A/N: I'd just like to thank you all for hanging in there with me, for your kind reviews and support. Also, thanks to those who I see are going back and reading my older fics and blessing me with your favorites. Thanks so much! I only wish you would log in and allow me to respond to your kindness.
Now, on to…
Chapter 11
They had ridden a good five miles at a hard gallop when Prince Patrick noticed Teresa was listing to the side in the saddle. Rigsby was in the lead and Patrick took up the rear. They'd been in such a rush to get away that he'd had little time to do more than quickly kiss her and help her into the saddle. She hadn't seemed too bothered by her arrow wound, but then again, he knew she was not one to complain. So, when she started to fall sideways, Patrick sent out a cry to Rigsby to slow down.
The prince rode up quickly to ride alongside her horse.
"Teresa!" he cried, grabbing the reins of her horse in an attempt to slow it down.
With his other hand, he pushed on her back in an awkward attempt to right her in her seat. By this time, Rigsby had circled back and grabbed the other side of Teresa's horse's reins, and Patrick pulled Teresa from her horse and onto his own to sit in front of him.
All three horses slowed to a stop, and Patrick peered down at Teresa in the moonlight, feeling the surprising heat emanating from her body.
"She's burning up," he told Rigsby.
Rigsby dismounted and held his hands up to take Teresa from him so he could get down too. He lay her down gently on the ground, and Patrick took her arm out of the improvised sling.
"Teresa?" he said, shaking her a little. She moaned softly, but otherwise didn't respond.
Rigsby ran and got the lantern, which hung from his saddle. By this time, Patrick had gently unwrapped her wound, only to gasp at how inflamed it had become, streaks of red running beneath the skin of her arm, away from the angry and jagged gash.
"Good God," muttered Rigsby.
"How could it have gotten so infected so quickly?"
"Likely there was something on the arrow," Rigsby replied gravely. "The sudden exercise moved it along through her blood."
The two men looked at the small woman on the ground, important to each of them for completely different reasons. One felt brotherly affection; the other, a deepening emotion that he was too afraid yet to fully define. Then they looked at each other, their faces etched in fear. Infection often meant either loss of limb or, just as likely, death.
"I'll get her some water," Rigsby said. "But we should get her home and to the surgeon as soon as possible."
"Teresa," he said again, lightly tapping one heated cheek. "Please, wake up."
"Patrick?" she replied, so softly he wasn't sure at first he'd heard her. "So…hot…"
"I know, my sweet."
But her eyelids remained closed; too heavy to lift them. Rigsby arrived again with a leather flask of water, and Patrick held her slight body up so she could drink. The moment she felt the cool water at her lips, she drank heartily for a moment, then fell back into his lap, exhausted. He tore another strip off her slowly dwindling skirt, wet the material, still damp from their recent swim, and bathed her hot brow.
"Your Highness," said Rigsby. "It's best we move on, get her home."
Patrick nodded. "I'll mount if you'll hand her up to me."
"Of course."
A few minutes later, they were riding again, Teresa lying boneless across Patrick's lap. Rigsby took the lead again, Teresa's horse tethered to his saddle. Patrick felt himself nearly paralyzed with fear, horrible thoughts whirling through his head. He couldn't lose her, the strongest, bravest, most exciting woman he had ever known. In a matter of days, she had taken him from a world of numbness, a sort of half-existence, and given him a reason to rejoin fully the world of the living.
Until the moment he'd met her, Grace had been his sole motivation for rising from his bed each day. When she'd been called to marry Lord Craig, he'd seen before him a life completely void of purpose. Now, with this small woman, trembling with fever in hi arms, he had found his life again. Would the universe be so cruel as to take her from him, after all the pain he'd endured?
And then there was Grace, still trapped back at Hartshorne Castle, still destined to marry the man responsible for Teresa's pain. And Teresa's father, already sickly, awaited his fate in the tower with the Queen. It was a colossal mess, and even with the magic he'd been gifted with, Patrick could think of no way to save any of them. He pulled Teresa's limp body more tightly against his, kissing the top of her head with an aching grimace.
"Hold on, my love," he whispered, the word leaving his lips for the first time in five years for a woman who was not his sister. It was so natural to say that he hadn't even realize he'd said it.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Another two hours found them back at Teresa's cottage, Rigsby only pausing to help the prince get her into the house to her bed. He rode again like the wind to find the surgeon. Patrick carefully undressed Teresa, shuttering when she groaned at his awkward manipulations to get her arms out of her dress. He removed her undergarments, struck anew at her small but perfect form, chastising himself for remembering how wonderful it had felt to be joined with her.
"Not the time, old man," he chided himself, but found a smile when she mindlessly murmured his name.
He bathed her as best he could with a clean cloth, washing away the moat water and the grime from the road. He gently cleaned her wound, but she moaned and thrashed with each touch. It was difficult to hold her down so he could complete the task gently. He remained struck by how hot her skin was, how he had to continually rewet the cloth in order to cool her. He pulled up the sheet to cover her nakedness, then sat wretchedly beside her on the bed.
He thought of Red John, how he'd healed himself from a bullet wound, how he'd claimed to have saved his mother from death. Patrick didn't know these spells, had never learned the mystical art of healing. He knew he possessed magic within him, so he focused all his thoughts on Teresa's arm. A slight blue glow surrounded her, and she even rose up slightly from the bed. But nothing else seemed to change and he gently broke the spell. She landed softly again on the white sheet, and he put his hands in his hair in despair.
Xxxxxxxxxxxx
Rigsby arrived with the village surgeon an hour later, an old German man named Steiner, and his raven-haired young assistant he called Partridge. Steiner was tall and very thin, bespectacled, and appeared to be suffering from some unnamed illness of his own. Partridge, on the other hand, seemed spritely and unnaturally excited to see an injured woman. He followed behind the surgeon like a puppy, carrying the doctor's bag and a small box.
Patrick led the men to Teresa's bedchamber, and Steiner raised Teresa's arm slightly, squinting at the wound. He nodded.
"Poison arrow, all right." He felt her head with a weathered hand. "Fever too." He turned to Rigsby. "Go boil water for some willow bark tea," he ordered brusquely. Rigsby glanced in mild amusement at the prince, then went off to do as he was told.
Steiner looked over at Patrick. "Did you clean her wound, boy?"
"Yes."
"Hmmm," he hummed noncommittally.
Patrick was dying to know if he had done a good job, if she would survive this. He waited while Steiner continued his examination, and the prince found he didn't like how Partridge was looking at Teresa. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the young man seemed to be inordinately fascinated with the look of the grotesque wound.
"Will we have to take the arm?" Partridge asked with barely suppressed anticipation. Patrick looked at the man in horror, but the surgeon seemed oblivious to the prince's dismay.
"Not if the leeches work. Put them on her like I showed you."
"Yes, Master Steiner," said Partridge, sounding oddly disappointed.
From the small box, Partridge removed the wormlike creatures, placing them around the edges of Teresa's wound. Though Patrick knew this was a sound treatment, it was still difficult for him to watch as the little blood suckers worked at the infected areas, increasing the blood flow so that the poison would pass more quickly away from the wound and into their tiny mouths.
"Look at those little beauties," muttered Partridge in admiration of the bloodletting.
"I think you enjoy your work a little too much, my friend," said Patrick in disgust. "You're a ghoul."
"A man should take pleasure in his work," Steiner defended his assistant.
Patrick could only shake his head and comfort himself by reaching for Teresa's other hand. Rigsby arrived with the water and Steiner instructed Partridge to prepare the tea. They were able to rouse Teresa enough to get her to drink a little, but she seemed unaware of what was going on around her.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The leeches did their work, but Teresa seemed to have slipped into a coma. The swelling and infection had gone down, but enough poison had made it to her brain that she was not responding at all anymore, her breathing shallow.
"She'll keep her arm, but she may never wake up," Steiner told them.
"What? There has to be something you can do."
"She's in God's hands now. Where is her father?"
"Away," replied Patrick.
"Too bad," commented Steiner.
Partridge shot Patrick a grin that seemed somehow triumphant. He'd never felt so strong a need to punch someone before. Steiner gathered up his things, preparing to leave. Rigsby, who had been watching the scene helplessly, moved to see the surgeon out. Partridge stood back a moment, until he was alone in the room with Patrick and the unnaturally still patient.
"Red John sends his condolences," he murmured, but before Patrick could process what he'd said, the man was gone from the room. The prince got up from his seat on the bed and ran to the door.
"Wait!" he cried. He went to the stairs and Rigsby was just closing the door behind them. Patrick threw himself in the way of Rigsbsy's pulling down the bar, and he swung the heavy door wide. He looked out onto the moonlit lane, the surgeon and his irksome apprentice nowhere to be seen.
"Who were those people?" He asked Rigsby, coming back inside in defeat.
"Steiner's been the surgeon in Sacraham for years. Partridge—I've never seen him before."
"He was sent by Red John; I'm sure of it."
Rigsby looked startled. The wizard who'd killed the prince's family, whom he'd seen recover from a gunshot wound right before his eyes, had sent Partridge to them?
"How can that be?" he asked.
"He plainly said as much," replied Patrick. "That devil has his demons everywhere." Then his eyes widened in terror when he realized something else. "I'll bet he gave her something to prevent her from waking up."
"But you were in there every minute, Your Highness. Did you see him do anything harmful?"
"No, but that doesn't mean he didn't use magic that I couldn't see. So help me, if Teresa dies because of that…"
"No. We can't afford to think that way. We must pray. Perhaps she'll be better in the morning."
"Pray all you want, Sir Rigsby. I learned long ago that there is no God."
Rigsby watched the man climb sadly up the stairs
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was in the wee hours of the morning, and Teresa had not awakened. Patrick had fallen asleep with his head resting on her stomach. Something had invaded his dreamless sleep, and he sat up, disoriented. He looked down at Teresa's still form. She was so beautiful, he thought, like the famed Juliet under the spell of the Friar's potion. He touched her lips lightly with his own, hoping like the fairy tales told that she would awaken from his kiss. But nothing changed, except his anguish multiplied tenfold. He squeezed his eyes shut, laying his head on her breasts and clasping her limp hands, shaking as silent tears fell down his cheeks.
He allowed himself a few moments of despair, then wiped his face, sat up, and stretched, groaning a little at his stiff back. He'd made a decision in the night. If Teresa did not awaken by morning, he would go back to Hartshorne, rescue his sister and Sir Minelli by any means possible, utilizing every bit of magic he'd ever known. He would confront Red John and kill him with his bare hands if he had to, magic be damned. He no longer cared for his own life, for it would mean nothing with Teresa gone, with his sister imprisoned in a loveless marriage.
He was just going toward the door to ready himself for his journey when the room suddenly filled with a faint red glow, and then Red John appeared as if from nowhere. Patrick raised his hands to send a volt of energy at the unwanted guest, but the wizard held up his own hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Easy, my vengeful lad. I come in peace."
Patrick forestalled the attack, but his hands remained at the ready. "There is no peace when you are here. Have you come to finish the job? Your toady nearly finished it for you."
"Aw, you met my pet Partridge. He did nothing that Lord Craig's guard hadn't already done to her with his poisoned arrow. No, I've come to see how I can help."
Patrick didn't believe any of his denials, and certainly not his proposal to help. He was responsible for all of it, in one way or another. Red John was looking now at Teresa, insincere sympathy lining his face. "She will die soon, I'm afraid. I have seen many who fall into this living death. They die of either thirst or starvation, a slow, painful way of it." He shook his head in mock sadness, though a smile still hovered at the corners of his deep red lips.
"Not if I can help it," said Patrick tightly. "I will find another wizard—a good wizard—to teach me how to magically heal her."
"Ha," Red John said in amusement. "You think there are any good wizards who deal with death? Those are the dark arts, Prince. Nothing good comes with manipulating the natural order of things."
"Yes," said Patrick weightily. "I have seen this first hand."
"But, as I said—I can help. I saved your mother, didn't I?"
"But at what price? The only person I love besides Teresa is my sister. I'm not willing to lose either one of them, least of all to an iniquitous deal with you."
Red John's expression turned sly. "What if we made a different deal? What if I were to free Sir Minelli, free your sister, save your beloved Teresa, all in one fell swoop? What would you give then?"
Patrick looked at the wizard, arrayed in the color of blood, steeped in such evil that the prince felt it exuding from him in frightening waves. He had no doubt Red John could deliver on any promises, but it was the price he must pay that had him recoiling at the very idea of it.
"There are other ways," said Patrick.
"You must be thinking of your father's armies, eh? You could go back to him and have him send his best knights to fight for the freedom of Princess Grace. But you forget, your father signed a contract; he won't break it. He sacrificed your wife and his grandchild to keep his word. As for his armies—Lord Craig is much better prepared that Maliborough to fight a war. And many people die in wars, Your Highness. Many more than three," he finished pointedly.
Red John had him in a corner, and he knew it. War would also not save Teresa.
"What would be the price of your saving three people for me?"
Patrick cringed at the faintly triumphant expression that passed over the wizard's pale face.
"One person only…You."
"Me?" said Patrick in surprise.
"Yes, Your Highness. You would become my apprentice. I would teach you to live up to all of your potential. You would be the second greatest wizard the world has ever known," he said with an ironic grin.
The prince's mind was racing. After the last few days, he realized how much he wanted to learn more magic. He was planning to seek out other wizards anyway. He hated Red John deep down to his very soul—if he had one. Red John was a great wizard, though the idea of learning dark magic was frightening to him. He could resist the darkness, couldn't he? But the real question was, could he sacrifice himself for Teresa, Grace and Sir Minelli? Yes, he thought. To save them—it was a small price to pay.
"I would have your word—all of them free, all of them safely home, all of them well?"
"Yes, of course," replied the wizard. "Oh, and one rather minor detail…"
Prince Patrick tensed.
"None of them would have any memory of the last few days. Teresa and Minelli would forget you had ever been here, along with anyone who might have seen you or Grace in recent days. It would be like your trip had never occurred."
"What?" His eyes flew to Teresa. She would forget him? Forget the one night they'd spent in each other's arms? Forget how they'd found one another after so many years of heartache and loneliness?
"An unfortunate side-effect, I know. But think of all the good your sacrifice would bring. The war you would avoid. Your sister's lifetime of happiness you could ensure. And you would become more powerful than you ever dreamed. That in itself would be worth it all, I would think."
Patrick turned his back to the wizard, needing a moment to process this proposition without having to look directly into the face of evil. He looked down at Teresa, knowing that her life could likely be measured in days if she did not wake up, and something told him that Red John had all but ensured that.
Maybe it would have been better for her had they never met. Her father would still be here to live out his life in freedom and comfort, surrounded by his children. She would not have sustained her injury, would not be lying here, waiting to die. As for his life without her…he had lived five years with a grief no man should ever have to bear. It would be another time of tremendous emotional suffering, but at least he wouldn't be living with the guilt of her death weighing upon him.
He turned back to face the wizard, his features set in determination. "I will do it, if you will keep your end of the bargain, just as you said."
Red John did not try to hide his smile this time. He inclined his head respectfully.
"As you wish, Your Highness."
A/N: And so, Patrick has made a deal with the devil. Yes, I've stolen from Faust, and from Once Upon a Time. I told you I would blatantly rip off any tale I chose. Also, the use of leeches here may not be exactly medically correct, but neither were other forms of bleeding at the time. I felt leeches were slightly less disgusting than simply cutting and bleeding. Yuck!
Next chapter, a bit of comic relief with SumCho. Thanks for reading.
Now, the countdown continues for the season finale. Deep breaths, people. Deep breaths…
