Aspen

Stregoni was used to being woken up in all sorts of ways—screams, pounding upon his door, his mother shaking him hard. Every crude way of waking a person had been inflicted upon him for as long as he could remember.

What he couldn't remember was being woken gently. The closest he got was waking up groggily on his own, usually to the clatter and racket of the houses around him as people prepared for their day and servants ran about doing chores.

Usually, he was slow to wake, despite—or maybe because of—the rough ways in which he was always woken.

What had woken him this time, though?

Not the sunlight, though that was enough to make him feel horrendously guilty—he was always up with the sun, if not well before. He could not remember the last time he had slept in so late, minus those occasions where he was still awake when the sun rose.

The location? He realized he was still in Gilles's room—in Gilles and François's bed, because Aubrey had put him there and he'd been too tired to leave it once Aubrey vanished. That was certainly enough to rattle him awake…but that wasn't what actually woke him.

Stregoni sat up slowly, absently lifting a hand to his cheek—and then it suddenly struck him why he'd woken.

Someone had touched him, or it had seemed like someone had touched him. Softly, like a caress.

He turned slowly toward Gilles, wondering if he was about to be shoved from the bed, or taunted, or simply ignored.

Nothing of the kind, it seemed. Gilles was still fast asleep. When Stregoni turned to François, he too was still asleep… and how had he wound up between the two of them? When he'd gone to bed, Gilles had been in the middle of the bed.

Stregoni touched his own cheek again, frowning in thought. Had he dreamed it? He must have, because even if they were awake, neither François nor Gilles was the kind to caress or kiss his cheek.

A dream, then. A phantom touch he'd wanted badly enough to be real that he'd woke himself up convinced it was.

Sighing, Stregoni shoved back the chaotic mess that his hair had become and reached out to feel Gilles's pulse, check the bruise and faint scars that were all that remained of the wound that should have been fatal.

Gilles's skin was still paler than it should be, but he'd gain his full color in another day or so. His skin was warm to the touch but not feverish. Soft, he could not help but notice. Gilles always had such soft skin.

François looked well enough he almost could have simply been taking a nap. Hopefully they'd both wake soon, because for all that François was improved, he still needed blood. Hopefully Gilles would be suitably recovered enough to provide it.

Stregoni brushed back a strand of dark hair, caressing François's cheek, the thin scar there that must have been left by Gilles or William.

A knock on the door made him jump and flinch guiltily back. Scrambling off the bed, he left the bedroom, crossed the sitting room, and opened the door to reveal a servant bearing a heavy tray. "Doctor, I hope I didn't wake you."

"Not at all," Stregoni said. "Who ordered that?"

"Lord Aubrey said I should take up breakfast and see if anyone was awake yet. Shall I set it on that table?"

"Um—yes. Thank you." Stregoni moved out of the way, standing quietly until the servant was done fussing with the tray, then thanked him before he was left once more alone.

He moved numbly to the table, realizing for the first time that Brey—and likely everyone now—knew about his feelings for Gilles and François

Gilles would not be amused. François might be, but it was hard to say. Stregoni winced and moved to the table, slumping down in a chair and preparing his tea with no enthusiasm. His stomach was far too knotted for food to appeal.

The idea of going back to bed was tempting, but that just made him think about the fact he'd just spent the entire night sleeping cozied between Gilles and François. At least he'd woken up first. He shuddered to think what might have happened otherwise.

His hand strayed once more to his cheek, and he stared miserably at his tea before finally attempting a sip.

He set it aside immediately, suspicions confirmed. He was simply too nervous and unsettled to eat.

What was everyone else up to? He should go check on Carmilla, and if the weather was improved, he should go see Tony. The poor thing probably hated having his parents gone for so long, even if it was the best medicine.

Sighing, he rubbed his temples, willing himself not to get a headache on top of the knots in his stomach.

Dropping his hands, he picked his tea up again and forced himself to take another sip, and then another. If he could get down a full cup of tea, he stood a chance at eating a proper breakfast. He would need it, whether he wanted it or not—his day was going to be a long one.

He had just started to eat when he heard movement from the bedroom, and only then realized he was making himself far too cozy in Gilles's chambers, eating breakfast like he belonged there.

Ignoring the ache that thought left in his chest, Stregoni pushed his food away and made his way to the bedroom.

 "What are you doing up?" He demanded, the doctor and the lover in him both furious. "Get back in that damned bed."

Gilles paused where he was slowly and laboriously going through his wardrobe. "I'm fine," he said, and went back to pulling out clothes.

"Like hell you're fine!" Stregoni snapped, stomping across the room to grab Gilles's arm, pulling him away from the wardrobe.

They both looked to the bed, but François remained fast asleep.

"I managed to wake him enough to feed him," Gilles said more quietly. "Will he be all right?"

Stregoni nodded, fighting an urge to pull Gilles into his arms, painfully aware he'd only be rejected. "He'll be fine—unless of course you get yourself killed doing something stupid, as you are clearly intending. Get back in bed this instant, or I'll put you there!"

"Oh?" Gilles asked softly, looking entirely too smug and amused for a man who was obviously weak and tired and straining himself. "Do, please."

"Bastard," Stregoni hissed. "You will not undo all the work that was done to save your inconsiderate, ungrateful ass. Get. Back. In. Bed. I am the medical expert, and I say you are not fit to leave your bed. Get back in it!"

Gilles laughed. "No."

"Damn it, Gilles, that was not a request. It was an order."

"I cannot," Gilles replied, pulling off his shirt and slowly pulling on another. He was far too pale, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his brow. His hair was a mess, tumbling about everywhere.

Stregoni balled his hands into fists to avoid reaching out to smooth the messy strands back. "Why not?"

"I have an appointment," Gilles said shortly. "It will not keep."

"With whom?" Stregoni said. "I think they will understand if you say that you cannot make it for fear of almost getting yourself killed a second time."

Gilles did not bother to look at him as he fought with his breeches. Stregoni glared, too worried and furious to be distracted. When he was finally dressed, Gilles looked up again. "My appointments are none of your business," he said coldly. "I thank you for tending me, Doctor. I am quite well."

"Like hell!" Stregoni bellowed. "Get back in bed!"

Instead, Gilles stalked toward him.

"Get away from me," Stregoni snarled, but he'd barely gotten the words out when Gilles's hands landed heavily on his shoulders and dragged him forward, crushing him against Gilles's chest.

Then Gilles was kissing him, deep and hard and long, and for a moment, Stregoni lost track of his thoughts.

They returned full force, however, when he saw up close just how not well Gilles really was.

"You need rest," he whispered.

"It's none of your business," Gilles said, voice as cold as the snow outside. "I'll thank you to stop fussing. I outgrew a nanny years ago." He pushed Stregoni away and strode to the door.

Stregoni saw red. Not even truly realizing what he did, he reached out and grabbed the nearest object—a heavy dark blue vase filled with Syrian Mallow. It shattered against the door, just ahead of Gilles, startling him into stillness.

Gilles whipped around, eyes filled with fury, and Stregoni let him have it.

"I thought you were dead," he bellowed. "You were bleeding too heavily, there was already too much blood lost, and if not for Ruthven, you would be dead, you selfish, ungrateful ass. All I've done is worry about the two of you, all you do is manipulate me, use me, and hurt me—and it's none of my business?" He grabbed something else to throw, not even certain what it was, and kept throwing and shouting until suddenly Gilles was in front of him and kissing him again, and Stregoni wanted to struggle and beat the bastard senseless—but Gilles was not yet fit, and he could not forget that.

"Stay out of it, Carrot," Gilles whispered, their mouths not quite touching. "Stay here and take care of François. I'll be back."

Then he was gone, and Stregoni was left alone. Again. Confused and miserable. Again.

"Damn it," he said, and buried his face in his hands, sinking to sit on the floor. "Why can't I hate you?"

What in the hell did 'stay out of it' mean? Was that supposed to make sense? Stay out of what? Gilles's business? Gilles's life?

He reached up to touch his cheek again, remembering the soft caress from his dream.

Standing up, he brushed his clothes off and then strode through the mess he'd made to the door, kicking away a shard of porcelain.

What had he really expected? For Gilles to have had a change of heart because he'd nearly died?

That would imply Gilles had a heart, and Stregoni was beginning to seriously doubt that.

If only he could walk away, but he'd sooner give up practicing medicine, and damn him for being such a fool.

Skipping the breakfast he'd been ready to eat only minutes ago, he left Gilles's room and walked slowly down the long hallway to Carmilla's room.

Inside, the room was dark. The curtains were pulled to keep out light, a fire kept steadily burning. The room was warm, but not stifling.

He pushed back the bed curtains to examine Carmilla, still fast asleep in her bed. She was far too pale and weak. Whatever was wrong with her, it was beyond his ability to cure. Perhaps there would be some improvement upon his return.

Which reminded him he had best get going before the snow got any worse.

Still, he lingered a moment, playing idly with one of the deep red carnations in a vase beside the bed. Carmilla lay still, not even shifting or murmuring. Ruthven was just as deeply asleep in Aubrey's room, and Gilles should still be in the very same state.

Cursing softly, Stregoni reached out to check Carmilla's pulse, hating that her skin was far cooler than it should be, that she was so pale. Was there not a single problem around here he could fix?

With another curse, he made certain her blankets were settled comfortably and finally turned away, trudging to his own room to finish packing. Taking up his bag, he made his way downstairs.

He slowed as he saw François standing in the hallway, looking troubled. "You shouldn't be up."

"I'm fine, if still a little tired. Nevermind me. Where is Gilles?"

"I don't know," Stregoni replied. "He said he had an appointment, but wouldn't tell me more than that."

François's expression was thunderous. "That stupid, stubborn bastard. Come on, we have to go after him."

"Where is he?"

"He's gone to see his father."

"But why? Surely his father, of all people, would understand if he could not make it."

François shook his head. "No, he wouldn't. It's…complicated. But we have to go after him. He's in no shape to deal with George today."

"I would like to, believe me, but I have to take care of Tony. Besides, the last time I ventured to Lord George's house, wholly by mistake, Gilles was ready to kill me."

"He was trying to protect you," François said, speaking so softly that Stregoni barely caught the words. "He is not the one to be afraid of in that house. Even I'm not allowed to go there with him."

Stregoni frowned. "What is going on?"

"It's not my place to say, but we need to go get him."

"As much as I want to, and believe me, I do, I cannot abandon Tony."

François swore but nodded. "Let's go, then. We'll visit Blackfield Manor and then go fetch that damned fool before he gets himself killed."

Stregoni's heart thudded in his chest as François drew close. "Why are you two acting so strange?"

Sighing long and loud, François said, "Believe it or not, I have always disagreed with the way Gilles has chosen to handle matters where you are concerned. But I am obedient, even if it doesn't seem like it. Besides, Carrot, we all know you like what we do to you."

Flushing, Stregoni hissed out, "I think we can discuss that another time."

François smiled faintly, and if Stregoni didn't know any better, he'd swear there was fondness in it. "As you say. Let's go, before this snow prevents us."

Nodding, Stregoni followed him to the front hall, where he pulled on his gloves, settled his scarf and hat, then took up his bag and followed François out into the miserable weather.

The trip to Blackfield was arduous, and by the time they reached it, he was fit for little more than collapsing in the hallways. Servants came running, buzzing around them anxiously to see if they were okay, if they'd brought news—

François cut them all off, helped Stregoni to his feet, and made quick work of the questions. Then, finally, Stregoni managed to get in a request to see Tony.

"We got the boy cleaned up and resting proper like," said a maid as she led the way up the stairs and through the winding halls. "He's been sleeping more often than not, doesn't even realize his folks aren't here. We've been taking turns reading to him and such when he's awake enough for it."

"Good," Stregoni murmured as she stopped before Tony's door and bobbed a curtsy.

Letting himself inside, Stregoni strode across the room to the bed, where another maid sat, a closed book in her lap. Tony slept peacefully, but he could see at a glance it was not as deep and still a sleep as that which afflicted Ruthven and Carmilla. "How is he?"

"Much better since his lordship came and kicked up that fuss," the maid said. "He scared the Blackfields good and proper, put the shame to them, put that quack in his place, eh?"

Stregoni paused in checking Tony over, confused. "His lordship? Lord Sangre came out this way?"

"Eh? No, Doctor." Her gaze flitted to François, then back to Stregoni. "I meant the other one—his nephew, Lord Gilles. Begging your pardon for any rudeness. His lordship showed up icy as you please, had them shaking in their slippers right off." She smiled blandly. "Not that we would be eavesdropping on the conversations of our betters, now."

"Of course not," Stregoni replied.

She smiled. "As I was saying, the downstairs maids were cleaning at the time, supervised by the head footman like, and they heard the whole thing—accidentally, like. His lordship summoned William and proceeded to question him on all sorts of medical matters. No idea his lordship was so educated, but then again, he made it clear you were a close and very dear friend of the family. I expect he picked up the wisdom from you, Doctor."

"Indeed," Stregoni said, casting a look at François, who only stared blandly back.

"Anyway, he asked question after question, and that no account quack couldn't answer any of them. Was humiliated right good and proper, he was, all in front of Lord and Lady Blackfield. Then his lordship turned on them and had them shaking like leaves for daring to hurt you and all. When he was finished, he offered them a chance to make reparations to you, Doctor. Did they?"

Stregoni nodded absently. "Are you quite certain it was Gilles who was here?"

The maid laughed softly. "Oh, yes, Doctor. Beggin your pardon for any forwardness, but we'd all know that one on sight, and of course he had his Pet with him. Pretty as anything, his lordship." She sighed softly, then flushed as she recalled that François was right there. "Aye, it was him, sure enough."

Sure enough, Stregoni thought faintly. What in the world? Why would Gilles go to so much trouble… He looked at François, who spread his hands and said nothing. Of course he picked now to go back to his infuriatingly silent ways.

No wonder William had been so furious with him—why he had poisoned the Pets, or attempted to. Men like that never appreciated being humiliated, especially by someone like Gilles. He had probably lost a lucrative job because of it, and if Lord and Lady Blackfield spread word about him, he would lose many more.

"Are the Master and Mistress returning?" the maid asked.

"Eventually," Stregoni said. "Not any time soon, I should think."

The maid nodded. "Good. Begging your pardon, Doctor, for any impertinence. They're good, kind people, more often than not—but kindness can kill, eh?'

"Yes, kindness can certainly kill, and often does," Stregoni replied. "I have brought some teas and tincture that I think will help him, though I can see you all have done quite well on your own. Keep it up, and if he takes a turn, send for me at Lord Sangre's home."

He looked out the window to see that night had fallen well and truly. Combined with the snow… He shared a look with François, who grimaced and looked as though he would like to argue but knew it would be foolish. "We had hoped to leave after seeing Tony, but I think we will have to impose on you and leave in the morning. I do not suppose there is a bed we might steal for the night?"

"Of course, Doctor," the maid said and stood up. Briskly she made certain Tony was comfortable, taking up the tins and bottles which Stregoni had set out, then led them down the hall to a room. If she thought it peculiar that Stregoni had come accompanied by François but Gilles wasn't present, she knew better than to comment. "We'll have dinner sent up straight away. Is there anything else you would like, Doctor?"

Stregoni shook his head and set his things down, suddenly extremely tired. "No, I thank you. Food would be greatly appreciated."

The maid bobbed a curtsy and closed the door quietly behind her.

Moving to the bed, Stregoni flopped down on it. He closed his eyes, which had become too heavy to keep open, even though he knew food was coming.

A weight settled next to him on the bed, stretching out and pressing against his side. Stregoni opened his eyes and stared into the achingly beautiful purple of François's eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Resting, Carrot. Go to sleep. I'll wake you when dinner comes. Just rest. And since I'll be right here the whole time, I'll be resting too, so you really can't complain."

A hundred other questions tumbled through Stregoni's mind, but as François shifted to pull him closer, surrounding Stregoni in his warmth, all thoughts slipped away and he sank happily into sleep wrapped in François's arms.