod and pull the covers even further up my neck. Soon afterward, Master Merryk went away and I fell into a fitful doze, slipping into darkness, then awaking with a start, unsure as to where I was. At that point, I still retained enough of my faculties to recognize the carved mantel, the heavy draperies of dark blue velvet, but still I was nagged by a sense that I should be someplace else, that there was something I needed to do, although I could not recall in that moment what it was.

Eventually, the steward returned with a heavy stoneware bowl in his hands. Seeming to realize that I could not take the spoon myself, he was able to tip a few mouthfuls of broth between my lips before I shook my head at him. The taste of it nauseated me, although it had smelled savory enough when he entered the chamber.

Expression grave, he set the bowl down, then once again laid his hand on my head. After murmuring something about fetching a tincture of willowbark, he went away, and I closed my eyes again.

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