Page 169 of Ashen Torment

Richard freezes. His hands suspended in mid-air, his body rigid, undecided between a step forward and a step back. His green eyes, wide, fix upon mine.

I roll onto my side, clenching my jaw.

“My apologies,” I mumble.

“No problem,” he replies quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I get back on my feet slowly, careful not to collapse the fragile stability of my bruised muscles.

He approaches, hesitant.

“Shall I take you up in my saddle?”

“No.”

I heave my weight onto the horse’s back with effort, my legs trembling, my side protesting at every small adjustment.

Étoile moves beneath me, slow, his gait marking the silence of the woods. Richard remains beside me, his pace soft, his gaze observing without daring to interfere.

I have been lying on the sofa for a length of time I cannot quantify.

My leg pulses, the swollen knee is wrapped in a pain that spreads along the thigh. Richard sits in the armchair beside me, motionless. His green eyes follow my every breath; every now and then he moves a hand slightly, as if he wants to do something, but he restrains himself.

“Why did you not tell me you had a fever?”

“I did not know.”

The door opens, Étienne appears.

“Viscount, Dr. Norton has arrived.”

I straighten up on the sofa, Richard rises slowly, the shadow of his figure lengthening across the rug. Dr. Norton enters immediately after. His light brown hair, flecked with gray and cut short and neat, seems a reflection of his calm bearing. Thin metal spectacles accentuate his austere features.

“Viscount, Lord Brownell,” he says briefly.

“Dr. Norton,” we respond in unison.

He approaches.

“Allow me to examine you, Viscount.”

I give a nod of consent; he kneels beside the sofa, his thin, precise hands brushing my knee and then my ankle. The contact is measured, calibrated, yet my body flinches before I can even move.

“Do not fear,” he announces. “Only a slight sprain. Ice and rest, nothing more. The blow to the arm will settle on its own. For the pain, a little laudanum.”

Richard leans forward, ready to support me, but I lift a hand just enough to stop him.

“Furthermore,” Dr. Norton adds, “you have a fever, Viscount. Drink plenty of water, hot broths, herbal teas. I recommend cold compresses to soothe the heat.”

He briefly removes his glasses and fixes me with his gaze. “Viscount, you are very dehydrated. You must take better care of yourself—more water, more rest, less exposure to the cold.”

I nod without saying anything.

He gathers his bag and takes his leave with a few polite words. Étienne escorts him out.

Richard sits down again, his hand coming to rest on my head.

This time, I do not pull away.