It was a silent, steady trip back to the treehouse. Roxton had offered to build a fire to allow Marguerite some time to dry off, but she had been fuming. Roxton's failed attempts to control his amusement at the whole situation had only infuriated Marguerite even more; she had steadfastly refused the offer of a brief rest, demanding they continue with the hunting, all the while shivering in her wet clothing. Damn stubborn fool, Roxton thought. Why can't you just ask for help when you need it?
Unbeknownst to Roxton, Marguerite's thoughts mirrored his own. Her head was pounding and she was shaking so hard she found it difficult to hold on to her rifle. When the jungle started to slowly spin around her, she realized that enough was enough.
"Roxton, I've got to stop..." She wasn't able to finish the request before the dizziness and weakness brought her to her knees.
"Marguerite, what's wrong?" Roxton had turned at the sound of her voice breaking the silence only to stare in horror, as she seemed to slip to the ground like a discarded rag doll. He was instantly beside her. Without a thought, he put his arms around her and held her tightly, still not realizing that there was more going on than just the aftereffects of her unscheduled bath.
"John, I'm so cold," Marguerite said quietly, her chattering teeth making it difficult to get the words out.
"Shhh," he said softly, soothing her like he would a small child. "We'll sit right here for a few minutes, and I'll warm you up again." As he continued to hold her shuddering body close to his, he pressed his lips to her forehead, only then noticing the burning heat of fever.
"My God, Marguerite! You're burning up! How long has this been going on?"
"I haven't felt well since I woke up this morning," Marguerite replied almost sheepishly. Her secret was out, and she knew Roxton was going to be furious.
"You've been ill since this morning, and you didn't say anything? Marguerite, you're many things, but I never thought you were stupid! How could you do something like this? Must I remind you that we aren't in London anymore? We can scarcely afford to tempt fate when it comes to our health."
"My head is pounding, John. Please stop yelling at me," Marguerite replied quietly. She knew it was pointless to argue with him. John is right. I let my pride get the better of my judgment, and now it looks like I'm going to pay for my mistake.
"If you were sick before, God only knows what that fall in the stream is going to do. We've got to get you back to the treehouse as quickly as possible." After she got wet, he had offered Marguerite the light jacket he was wearing, but she had stubbornly refused. He now took it off and wrapped it tightly around her. A cold knot of fear was quickly building inside him threatening to overcome his reason.
Marguerite looked up at him with her beautiful gray eyes. Roxton could swear he saw fear in those eyes; fear that she had finally cheated fate one too many times.
"Time to head home," Roxton said quickly. "I'd call for a carriage, my lady, but..."
As he had hoped, Marguerite gave him a weak smile. With Roxton's help she hauled her protesting body upright. "Why call for a carriage when trudging is so much fun?" Marguerite said with her usual sardonic wit. Roxton couldn't help but smile. Maybe everything would be OK after all.
Unbeknownst to Roxton, Marguerite's thoughts mirrored his own. Her head was pounding and she was shaking so hard she found it difficult to hold on to her rifle. When the jungle started to slowly spin around her, she realized that enough was enough.
"Roxton, I've got to stop..." She wasn't able to finish the request before the dizziness and weakness brought her to her knees.
"Marguerite, what's wrong?" Roxton had turned at the sound of her voice breaking the silence only to stare in horror, as she seemed to slip to the ground like a discarded rag doll. He was instantly beside her. Without a thought, he put his arms around her and held her tightly, still not realizing that there was more going on than just the aftereffects of her unscheduled bath.
"John, I'm so cold," Marguerite said quietly, her chattering teeth making it difficult to get the words out.
"Shhh," he said softly, soothing her like he would a small child. "We'll sit right here for a few minutes, and I'll warm you up again." As he continued to hold her shuddering body close to his, he pressed his lips to her forehead, only then noticing the burning heat of fever.
"My God, Marguerite! You're burning up! How long has this been going on?"
"I haven't felt well since I woke up this morning," Marguerite replied almost sheepishly. Her secret was out, and she knew Roxton was going to be furious.
"You've been ill since this morning, and you didn't say anything? Marguerite, you're many things, but I never thought you were stupid! How could you do something like this? Must I remind you that we aren't in London anymore? We can scarcely afford to tempt fate when it comes to our health."
"My head is pounding, John. Please stop yelling at me," Marguerite replied quietly. She knew it was pointless to argue with him. John is right. I let my pride get the better of my judgment, and now it looks like I'm going to pay for my mistake.
"If you were sick before, God only knows what that fall in the stream is going to do. We've got to get you back to the treehouse as quickly as possible." After she got wet, he had offered Marguerite the light jacket he was wearing, but she had stubbornly refused. He now took it off and wrapped it tightly around her. A cold knot of fear was quickly building inside him threatening to overcome his reason.
Marguerite looked up at him with her beautiful gray eyes. Roxton could swear he saw fear in those eyes; fear that she had finally cheated fate one too many times.
"Time to head home," Roxton said quickly. "I'd call for a carriage, my lady, but..."
As he had hoped, Marguerite gave him a weak smile. With Roxton's help she hauled her protesting body upright. "Why call for a carriage when trudging is so much fun?" Marguerite said with her usual sardonic wit. Roxton couldn't help but smile. Maybe everything would be OK after all.