Free A Bouquet of Thorns by Tania Crosse Page A

water, but even so, he wasn’t convinced of its safety.
    Collingwood had taken several sips, but the effort appeared to have exhausted him and Dr Power allowed him to sink gingerly back against the pillows. It was too soon for another morphine injection, and he had already been on it for a couple of days. Besides, the drug was loosening his tongue and prison walls had ears. The doctor would allow him to lose himself in his rambling mind while the morphine wore off, and once Collingwood was back to normal, he would have a quiet talk with him before putting him on laudanum instead. Another derivative of the same substance, of course, but a milder, more controllable dose, it should still help suppress his cough as well as ease the pain in his back – and make him more mindful of what he was saying. And then, with inhalations, rest and the superior invalid diet, Dr Power was beginning to have more confidence that with any luck the poor sod would recover – and then be sent back to some gruelling prison work. Because of his escape attempt, he would never again be allowed on a work party outside the prison walls, and he would be extremely unlikely to be put to any of the less demanding tasks. And as for the marks he had already earned towards his ticket of leave, well, he could forget those. He was more likely to have extra years added to his sentence. And all for something he likely hadn’t done in the first place.
    Poor bastard!
    She came to him, emerging through the vaporous shroud, gliding without movement, silent. A vivid, translucent smile lit up her face, making it glow like the sun and dissipating the mist so that she was engulfed in a shaft of golden light. The touch of a breeze kissed her cheek, lifted a tendril of her sable locks across her forehead. She drew it back with a fluid wave of her graceful hand, her eyes full of laughter and compassion, deep pools of love he felt he could happily drown in. His heart overflowed with joy and delight, and he would never want for more. He had found what he had been seeking for so long.
    Pain ripped through his back, taking his breath away. Stunning him so that at first he didn’t know that the agony was his own. He was almost curious. Was this what it felt like? It wasn’t so bad. But by the third stroke, the shock was overpowered by the torture and every fibre of his being was alive to the sensation, tearing, burning up his arms to his fingertips.
Jesus Christ, help me to bear this
. His throat contracted, dry and choking. He heard a cry. Was it his own? He didn’t recognize it, his lungs raw and stinging.
    He looked up at her, pleading. The smile had slid from her beautiful face. Her brow creased with devotion, horrified, intense, distraught. Her eyes glistened a deep lavender blue. He could see the long, dark lashes as she gazed on him. She opened her slender arms, inviting him into her embrace. He fell forward, clinging to her, his head against her rounded breast, so soft, so comforting. Tears fell from beneath his closed eyelids as he felt her hold him close. Everything would be all right now. She soothed him, calmed and comforted him. The pain was easing now, melting away, and he was drifting on a rocking sea, gentle. At peace. And he was content to sink beneath the lulling waves of oblivion.
    Florrie Bennett’s shrewd eyes silently observed the young girl as she yet again pushed the food around her plate at dinner that evening. The older woman had been back at Fencott Place for a week, and in all that time she was convinced hardly a morsel had passed Rose’s lips. Though the colossal bulge of her stomach appeared to be growing before their very eyes, the rest of her had withered to nothing more than skin-covered bone. And what made Florrie heave with anger was that, at the opposite end of the table, Charles Chadwick hardly seemed to notice as he tucked into his own meal with relish. Not that he was a fat or even well-built man, but he