The room smelled of sour bile and the heavy toxicity of approaching death. Brenna held her sleeve up to her wrinkled nose in order to try and get a reprieve from the stench. She shifted her weight and rolled her eyes up to examine the ceiling. An ornate scene of a hunting party had been painted onto the wood paneling, making the room seem shorter and dark. Her eyes flicked from a man on a horse to the stag which lay on the ground with an arrow speared through its side. Blood squirted in a gruesome fountain from its wound, and Brenna wondered how anyone could sleep with that macabre scene hanging over their head.
Someone suppressing a wet sniffle drew Brenna's attention down again. She glanced at the small group of ladies, clustered by the doorway, dabbing at their eyes. Brenna was faintly surprised that no one had forced them out with claims that the delicate female sensibilities would be severely compromised by the witnessing of a poisoning. Maybe everyone was too focused on the wilted and sunken form of Robert Glenfarrow to even think about women in the room. Sighing, Brenna wished someone would notice her and send her from the room.
Brenna's gaze fell briefly on Morna, who stood to one side of Robert's bed, dipping a rag into water and plastering it on his forehead. The generals clustered behind her, whispering and muttering with furtive eyes. No doubt they were discussing what would happen when Robert Glenfarrow finally gave up his tentative grip on life. As awful as it sounded, Brenna just wondered if only the old man would get on with it a little quicker. They'd been cooped in the room for three hours, and she was queasy at the amount of times he'd vomited. She'd never get the smell out of these clothes. It clung like tar.
One of the court ladies scurried forward and tapped Robbin's arm. He stood just behind Brenna, so close that the heat from his skin warmed her. When he stepped back to bend his ear to the woman, Brenna frowned and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill.
Not wanting to give the appearance of caring, yet burning with curiosity, she casually stepped backward until she was close enough to hear the conversation between her husband and the woman.
"...so sorry for you and your brother. I pray for your father's recovery, but should it not end well... know that I am here should you need any help."
Brenna snorted and the woman looked up sharply. Brenna tossed her hair over her shoulder and pretended to be fascinated with her sister and the dying man across the room. When the woman turned away to dip a curtsey, Brenna was tempted to snort again. As if that woman thought she had any worth to be used to Robbin or Afton should they be thrust into power sooner than they'd thought. She might be able to fetch a glass of water, but Brenna doubted her use would go beyond that. Stupid girl.
At that time, Morna turned from her seat on the edge of Robert's mattress and caught Brenna's eyes. She crooked her finger, and Brenna followed the silent summons. The generals watched her closely but didn't try to stop her as she approached her sister.
Morna glanced up as she dipped the cloth in a bowl of water on the side table, and pressed it to Robert's forehead. He gleamed with sweat mixed with water. Brenna could practically smell the poison seeping from his body.
"It's not looking good," Morna whispered. "He hasn't moved an inch since..." She trailed off, and Brenna couldn't blame her. A half hour before, Robert had a crazed fit, as if demons tortured him, and then vomited once again- only, this time it was bright red with blood. It was then that Afton rushed out, saying something about finding an antidote.
As if anyone even knew what poison had been used.
Soon after Robert had taken ill and the use of poison had been highly suspected, the guards under Robbin's control were sent to search for any possible suspects. They'd found a man, unknown to any in the household, hidden in a linen closet on the second floor. Unfortunately, Robbin's men had stupidly killed the man before any questions could be asked. A fury had evidently seized them at seeing the cowardly form of the man who had dared to harm the father of the heir, and they'd sliced him down still amongst the cotton sheets. They were too used to battle and the freedom that anger brought there. Brenna held out scant hope for the foolish idiots. Robert lay dying because of their short foresight.
"Maybe Afton will find something useful at the apothecary's," Brenna said, eyeing the putrid shadow of Robert Glenfarrow. She raised her hand back to her nose, and only barely tried to disguise it as merely becoming overcome with emotions.
Morna sighed and shook her head just barely. "We can only hope," she whispered.
"This was Revours," one of the generals said, startling everyone with the booming volume of his voice. "It had to be. He sent a slinking little weasel to do his dirty work, too afraid to take on his enemy in the glorious field of battle." He spat on the ground, and the other generals followed suit.
"If this was Revours, what did he hope to accomplish? Killing Robert gains him nothing. Afton is the one it would be logical to try and murder, and I don't see him writhing around on the ground," Brenna said, glaring at the generals.
"Who else would wish to kill Robert?" the foremost one said. His beard hung to his waist, a bright red color. He looked more bear than human, with hard black eyes. "No disrespect to our heir, but he is not the most focused or driven commander. Killing Robert forces Afton to take control before he's ready, and Revours will use that to his advantage. We can expect an attack soon. Who knows, he may even be lurking outside as we speak."
The ladies all gasped loudly, while Brenna scoffed. "I think news would have reached us if Revours tried to march an army right up to Glenfarrow House."
"Do not doubt the duplicity of that man, my lady," the bearded general growled. "He is the most cowardly, low bellied man that ever lived." A chorus of hear, hears rose from the man's comrades, and the ladies all nodded as if they were experts on the issue. Brenna rolled her eyes and turned back to watch the morbid show of Robert's slow stage exit.
"I only lament the fact that we couldn't drag the truth from the poisoning coward. We all have a certain someone's guards to thank for that."
All eyes swiveled to Robbin as he stalked across the room. The generals held their ground, but a ripple of unease washed over them as Robbin approached. Everyone held their breath as Robbin came within inches of the bearded general, but he turned to face his father at the last second.
"Perhaps you'd be of more use fetching the priest, General Rydon?" Robbin calmly asked.
"We don't take orders from you."
Brenna bristled at the tone, and for a moment she wished Robbin would spin around and slug the general. Instead, he merely shrugged, and the matter was dropped.
An uneasy murmur of conversation slowly began behind Brenna and Robbin, originating from the ladies. Brenna couldn't make out what they were saying, but she knew their courage wasn't strong enough to gossip in a death room.
As the others in the room gradually turned their attention to other matters, Brenna stared at the man whose fate had caused this ruckus. She wished he'd make up his mind on whether he'd live or die, and then everyone could get on with their business. She didn't even know why she and Morna and Robbin had been summoned in the first place. It wasn't as if any of them had held any place of regard in Robert's eyes. If he'd been lucid enough when they'd first come in, he'd probably have chased them off within seconds. Unfortunately, he'd been too busy vomiting up everything in his body.
Shifting her weight to rest one of her legs, Brenna accidentally brushed Robbin with her arm. She thought he'd sigh in irritation and move away, but he didn't even flinch. She looked up at his face, hoping to read his emotion, and was met with a stone wall. Nothing of his feelings played across his features. His eyes were riveted to the sight of his sunken father, his jaw only slightly tensed.
Strangely, it was this that let Brenna know that he was actually upset about his father's dying. This lack of expression spoke louder than any tears.
Why he was taking it hard was not immediately clear to Brenna. As long as she'd been married to Robin she'd witness firsthand how Robert mostly ignored him, saving all his attention and praise for Afton. If Brenna had been Robbin, she wouldn't have cared two figs whether the old grouch pulled through or not. In fact, she even rather might be inclined to hope Robert Glenfarrow never did wake up again to torment those whose very birth seemed to offend him.
But, she wasn't Robbin, and despite her ill feelings toward Robert, she had a duty toward his son. Letting him mourn in solitude wasn't acceptable.
Brenna took a step closer to him, letting her skirts cover her hand as she reached for his. He wouldn't want the generals seeing her cling to him, and in fact she belatedly thought he'd probably shake her off. Such intimacy in public was not something he normally tolerated, so it was a shock when his fingers curled around her hand. She looked up at him sharply, too surprised to hide her reaction at first. He really was hurting if he accepted comfort from her.
Robbin kept his hand in hers, their hips just barely bumping against each other as the time ticked on. The room waited another twenty minutes, Robert only growing more pale and sweaty. His breathing slowed until it was nearly impossible to discern. Morna had to feel for his pulse more than once.