“His mother had exhausted him. They had walked, talked, argued. He arranged for her to be bathed in warm, calming water three times in one day. There had been heated milk, soothing soups, anything to tame her discomfort, subdue her first day without the quack’s medicine. She fought it all. He needed sleep. Had arranged for Nellie and Mary to watch over his mother in the night. They knew what worked and what didn’t. They were strong, capable farm lasses, not prone to hysterics. His course of acti...on would not be easy, but no doubt, she would be better in the morning. The scratch turned to a knock. “Is the abbey on fire?” he barked, voice thick with sleep. “Please, my lord!” Sleep retreated. He lifted up. “What the devil is it?” “Lord Andover…” In nightshirt and wrap, candle flame flickering, stoic, sturdy Barton trembled. Andover sat up higher, ran his fingers through his hair. “What is it, Barton?” “Your mother, sir.” “Yes, Barton. We discussed this, anticipated it would be a restless night.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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