“Don’t let go!” demanded the voice.
Evangeline shivered violently, but she obeyed. She closed her eyes as she held on to the bucket while the stranger worked the rope, lifting her from the water and up, up, up toward the top. Her wet chemise clung to her skin. Then there were arms—powerful, solid arms—wrapping around her waist.
“You can let go of the bucket now.” He yanked her a little roughly, pulling her from the well.
Evangeline continued to shake, but her rescuer held on to her like a promise he intended to keep. His arms encircled her waist, keeping her close to his chest. She could feel his chest. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding.
She felt a strange, possibly delirious need to reassure him. “I’m fine.”
He laughed, the sound a little raspy, broken. “If this is fine, I’d hate to see your definition of half dead.”
“I’m just cold.” She shivered against him as she craned her neck to see his face. Wet hair covered her eyes and rain obscured her vision. But when she finally glimpsed her rescuer, the world was suddenly brighter.
He was beautiful. Inhuman. A warrior angel with blue eyes and golden hair and a face that made Evangeline think that writing poetry should be her new hobby. He almost appeared to be glowing. It made her wonder if he was right, if maybe she really was half dead and he was the angel taking her to heaven.
“I’m not taking you to heaven,” he muttered as he hauled her farther away from the well. His heart was still pounding against her.
Then her world was spinning. The rain whipped around her like a cyclone, blurring the garden and her golden angel until she was somewhere else—she was inside a memory that looked like a soft candlelit corridor.
He held her so tightly it hurt, but this pain she didn’t mind. She’d let him crush her, let him break her, just as long as he never let her go. This was what she wanted, and she refused to believe that he didn’t want it, too.
She could feel his heart pound against her chest as he carried her into the room next door to hers. It was a mess. There were apples and cores all over the desk. The sheets on the bed were thrashed. The fire was burning more than just logs.
The memory was so real Evangeline almost felt warm from the fire.
Until, just as suddenly as she was plunged into the memory, she was taken out of it by the feeling of hard wet ground beneath her, followed by the gruff sound of voices.
“What happened?”
“Who did this?”
The rain-drenched faces of two unfamiliar guards hovered over her. Water dripped from their mustaches to the ground.
She looked past them for signs of the golden-haired angel who had pulled her from the well, but there was no one else there.
All the blankets and the fires in Wolf Hall couldn’t ward off Evangeline’s chills. The cold had seeped into her bones and her veins.
After Evangeline had been carried into her room, her maids quickly helped her out of her soaking slip. There was some debate after that as to if they should put her in a hot bath, but Evangeline had feared just the thought of being submerged in more water. She’d opted for a soft robe and the bed.
But now, as she lay there shivering, she wondered if that was a mistake.
“A doctor will be here soon,” said Martine. “And Apollo’s been called back to the castle.”
Evangeline burrowed deeper into the covers. She almost said she didn’t want to see Apollo, but she wasn’t sure if that was true. It seemed he really had been right about the danger she was in here.
At first she hadn’t told anyone she’d been pushed into the wall. She’d lied and said she’d fallen. The lie had made her feel incredibly foolish. She had seen the faces of the guards on patrol who’d rescued her, twisting with looks that made it appear they were both thinking, What kind of idiot falls into a well?
The kind who doesn’t want to give her husband another excuse to take away more of her freedom, Evangeline had thought, while out loud she’d tried to continue the charade through chattering teeth.
Not that it mattered. As the guards insisted on carrying her back to the castle, she realized that they hadn’t actually believed her story about falling anyway. There were too many questions about whether she’d seen anyone. Did she still have the letter from the tutor? And did she know where her own personal guards, Victor and Hansel, had gone?
Evangeline felt silly as she realized how trusting she’d been. Although maybe the problem hadn’t been that she was trusting, but that she’d trusted the wrong people. She should have believed Apollo when he had warned her that she was in danger.
Dr. Stillgrass paid her a visit and prescribed her hot tea and blankets. But when she sipped the tea, it tasted . . . strange. She imagined it had some sort of sedative in it and dumped it in a potted plant as soon as she was alone again.
She didn’t want to be sedated. She already felt exhausted. But once Evangeline was all alone, she found it impossible to sleep.
Every sound made her jump. Each crackle of the fire and creak of the floor left her feeling tightly coiled, like a jester in a box just waiting to explode. When she closed her eyes, she swore she could hear her heartbeat pounding.
A gust of cold swept through the room and she burrowed deeper into the blankets.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have sent the maids away.
The floor creaked again. She tried to ignore it.
Then instead of a creak she heard footsteps, loud and confident. Evangeline finally opened her eyes.
Apollo stood next to her bed. His velvet cloak was damp, his dark hair was windswept, his cheeks were ruddy, and his brown eyes were glassy with concern. “I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but I had to make sure you’re all right.”
He looked as if he wanted to reach for her. But then he raked a hand through his hair instead.
Evangeline sat up carefully in the bed. Her fingers clung to the edge of the quilt. And she found she wanted to reach for him, too. She wanted a hug, she wanted to be held, and she knew if she asked, Apollo would do both.
She reminded herself why she couldn’t. But her reasoning felt thin. It was hard to be angry at Apollo when it seemed the protection he’d said she needed was necessary.
Tentatively she reached out her hand, touching the tips of his fingers. They were cold, not quite like ice, but near enough that he must have come straight to her from his travels. She’d refused to trust him yesterday, but that hadn’t stopped him from coming to her when she needed him. “I’m glad you came.”
“I’ll always come. Even when you don’t want me to.” He took a step closer to the bed and slid his fingers through hers. He was shaking a little, just like he had been the morning he’d found her after her memories had been taken.