made him faint, for that is what he did, pure and simple. He had no seizure, no sudden pain in his head or limbs. So I must conclude that he collapsed for the simple fact that he is young and untried and-'
Nicholas said, 'He is older than I am, Dr. Knotts.'
'Then it must be a stricture in his bowels. This is not uncommon, particularly in young men with excesses of male vigor.'
Peter sat up suddenly, thoroughly alarmed now. 'A stricture in my bowels?'
'Aye, lad, but it will work itself out. Now, I must be off.' And Dr. Knotts, after bowing to both Nicholas and Rosalind, was gone within the next second, Block at his side.
Nicholas said, 'Don't worry, Peter. I fancy the good doctor has no idea why you passed out. Odd things sometimes happen when you least expect them, but then they pass. How do you feel?'
'I am fine now, my lord. I honestly don't know what happened. I was feeling quite fine, and suddenly, I saw this bright flash of white and then you were leaning over me, speaking to me.'
It was the light that had laid him flat, Nicholas thought. But why? He said to Peter, 'I wish you to confine yourself to very light duty today, Peter. Let's not take any chances. Now, my stepmother and my three half brothers just arrived. Her ladyship and I must attend them. Rosalind, come with me.'
She asked him again as they walked to the library, 'Richard wanted all of them to come here to warn you? That is nonsense, Nicholas, and you know it. I do not trust any of them, except perhaps for Aubrey. He seems harmless enough.'
'Richard looks scared. No, he is scared. He's not a good enough actor to fool me and that alone gives me great pause.'
In the library, they found the three brothers seated, drinking tea and eating Cook's gooseberry muffins. The Dowager
Lady Mountjoy stood next to the fireplace, a teacup in her gloved hand.
'I never liked this room,' Miranda said when they walked into the library. 'It's dark and cold, and so I told that mad old man.'
'I agree,' Nicholas said. 'Now, Richard, you will tell me exactly why you have descended on Wyverly Chase.' But Richard was staring at Rosalind. 'You're here,' he said. 'Well, yes, I live here.'
Miranda said, 'Richard has had a dream, Nicholas, a dream that-'
'Why don't you let Richard tell us about the dream, ma'am,' Nicholas said pleasantly, his eyes never leaving his half brother's face.
'Terrified about a silly dream, just like a girl,' Lancelot said, and gave his brother a fat sneer.
'If you don't have anything useful to say, then shut up, Lancelot,' Nicholas said. 'Now, Richard, what is this all about?'
Richard rose. He looked straight at Rosalind and pointed his finger at her. 'She killed you, Nicholas. I watched her kill you.'
Rosalind didn't protest. She smiled at him and marveled aloud, 'What a lovely thought that is-killing my husband and here we are newly wedded. Hmmm. Have you looked at your brother, Richard?'
'Of course I have! What of it? I'm very nearly as big as he is and probably more dangerous!'
That earned him an ironic look from Nicholas and another big smile from Rosalind. 'Please, do tell me exactly how I managed to kill my husband.'
'You think this is amusing, do you? You stabbed him, damn you. I watched you stab him.'
Nicholas said slowly, 'Did you happen to see the knife, Richard?'
'Why do you care what the bloody knife looks like? That is the least of your worries. This woman-your precious new bride-who has no family, no known background-she killed you.'
'Then what did she do?' Nicholas asked him.
Richard's face flushed, his eyes darkened. 'You think this is all a jest? You're mocking me?'
'Tell him what she did, Richard,' Aubrey said. 'Tell him.'
42
Richard gave Rosalind such a venomous look she wanted to cross herself.
'She dug out your heart and held it up as if it were an offering to some heathen god, your blood streaking down her arms, dripping off her fingers. There was blood everywhere. She was covered with your blood, Nicholas, splattered upward even to her face.'
'What did she do with my heart?'
Lancelot took a step toward Nicholas, fist up. 'You bastard, you don't believe my brother. He doesn't lie, damn you. Listen to him if you Wish to live.'
'I'm listening, Lancelot, but so far it sounds like a tale Grayson Sherbrooke would write, perhaps set at Stonehenge. You said this was a dream, Richard?'
'I'm not sure, actually, I was in a sort of waking state, so not really a dream, no. More like a vision. A vision of something that will happen. I was alone, in my bedchamber at home, and time lost all meaning to me and then the vision came into my brain, clear and sharp. I could even smell the blood when she cut your heart out of your chest.'
Nicholas looked at each of them in turn. He saw bone-deep resentment in Lancelot, a sort of academic interest on Aubrey's face, flat contempt on Miranda's face, and on Richard's face-cold fear. He said to his half brother, 'You came to warn me because-?'
Miranda stepped forward, her expression now venomous. 'She held up your heart, you moron, and she chanted foreign words Richard didn't understand. Your wife killed you! And you have the gall to question your brother's motives in coming to help you?'
Rosalind spoke. 'Richard, what was I wearing in this vision?'
'A white robe belted at your waist with a thin rope of some kind. Its ends hung down nearly to your knees. Your hair was long down your back.'
'You are certain it was me?'
'Yes, all that wild red hair, your blue eyes. It was you.' He frowned. 'But it was as if you were in a different time, in a different place. I don't know, that doesn't really make sense, but I know it was you.'
Nicholas said, 'So now she's a vestal virgin of some sort or a high priestess?'
'I don't know,' Richard said finally. 'I don't know. There were no priests hovering about, no one else, only the two of you, you bound on your back and her leaning over you.'
'Do you know why I cut out my husband's heart?'
Richard, for the first time, looked uncertain. 'I don't know that either,' he said slowly. 'All I know is that you did it.' He looked at Nicholas. 'You asked me what she did with your heart. She flung it away from her, as if it were refuse, then she rose and stood looking down at you sprawled at her feet, and she was rubbing her bloody hands together.'
'Like Lady Macbeth?'
'No!' Richard shouted at her. 'There was no real blood on Lady Macbeth's hands, only her guilt made her believe that, but your hands were covered with Nicholas's blood.'
Rosalind said, 'We did have an argument last night, and I admit I wanted to smack him with a book, but I didn't even do that. This ripping-out-his-heart business, that would require a dedication to something fanatical. Another time, another place, I think you said.' And she thought of the bloody knife in her own vision, the white drops sliding to the floor off the tip. Where had the blood come from?
'Be it elsewhere and in another time, you still did it, I saw you do it!'
'My lord.'
Nicholas turned to see Block in the doorway, looking stiff and proper, though his eyes were a bit on the wild side.
'What crisis is upon us now, Block?'
'The old earl's ghost will not stop singing lewd ditties. Mrs. McGiver requests that you order him to stop.'
