Free Pendragon by Catherine Coulter Page A

think he—”
    â€œI don’t know, love, let’s just keep holding him and holding each other. Let’s keep rubbing him and massaging him. It can’t hurt. That medicine, Meggie—when you see Dr. Dreyfus, tell him it worked. Tell him I knew he would think of something more.”
    â€œIt isn’t from Dr. Dreyfus, Papa, it’s from Lord Lancaster.”
    Tysen was silent a moment, confused, really, then he said, “Thank him for us and tell him it seems to have had something of an immediate effect. Tell him we are very grateful.”
    â€œYes, I will tell him,” she said, not mentioning that Thomas Malcombe was standing in the doorway watching them. She loaded them all down with all the blankets in the room. She lightly laid her palm against Rory’s cheek. He was cooler, she would swear that he was cooler.
    â€œPapa, I think he’s truly asleep now, and his breathing is easy, regular.”
    Her father smiled up at her. She smiled back at him, then leaned down quickly to kiss his cheek. “I will bring you some tea. Ah, good, Mary Rose is finally asleep, too.”
    In truth, her stepmother looked like an exhausted Madonna holding her sick child close, her brilliant curly red hair all over her head, tickling her husband’s chin, framing her pale face.
    Tysen whispered, “I had prayed until I was out of words, until there wasn’t another plea in my mind, Meggie. I think perhaps God heard me and sent Lord Lancaster here with that medicine.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Meggie said, “I do think that Lord Lancaster felt some urgency to come here. Was it God nudging him? It is a comforting thought.”
    â€œNow, I want you to take the medicine to Dr. Dreyfus, tell him that it appears to have worked with Rory. If another child falls ill, then we can see that—”
    â€œYes, Papa, I will. I will ask if Lord Lancaster has more of it. We are to give Rory another swallow in about twenty minutes or so. Then, if he remains like this, no more is necessary.” Meggie smiled, straightened, turned, and walked to where Thomas Malcombe stood, watching her come toward him, her old dressing gown flapping around her bare ankles, her lovely hair braided down her back, much of it come loose and now tangled around her face.
    She nodded to him and he quietly backed away from the open doorway. He waited at the head of the stairs, his face in shadows now because the sun had slipped momentarily behind some clouds. She stopped right in front of him. She lifted his left hand in both of hers and claspedit strongly. “I thank you, my lord. Was it God who made you feel the urgency to come to us?”
    â€œPerhaps it was,” Thomas said slowly, looking down at his large brown hand held between her two smaller ones, not fine soft white hands. Meggie Sherbrooke’s hands helped raise her brothers, trained racing cats, did countless tasks as the vicar’s daughter. And he found himself wondering: Why had he come so quickly? He didn’t know. He just knew that he’d had to. Was it God nudging him?
    He said matter-of-factly, “The package of medicines arrived just a few moments before dawn along with other supplies. The fellow bringing it said he had this feeling that I would be needing it and thus pushed on from Eastbourne to my home. I heard that little Rory was ill and so I came here immediately. I think the messenger was the one whom God nudged.”
    â€œIs there more of the medicine?”
    â€œOh yes. My man will take it to Dr. Dreyfus now, and he can hold it for any children who become ill.”
    â€œOh goodness. Look at me, I’m not dressed. Ah, Mrs. Priddle, please take His Lordship to the drawing room, then give him some breakfast. I will be down very soon.”
    Twenty minutes later Meggie walked into the drawing room. Lord Lancaster was standing beside the fireplace, now lit and warm, drinking some tea.
    She said without