Page 111 of Waking Roslyn

She nodded and turned away just as twin tears slipped down her face.

Once the doctor had taken his leave, I sat in the chair the duchess had vacated and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and running my hands over my face in agitation, over and over and over again until I finally let my face crumple and the tears gather in my eyes. Why hadn’t she woken? Her breathing remained even, though a bit shallow. She had no fever. She’d taken in the broth without any gagging or choking. But her face was decidedly gaunt, no doubt from lack of food and water. And I could have sworn that her cheeks had even less color than they had yesterday. It felt like we all balanced on the tip of a spindle, not knowing which way we would fall. Would life win out? Or would death claim her?

With no true culprit to blame, I had no one to fight.

I couldn’t fight an invisible poison, so I continued to sob quietly into my hands.

Until a small moan reached my ears.

My head jerked up. Had it come from Roslyn? I stumbled to her side and turned up the lamp so that I could see her better. She lay still.

I had heard it though. Someone had made the sound, so I stared so hard at her mouth, willing it to make a noise, that my eyes became dry.

Still nothing.

I closed my eyes as my tears renewed. What torture to think that my hope had been rewarded only for it to be false. I raised my head and pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes, clearing away the tears. Then I let out a shuddering sigh and reached down to pick up her hand. It was a little chilly, so I tenderly kissed her knuckles, then lifted the coverlet to tuck her hand underneath.

But then her finger twitched.

I froze. I could barely breathe. “I didn’t imagine that,” I whispered. “I know I didn’t imagine that. Rose?” I said, leaning closer. “Rose, wake up.”

I waited, and waited some more.

Then her head jerked to the side just a little and she let out another little moan.

I dropped her hand and covered my mouth. “You’re waking up.” What should I do? What did I need to do? I couldn’t think. I was too overjoyed.

People needed to know. “She’s waking up!” I shouted and ran to the door, nearly running into the guard who had been stationed outside as he ran to answer my call.

We grabbed on to each others’ arms and he looked past my shoulder through the open doorway.

“She is waking up!” I couldn’t help shouting, even though he was right in front of me. “We must tell her parents.”

“Yes, of course,” he said and turned to go, but then stopped. “What of the doctor? Won’t she need the doctor?”

“Yes, of course she will.” I turned this way and that, my feet wanting to act but my mind unable to keep up. Should I send him for the doctor and I would inform her parents? Immediately, all my defenses rose up in protest of that idea. She was safe and waking up. I could not leave her now. “Go tell the duke and duchess. Then send for the doctor.”

He rushed off to do as I asked, and I turned back into Roslyn’s room, rushing to her side and taking her hand in mine once again. “Rose,” I whispered. “Rose, it’s safe now. You can wake up. Rose?” I brushed my fingers over her cheek. I just wanted her to come back. I wanted her to keep living a life where she knew she was loved and appreciated and known.

I whispered more reassurances to her, begging her to come back to me, terrified she would be snatched away again. My whole body shook as I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She squeezed my hand.

I sucked in a breath of shock and pulled back to look at her just as the duke and duchess burst into the room.

She was waking up. My Rose was waking up.

Roslyn

This sleep felt awful, and I wanted to wake up, but I kept falling back into dreams that were dark and confusing. They were the sort of dreams where I tried to run but I couldn’t. Or I was desperately thirsty, but drinking didn’t quench the thirst. Everything felt wrong and heavy. I could feel the bed beneath me, but I couldn’t wake up enough to move. Why couldn’t I open my eyes?

Someone’s voice sounded from far away, and it didn’t sound like a dream voice. Was someone in my room, trying to wake me? The voice stopped before I could make sense of it. Then my hand moved. Or did it? Could I feel my hand? I thought…maybe someone was holding it. Why was it so difficult to tell? And if I was awake enough to know that someone was holding my hand, why couldn’t I open my eyes? Why couldn’t I move my hand? I forced all my concentration on my fingers and willed them to squeeze back. I wanted the person holding my hand to help me wake up!

Did my finger move? I thought it might have. Then the voice spoke again, so quietly I couldn’t understand at first, but then I heard it. “Rose, wake up.”

I’m trying! I wanted to shout, but all I managed was a tiny groaning sound.

Then he let go of my hand and the shouting started. Was that John shouting? Why was he shouting? Why couldn’t he just help me wake up?