The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(50)
She clenched her fists and fought a surge of joy at his reaction to her, to what they’d done. “It doesn't matter, Gerard.”
“Why not?” His blunt fingers caressed her cheek and left a delicious trail of heat.
She shook off his touch. “Because…you can't have me. I’m not yours.”
***
Ellie walked away. And it damn near broke him.
Her hips sashayed under her light dress as she fixed her gown mid-walk and slipped out of the library door to rejoin the dance.
Gerard sat in a nearby armchair, confused. The worn leather cushions squeaked under his mass. A sizeable erection made sitting difficult and he readjusted, wincing at the pain in his balls. He took it too far, hadn’t meant to get carried away. But her sweet scent and honest reactions had floored him.
He’d needed more. More Ellie.
She didn’t want to be his, he reminded himself. Didn’t want to be queen.
The tournament was down to the last four, which meant Ellie was more at risk for falling victim to the Lange woman’s hex. They were running out of time. Like a bucket of cold water, fear for Ellie withered his erection. He stood and paced.
How to find proof that Lady Olivia was hexing the contestants? Ellie mentioned a mirror.
Maybe it was time to question the victims, see what they had in common?
Decided, he strode from the library and dipped into the south wing where they kept the sick. Twenty-two noble ladies of the Court of Galacia rested fitfully in identical white iron beds and ivory sheets. Several nursemaids and healers wandered up and down the aisles, providing water, broth, and pain-reducers.
It wasn’t enough.
He stopped at the first bed, Lady Veronica of the red hair whom his brother cared for deeply. He sat in the chair next to the nightstand and cleared his throat.
Veronica opened her swollen eyelids and fought to recognize him. It had been days since he’d sat at her bedside, watching as the effects of Ellie’s quick fix faded. She’d tried to come back and heal the others, but he’d had her turned away. Ellie provided a temporary lift of the pain of the pox. Her work didn’t eradicate the disease, it came back strong, if not stronger, the next day.
“Lady Veronica, it’s Gerard, Pierce’s brother. How are you feeling tonight?” he asked, and passed a cool cloth over her forehead.
She moaned and turned over, no longer present. Lady Marie was the same way.
He moved down and back up the room, questioning the hex victims about what they remembered before they fell ill. None knew of a mirror though several remembered Lady Olivia looking at them with hatred in her eyes.
It was after midnight by the time he made it back to Veronica and Marie. Their conditions had worsened in the night and they thrashed in agony. He shuffled a chair closer and dipped a washcloth in a fresh basin of cool water.
A nursemaid rushed over to help, and he asked her to fetch Pierce, maybe his brother could calm Veronica.
“I can’t find him,” the nurse said, nearly an hour later, hands wound tight around a handkerchief.
“You checked his rooms?”
“Yes, his guard is posted outside but he’s nowhere to be found. They’ve been informed to send him here straight away should he surface.”
He sat between Marie and Veronica all night, helping to keep their fevers down and make them drink broth for strength. Sweat drenched his fine tunic and bile covered his pants. He didn’t care. They were dying. Even to someone as uneducated in the healing arts as he, Gerard knew they’d be dead by sunrise.
The healers chanted and fought to eradicate the hex and pox. The magic and spells only caused the women more pain. They tossed and turned in the white sheets, blood misting from their mouths as the circular pox spots darkened to black.
The sun shifted in the east, light edged the far windows. For a moment, the whole wing stood still. Then with a chorus of horrendous coughs, Marie and Veronica succumbed. They died, bodies frozen in masks of pain and torment. He rose and closed Veronica’s glazed eyes.
His muscles creaked and protested as he backed out of the sick room. Morning fluttered in like a healing balm, but it only hurt to watch daylight cast the women’s features into visages of ghosts.
He needed air, a bath and sleep. But first, Gerard pounded up the steps toward the royal wing where Pierce had hopefully returned. He paused outside his younger brother’s door, fist raised to knock.
He sighed and rapped softly without an answer and then he entered. His brother lay abed, dark hair framed his face and made him appear much younger than two and twenty.
“Pierce,” Gerard said and sat heavily in a nearby chair.
“Go away, old fart. It’s early.” Pierce tossed a pillow in Gerard’s direction without opening his eyes.
“It’s important, brother.” The words stuck in his throat.
Pierce cracked open an eye, focusing on Gerard, then shot upright. The sheet puddled at his waist and revealed a youthfully lean chest. “What? What’s happened?”
“It’s…,” he began, emotion clogged his voice.
Color leeched from Pierce’s face. “No, no, I checked on her before I went to the ball, she was fine. She talked to me.”
He hung his head, unable to take the grief in his brother’s green eyes. “She died at dawn.”
A cry of anguish broke the stillness of the chamber. He glanced up to see Pierce wracked by heaving sobs. Unsure how to help, Gerard joined his brother on the feather mattress and wrapped an arm around his quaking shoulders.