As Kara and his mother returned downstairs, his wife walked back into the room, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.
“Why did you tell them?” Derek demanded, remembering that what he hated even more than being sick was being treated as such. It was his job to take care of others, not the other way around.
A determined set came to her jaw as she placed the tray on his nightstand. Then her gaze met his, and Derek knew that he had lost. “They’re your family,” she said in a calm and steady voice, and yet, it felt like a slap in the face. “They, too, have the right to take care of the people they love.”
Derek drew in a startled breath. Not once before had he thought of it as a right to take care of others, but maybe she was correct. “Then why are you taking care of me?”
Before he could stop himself, the words flew from his lips, and he saw her flinch as though slapped. What were they doing to each other?
With her lips pressed into a hard line, she poured tea into a cup and held it out to him. “Drink this.”
“I’m sorry,” Derek mumbled, trying to prop himself up on one elbow. Then he took the cup from her hand, careful not to touch her, and sipped the hot tea, enjoying the liquid as it soothed the ache in his throat. A mere moment later, he lay back down, feeling exhausted as though he had spent a day chopping wood.
Rounding the bed, his wife approached the window. “You need to sleep,” she stated simply before pulling the curtains closed and bathing the room in a dim light.
With his sight all but gone, Derek found it impossible to keep his eyes open. Feeling sleep claim him, he finally surrendered, only dimly aware of the soft sounds his wife made as she stepped back up to the bed, the warmth of her presence touching him even as he slept.
How long his mind remained lost to the world Derek could not say. However, when it finally did return to a wakeful state, he found that he was not alone.
Seated beside his bed was his wife, her face barely visible in the dim glow from the fire. “How do you feel?” she asked, her voice no longer laced with anger.
Derek swallowed painfully, his throat sore from lack of use. “Water,” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible.
“Tea,” his wife corrected, pouring him a cup from a presumably fresh pot as it was still hot.
Savouring the soothing warmth as it ran down his throat, Derek sighed and closed his eyes. His body still burnt, and even the smallest movement sent pain radiating through it. Then a gentle cold settled on his head, and he looked up, finding his wife placing a wet cloth on his forehead. “That feels good,” he whispered, trying to hold her gaze.
Although he felt like hell, there was something in the way she took care of him that did not make him feel vulnerable and exposed. In fact, he felt safe and cared for, and he wanted her to know how much this meant to him.
Still, his mind could not find the words as it barely had enough strength to ward off the tempting call of slumber. Before he knew what was happening, Derek’s eyes closed once more, and he sank into a deep sleep.
The next time he awoke, Derek noticed that no light seemed to stream in through the gaps between curtain and wall. Only the soft glow of the embers in the hearth allowed him to see his wife laying hunched over on the side of his bed, her eyes closed.
Despite the sickness that still plagued his body, Derek could not help but smile. Then his gaze drifted over her peaceful face, and he finally felt a soft weight on his right hand. Looking down, he realised that Madeline’s hand was wrapped around his, the tips of her fingers gently resting on the pulse point in his wrist as though she needed confirmation that he was still there.
Over the course of the next two days, Derek slipped in and out of sleep. Sometimes he awoke only for a few minutes, and sometimes he stayed awake long enough to drink some tea and nibble on a biscuit. However, no matter what, his wife remained by his side. Sometimes awake. Sometimes slumped over and asleep.
But she was always there, holding his hand.
Derek had felt never so at peace in his life.
“How do you feel?” Madeline asked yet again when he opened his eyes presumably three days after his friends’ departure.
Concentrating, Derek tried to take stock of all the pains and aches that had been assaulting him for much too long now. However, to his astonishment, the greatest pain radiated from his stomach. “Hungry,” he finally said, a somewhat victorious grin coming to his face as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Quite honestly, I’m famished.”
At his words, the tension dropped from her face, and a deep smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Her hand squeezed his, and she rose to her feet, coming to sit beside him on the bed, her other hand reaching for his face. “The fever is down,” she whispered as though afraid her words could make it return.
“I suppose it is a mere cold after all,” Derek whispered back, his gaze travelling over her face as he inhaled her scent, suddenly so close after the long distance that had been between them before.
Her gaze narrowed; however, she did not move away. “Do you wish to discuss who was right and who was wrong?” she challenged, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that Derek had missed for too long.
Smiling, he shook his head. “There is something else I wish to do.” Unable to restrain himself, he grasped her chin and pulled her into a kiss.
Startled, she tried to pull back, but his hand snaked around to the back of her neck, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Her resistance instantly subsided, and she leaned into him, her hands gliding over his body, touching his skin, rejoicing in the fact that it felt warm, heated, flushed.
But not burning.
“You need to eat,” she gasped as she managed to tear her lips away from his. Placing a hand on his chest, she kept him back as he tried to pull her forward once more. “No,” she said, her voice insistent. “I shall go and find you some food.”
Reluctantly, Derek relinquished his hold on her, his gaze sliding over her face…taking note of the dark circles under her eyes and the pale tinge of her skin. “You need to sleep,” he replied, no humour in his voice as he finally realised how demanding his care had been for her. For days, she had sat at his bed, watching over him, only catching a wink of sleep here and there.
In short: she was exhausted.
“Ask my mother to bring up some food,” he told her, knowing that it would be impossible to get her into bed without assuring her that he would eat. “Then go and lie down. I’m fine.”
Holding his gaze, she finally nodded. “All right.” Squeezing his hand one last time, she stepped back from the bed.
When the door closed behind her, Derek sank back into the pillows, realising to his great dismay that his strength had not fully returned yet. In truth, his limbs felt as heavy as lead, and he doubted very much that he could even walk to the door and back.
No, he would have to be more patient.
With his recovery.
As well as with her.
But he would not walk away.
For a short moment, she had been in his arms tonight, and it had felt familiar and utterly fulfilling. In that moment, it had been as though the chasm between them had never been.
That thought gave Derek hope.
Settling back into the pillows, he gazed into the soft glow of the embers in the hearth as the wind howled outside and rain spattered down onto the roof and against the windows. It truly was a turbulent night.
Chapter Thirty-Three ? A Raging Storm
Lost in deep sleep, Madeline sensed the uproar more than she heard the agitated voices in the room next to hers.
As she had spent the past few days in constant alertness, worried about her husband, her mind quickly abandoned the sweet oblivion of sleep and jerked her wide awake within seconds.
Her eyes flew open, and she shot upright, trying to orient herself in the dark room.