A Lady Under Siege(46)

“The soup and the vegetables are working wonders,” he said. “And now that we have ceased to open her arm for bloodletting, the infection grows less livid. The oranges I expect to arrive before dark tonight. If not, then tomorrow.”

Sylvanne turned away from him and looked out the window. “Look at me when I speak to you,” Thomas ordered her. “I need to be sure this is heard. There’s been such vast improvement already, I wish there was some way I could thank you. I am of course addressing Meghan with these words. There’s an unreality to it, for although I address myself to someone who has already proven herself helpful, sweet, and kind, yet I speak these heartfelt words of thanks to the sullen face of one who can’t bear to look upon me.”

Sylvanne met his eyes. “Why should I look upon you, when you speak not to me, but some imaginary creature?”

“You have a point,” Thomas said. In softer tone he continued, “It’s my mistake—I should know by now not to expect much from you in the way of sympathy. I wish you would be helpful. Come along now Sylvanne, I wish to show my daughter again to the woman Meghan, who dwells inside you. Come, we’ll go see Daphne now.”

Sylvanne made no effort to get up.

“Come.”

“No.”

“Dear Meghan,” said Thomas, exasperation in his voice, “Forgive me if I resort to driving this uncooperative lady like a beast of the field. Know that my intentions are pure. Grant me one moment.”

He left the room only briefly, then came striding back through the door straight to Sylvanne on the bed. He carried a fresh-cut switch in his hand, a whip suitable for herding cattle or goats, and without hesitation he slapped it down hard on the table next to the bed, so that a pewter goblet tumbled and fell to the floor. Sylvanne involuntarily jumped to her feet.

“You’re a bastard,” she spat.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to save my daughter,” he told her. “If you stand in the way of that, you will suffer. Do you understand? Now. Do I need shackle you, and drag you there, or will you walk beside me?”

Sylvanne stood and walked toward the door. “This must be what hell is like,” she said wearily. “A place where all action is coerced by threat.”

DAPHNE WAS FEELING MUCH better—she was sitting up on her bed, knitting with raw wool, attended to by a servant girl named Beth. As Thomas and Sylvanne entered she called out brightly, “Daddy, I’m knitting you a winter scarf.”

“Wonderful,” said Thomas. “How has she been?”

“Fine, Sir,” answered Beth. “Her fingers are much more nimble than my own, and she never drops a stitch.”

“What colour shall we dye it?” Daphne asked excitedly. “Shall we use beetroot to make it red?”

“I prefer a nice green,” said the servant girl. “It’s a colour not seen enough in winter.”

Thomas leaned forward to give Daphne a kiss. “Red suits me fine,” he said. “Red as the blush in your rosy cheeks, my love.” But the smile on his face quickly disappeared, for Daphne began to cough violently. Sitting on the bed, he took her in his arms to comfort her, holding her until the cough subsided. “There there, my darling, you’ve overdone it for one day,” he said softly. “We can’t expect you to be fiddle-fit on a few days’ good soup. Full health will take some time.” He told Beth to fetch a drink of water, which he brought carefully to his daughter’s lips. Then he turned to address Sylvanne.

“You can clearly see she’s looking so much better, and it’s all down to you, Meghan. I don’t know how to repay you. Words of gratitude are inadequate to the soaring feeling that has filled my heart these past days. I wish I could embrace you, but the woman who stands before me will have none of that, I’m certain.”

“For once you know my feelings,” Sylvanne said.

“I’ll make do with embracing my darling daughter, who needs love along with her vegetables.” He tenderly took Daphne in his arms.

“Thank you Daddy,” she sighed. “It feels so nice.”

“Poor dear,” he worried. “You’re so light and thin. As if made of feathers, not flesh and bone and skin.” He held her at arm’s length and looked searchingly into her eyes. “Promise us you’ll get better.”

“I want to,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“I’m glad. Keep wanting.”