Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Octavia stirred to a slice of hazy sunlight cutting through a tiny gap in the drapes, straight across her eyes.
She blinked and, stifling a groan at the dull ache in her bones, pushed herself into a sitting position. She had no memory of falling asleep, but it had still been dark when she came to the nursery, and now it was assuredly morning. Late morning, too, judging by the intensity of the light.
Rubbing her eyes, she realized that she had fallen asleep right next to her son, at an awkward angle, so that her legs had been hanging half off the bed, while the rest of her had been squashed onto the narrow space between Simon and the edge of the bed.
He stayed…
There at the end of the bed, leaning against one of the four posts, his eyes closed, was Malcolm. Perfectly, serenely asleep, even in such an uncomfortable-looking position.
He was a soldier. I suppose he has slept in far worse situations.
Just then, a raspy cough snapped her attention to her son.
“Simon?” she said softly. “My darling, are you awake?”
The boy’s eyes fluttered open, and though he looked up at her, his gaze was glassy with fever. “Mama…” he managed to croak, before his eyes shuttered closed again.
Suddenly cursing that she had fallen asleep, she reached for the medicine and poured out a spoonful. Bringing it to Simon’s lips and gently cradling his head, she tipped the liquid into his mouth and set the spoon down so she could lightly rub his throat.
He swallowed the mixture, and she breathed a tiny sigh of relief. How could I have allowed myself to doze off when he needed me?
“I gave him a dose two hours ago,” came Malcolm’s gruff voice, the sound making her jump. One of his eyes cracked open. “In case ye were worried.”
“Thank you,” she said, recovering.
How had he managed to give Simon the medicine without waking her? She did not know, but he must have been very stealthy. Another gift from his time as a soldier, perhaps.
“Nay need to thank me,” he replied. “I was just doing as the doctor said.”
She frowned at him, for his tone was not quite what she had come to expect. Then again, he had just woken up after spending a couple of hours asleep against a post. Who would be cheerful after that?
He got to his feet. “I’m going to fetch us some tea.”
She wanted to call him back, to thank him a second time for remaining calm last night and being the one to help Simon and fetch the doctor, but he was already gone.
It was a long night, she told herself. After a long ride and a long day, too.
Satisfied, Octavia reached out and gently stroked her son’s warm brow. He was not as hot as he had been when he called out in pain, but enough heat lingered to keep her worried.
“You get better, do you hear me?” she said tightly. “Your father has promised me that I will not lose you, so please do not make a liar out of him.”
Simon mumbled incoherently in his feverish sleep, and she chose to believe that it was him promising that he would, in fact, be all right.
By early afternoon, there was a welcome arrival at Huntfield. Doctor Stanforth had returned. Octavia spotted him from the window of the nursery and hurried down the stairs to greet him at the door… only to find that Malcolm had got there ahead of her.
She paused on the landing and frowned at the scene before her. Her husband and the doctor were deep in hushed conversation, too quiet for her to overhear. Malcolm seemed angry; angrier than she had seen him since their unexpected reunion. His posture was rigid, his finger pointed in warning.
Just then, the doctor caught Octavia’s eye. He said something to Malcolm, and Malcolm lowered his hand, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“I was just telling the doctor about Simon’s condition,” Malcolm said, turning. “He’ll tend to him now.”
Doctor Stanforth bowed his head. “I will. Apologies for not returning sooner. If I’d known, I surely would have done.”
They parted ways with an odd look that Octavia could not decipher. And when the doctor passed her on the stairs, he kept his gaze low, as if he did not want to look her in the eyes.
“You must not be cross with him,” Octavia said, once the doctor had gone. “It is not his fault that he was not here when Simon took ill. How could he have known?”
Malcolm smiled tightly, as if he had forgotten how. “I’m nae cross with him, lass.”
“You seemed cross.”
He shook his head. “I was merely trying to get across how urgent the matter is. I don’t doubt that the village doctor is capable, but he doesn’t compare to Stanforth.”
Octavia narrowed her eyes, a weird feeling creeping down the back of her neck; a sense that something was not quite right here.
“How is he?” Malcolm asked.
“He is as he was when you left the room,” she replied, for it had been a matter of no more than ten minutes.
Malcolm nodded. “I might take a walk to wake myself up.”
“Would you like company?”
He hesitated. “I can’t stop ye.”
What was that supposed to mean? He ordinarily would have jumped at the chance to walk in the gardens with her. There might have been a lively smile and a twinkle in his eyes; his arm offered to escort her before she could think of changing her mind.
Yet, there was none of that warmth.
“What I mean is,” he said, “that ye’re welcome to.”
It was a gentler remark, but it did nothing to allay Octavia’s suspicions that something was amiss. All morning, Malcolm had been behaving strangely. Or not strangely, but not quite like the version of him she had come to favor.
He had been particularly quiet up in the nursery, keeping to a chair on the opposite side of the room while he drank tea or stared at his son or looked like he might be sleeping.
Any attempt at conversation had been met with short answers, until he had excused himself, claiming he was going to find something to eat.
That was shortly before the doctor arrived, so either it was coincidence or Malcolm had heard the doctor coming before Octavia had.
And why did he not simply ask the servants to bring some luncheon? She had learned during his time at Huntfield that he preferred to fend for himself, barely utilizing the staff, so that was not entirely uncharacteristic. Still, his lack of conversation and ready smiles were enough to trouble her.
“Doctor Stanforth will be busy tending to Simon for at least a short while,” she said. “I can walk until then.”
Malcolm’s nod was stiff as he replied, “Very well.”
He led the way out of the house and into the afternoon sunshine, his arms folded behind his back. Octavia walked at his side, keenly aware of a polite distance between them which had not been there before.
Soon enough, she found she had to quicken her pace in order to keep up with him.
If you did not want me to walk with you, you could have just said so, she fumed silently, somewhat out of breath.
“Might you slow down?” she urged, as they reached the edge of the gardens where the reflecting pool shimmered.
A sparrow fluttered down and sipped from the water.
“Hmm?” Malcolm glanced at her. “Oh… aye, apologies.”
He duly slowed, but there was agitation in his demeanor as if it bothered him to have to walk at her pace. He did not seem to be enjoying the walk at all, his eyes turned down toward the gravel, paying no attention to the beautiful surroundings.
“Is everything well?” she had to ask; she could not help it.
He put on a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I’m just worried about Simon’s welfare. I ken he’ll be fine, but… aye, it’s nae nice to see yer bairn sick.”
“No. No, it is not,” she agreed, feeling bad for pressing him.
Evidently, he was just trying to process the night’s events and likely would have taken this time to clear his head if she had not been beside him, asking him questions.
Of course he was not his usual, cheery self when he had not slept and had been carefully tending to their son while she had dozed off.
It cannot be anything else, she told herself.
In the back of her mind, she had a nagging thought that he might have regained some of his memories, which might explain the change in him, but that made no sense. If he had regained his memories, he would have told her. He would have no reason to hide it.
Besides, he had not remembered their first meeting when they spoke last night. No, it could not be that. It had to be that he was just exhausted and overexerted.
“I think I will return inside for some luncheon,” she said with a smile, and rested her hand lightly on his arm. “You should wander in peace.”
She half hoped he might still ask her to stay. Instead, he dipped his head in a small nod and said, “I’ll see ye upstairs, to hear what Stanforth has to say.”
“I shall see you then,” she said, as brightly as she could, before turning back toward the house.
On her way, she glanced back at her husband. He walked with his chin to his chest and his shoulders hunched, looking every bit like the man she had begun to like having around, and yet… she still could not shake the feeling that something had changed.