'Think of the child!' Zosia continued. 'You should have summoned me as soon as Ekhart returned. Can you not see that the girl is ill? If you value your son, you will leave her to me now.'
Donskoy released Marguerite, then turned aside. 'Take her,' he said sullenly. 'Take this mongrel out of my sight.'
Jacqueline gasped. 'Milos. Are you going to let a servant dictate your behavior?'
Donskoy turned his anger on her. 'Hold your tongue, Jacqueline. You forget your own place. The drama with my wife has ended.'
Yelena and Zosia pulled Marguerite to her feet, then helped her from the room.
In Marguerite's own chamber, they worked swiftly to remove her clothes and put her into the bed. Zosia placed her hand on Marguerite's forehead, and then on her stomach. She frowned.
'Too hot,' Zosia said. 'Too hot. You are burning with fever.' The old woman turned to Yelena. 'Get the herbs- the ones I mixed this afternoon. Bring them to me now.B
Yelena scuttled out of the room.
Marguerite turned to Zosia. 'Ramus,' she murmured. 'Ramus said-'
'Shhhh,' whispered Zosia. 'Do not speak child. And do not mention that name again.'
Marguerite allowed her eyes to close.
'Look at me, child.' She took Marguerite's chin and shook it. 'Look at me and listen. Do not speak of what occurred last night. Do not mention it again, do not think of it again. Do you understand?'
Marguerite nodded feebly. 'But how do you know?' she rasped. 'You couldn't know it all …' Her mouth had become a desiccated hollow with a thick, limp tongue, making it difficult to speak.
Zosia placed two pale, bony fingers on Marguerite's lips, which were now rimmed with white. 'Shoosh. Do not mention it again,' the crone murmured. 'Not again.'
Yeiena returned with the herbs in a small pewter mug, and doused them with hot water from the fire.
Zosia lifted Marguerite's head and pressed the cup to her lips. 'Drink,' she commanded. 'You are very sick, Marguerite. You must rest.'
Marguerite swallowed something bitter and hot, then Zosia's crinkled, dark-eyed face faded from view.
*****
She awoke in a fog of confusion. Donskoy sat before the fire in her chamber, smoking his white pipe as he gazed sullenly into the flames. Immediately, Marguerite let her lids sink low, so that he would not know she was conscious. Sleep, or its illusion, might shelter her a little longer.
A knock came at the door, and Marguerite heard it open. She did not turn her head to look. She heard a soft rustle and muffled footsteps, and then a woman spoke.
'How is the patient?' It was Jacqueline.
'Still unconscious, thanks to you. But Zosia says she will recover in time. She heals as she sleeps.'
'Thanks to me? How could this possibly be my doing, Milos?'
'She saw you at the rim. She was babbling about it in her sleep.'
Marguerite clenched her fists under the sheet. She hoped she hadn't babbled about anything else. She closed her eyes hard and listened.
'Then she must have seen you as well, my friend,' Jacqueline quipped. 'And your associates, And Ekhart and Ljubo. . I hardly acted alone or without your consent.'
'True enough. But it was the shock of your actions in particular that drove her into the forest. Ekhart saw her. After you beheaded that girl, Marguerite raced into the woods like a panicked fawn. We could have lost her to the mists forever.'
'Oh, don't be ridiculous. She couldn't get far. And if she ran headlong into the fog she would have drifted back soon enough. A little worse for wear, perhaps-'
'E am not amused, Jacqueline. Mot in the least.'
'Forgive me, Milos. I meant no offense.'
'My own child is in her belly.'
'So you believe Zosia? That she carries your son?'
'I know it.'
'['m glad for you, my friend. Truly I am.'
'Indeed.'
'No, I mean it sincerely. This is what you've hoped for, after all. But it doesn't mean that you and I can't share a few dreams, too, does it?'
'You dream only of one thing-finding your own head.'
Marguerite let out an involuntary moan. For a moment, her visitors were silent.
After a time, Jacqueline continued, 'Well, wouldn't you do the same, if you could track down the one thing that made you vulnerable? But that Isn't all I desire, Donskoy. You know it is not. I seek your contentment as well. And I could assist you much more- if only you would allow it, if only you would trust me just a little.'
Donskoy grunted.
Marguerite turned her head, ever so slowly, to free her ear from the pillow. But she dared not open her eyes.
'For decades I have proved my unswerving affection and loyalty to you,' Jacqueline continued.
'Indeed,' replied Donskoy. 'You have provided a welcome diversion. I suppose I do owe you a debt of gratitude on that account.'
'And you could thank me, Milos, by giving me the ledger, and the services of twenty of your best men.'
'No. Gather your own henchmen if you wish; it is within your capacity.'
'Ah, but they would not share the unique talents of yours. Ten men, then. And just a page or two from the ledger. Lord Azalin's preferences, for example. And a letter of introduction from yourself.'
'No.'
'Why not, Milos? With your introduction to his court, I could take up your business where you left off. Please, Donskoy. Tell me what Lord Azalin desires most, and how much he is willing to pay.'
'And what makes you think Lord Azalin will receive you at all?'
'Your reputation can scarcely have faded. You were an extraordinary procurer. With a letter of introduction, I could win an audience. And, of course, once he sees me in person, and once he [earns what I know about Lord Strahd, and how much I despise Lord Strahd as well he does, then surely Azalin witl strike an alliance with me.'
'I have no intention of writing you a letter, or of lending you my associates.'
'But why not?' Jacqueline's pout was almost audible.
'Because my son will carry on, Jacqueline. My son, when he is of age, will take the name of Donskoy abroad, and rekindle the old business. My son will restore my wealth and rebuild my land. Not you, Jacqueline.'
'Your son, you say. After all my years of unswerving devotion.'
'Yes.'
'And just how do you expect to accomplish this feat? Your own men think you're too far rotted to sire anything.'
'Have you forgotten so soon? Marguerite is pregnant. She carries a son.'
'So you said. And I have little doubt that she's as fertile as any barnyard bitch. But surely don't imagine that the bastard in her belly is yours?'
Marguerite's eyes fluttered open in horror. Quickly, she let them drop, daring to leave a fringe of lashes through which she could watch her husband and his paramour.
Donskoy's face went white. He took a draft from his pipe, then pressed out his chest and stood erect, suddenly the stout soldier. His eyes flashed with anger, and a vein in his cheek was twitching. 'You cannot vex me, Jacqueline,' he said evenly, his voice dripping with contempt. 'You are a pathetic, jealous woman. You've stooped very low to try to hurt me. But this time, my dear, the ruse does not become you.'
'At least I have the courage to face facts. Unlike you-sucking at Zosia's brews, nursing your pathetic fantasies. Are you a man or a mewling lamb? Think on it, Milos. For weeks you've lain with Marguerite, gaining nothing but a little pleasure. And now, she is miraculously with child. Only an idiot would dismiss the coincidence.'
'Stay your tongue,' hissed Donskoy. 'Mot a word more. Not one word or you wilt find you have something in
