Reading it quickly, his eyes scanning the page, he frowned and crumbled it in his fist. “Marie is lost to us.” He squeezed the paper in his fist until his knuckles turned white. The king and now the queen, stripped from their throne and murdered. How could this happen to his dear France? He leaned over Scarlet. “I wish you were awake to hear. Simon got her to the docks, the ship in sight even. So close they could taste the sea. Then Éléonore’s men ripped her from the carriage. Simon was able to escape. They let him go, thought him a hired driver. We have that to be thankful for, at least.” He turned to Scarlet, but her eyes were still closed and she had begun tossing about. A moan escaped her lips.

Matteo ripped a piece of petticoat, using it to dip in the water and wipe her face. Breathing air lightly onto her skin to cool her, he left the fabric on her forehead, hoping to draw out some of the heat. He fanned her, re-dipped the fabric when it lost its coolness, and then reapplied it. So lost in his ministrations, he almost didn’t hear Abella quietly close the door behind her as he began a nightlong vigil to cool Scarlet and lessen the effects of her fever.

Chapter Thirty

Scarlet’s mind refused to focus. She ran, lungs hurting, underbrush scratching and pulling at her dress. Her short, eight-year-old legs not covering much distance. Her heart sank when, in her dreamscape, she recognized her family’s Spanish villa.

Aware she dreamt but unable to awaken, she tore through the bushes near the front door, rushing around to intercept the callers. But they pulled forward in their carriage just as she remembered. In a moment, her brother would come. Expecting him did not stop the startled pounding of her heart when a hand reached out and pulled her backward into the shadows.

“Be very quiet. Don’t move.” Trying to protect, her brother sounded more harsh than usual.

“But what is going on?” Her small voice sounded frightened and unsure.

“They’ve come to get Father. Because of his books.”

“Come to get him! Will they take him away?” Her heart pinched and shrunk as fear came to paralyze.

“I will stop them. You stay here.” His ten-year-old frame broadened about an inch as he inhaled and braced his shoulders. “Stay here. Promise me.”

She nodded, her tiny voice whispering, “I promise.” But her adult self, witnessing the dream, screamed out in desperation, “Don’t do it! Don’t, Nicholas. They’ll get you, and you’ll die. You will all die.” Frozen, unable to escape her new torture, she couldn’t look away from the horrors that followed.

He left the cover of the brush.