Simon’s eyes locked on hers. She could see understanding and gratitude beneath the wildness. His trembling hand fumbled over hers.
Kate gasped with relief. It had worked. She had saved him. Her fingers curled tight around his, offering him her resolve and reassurance, her head bowed offering a prayer of gratitude. Nick brought a blanket and together they draped it over the shivering man. She looked into the mortar and saw a bit of the green paste remaining. “Mr. Barker, I am going to save Aethelred.”
“It’s dangerous out there.” Nick had a hand on Simon’s damp forehead. “That thing is still about.”
“I don’t care.” She lifted Simon’s pistol. “Mr. Archer is out of immediate danger, or at least beyond what I can do for him.”
Nick stomped to the French windows. “Fine. I’ll come with you then if you’re so damned set on it.” As Kate slipped past him onto the terrace, he added quietly, “Thank you.”
She glanced back and saw abject relief on the man’s face. “You’re welcome, Mr. Barker.” Kate started back into the dark and suddenly foreboding garden without hesitation.
Chapter Fifteen
A beaker bubbled over a flickering flame as Kate observed a final experiment before closing up the laboratory. She was examining Imogen’s blood to determine if she could see any foreign bodies or strange additives that might explain her sister’s continuing dissociated state. Kate felt compelled to try to aid her sister although she was unsure what she could do.
Simon waited with her as she dallied with the complex apparatus. He watched her, obviously fascinated by her work, all the while tapping his foot and flexing his fingers, keeping time with some internal concerto.
When he glanced away, Kate looked up from her work to observe him. His face was still a trifle pale and the skin around his eyes dark as if from lack of sleep, but he had a contented expression like a husband at the fireside.
Aethelred lifted his head from where he was curled awkwardly in the corner. Kate pursed her lips at the dog; he appeared to be recovering well enough from the poisoning. He thumped his tail twice, then went back to sleep.
Simon removed a small blue vial from his pocket and uncorked it. He took a sip. “This concoction of yours is amazing.”
“Don’t become dependent on it.”
“No, no. Once this dose is gone, I’ll need no more. It’s quite bracing though. This is how you saved me from the poison?”
“Not exactly. What you have there is an elixir vitae that restores stamina. It’s an ancient Norse recipe. It’s a relatively simple solution; even I use it occasionally to work longer.” Kate stirred uncomfortably. “I suppose I must make a confession to you, Mr. Archer. What I did two nights ago when you were poisoned was to start with that elixir but then alter it. I fully admit that it was a shot in the dark.”
Simon regarded her curiously but with no anger or accusation.
She continued, “I used a bit of the solution from the gigantic rose. There was no time. I had to fire your blood. It was a risk but a calculated one.”
He raised his hands in acceptance. “Well done. It worked.” But then he shot her a melodramatic glare. “Am I in danger of my heart crumbling like your rose?”
“No.” Kate smirked but then grew thoughtful, and said with less force, “No.”
Simon rose and moved to the coal grate next to the wolfhound’s bed.
“Are you feeling ill?” Kate asked quickly.
“Have no fear. Just a bit stiff. It seems the cold affects me like an old woman.”
She returned to writing her notes, being exaggeratedly prim. “I can have Hogarth fetch a shawl for you.”
Simon stared at her as if gazing at a painting. “I thank you, but I will content myself with the warming glow of your wit.”
Kate smiled without looking up. “Mr. Archer, may I ask you a personal question?”
“I’d say you’ve earned the right.”
Kate realized her eyes were locked on his chest. She quickly glanced at her table but slowly eased back to him. He furrowed his brow in amusement as she began, “When you were unconscious, I removed your shirt.”
“That’s personal but not a question.”
She cleared her throat. “I saw your … those …”
Simon stared at her, shaking his head, playing cheerfully obtuse.
“Your tattoos,” Kate huffed. “You know damn well what I mean. You’re completely covered in tattoos.”
“Well, obviously you preserved a shred of my dignity the other night or you’d know that I’m not completely covered in them. But yes, I have tattoos, and you wish to know why.”
“It’s really none of my concern, I know. It’s just that you said you were a scribe, and they are masters of inscription, of written magic.”
Simon held up his hand. “I am a carver.”