A Secret Ambition

XXXIV

"Some memories are far too painful to resuscitate, and so they remain floating somewhere in the depths of our hearts." Cynthia Pelayo, Forgotten Sisters

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XXXIV.

The conversation between the duke and Callan dwindled, though it had served as an initial distraction for them. As the hours passed and their own exhaustion tormented them, they forced their eyes to remain on Lily's still form.

The sailor doctor returned every few hours to check on Lily, and to replace the fabric wrapped coals that were beneath her blanket warming her. Every time he left, he reminded the duke and Callan to pray, and that they did.

As night fell, Callan was certain that the fact that he had not slept in days was beginning to play tricks upon his mind. He had not let go of Lily's hand, and for the first time since he had found her on the beach, he could feel the slightest warmth from her. Was it the warmth from his own hand? He could not be sure. But the hope was enough to keep his exhausted mind alert.

Callan watched her every breath, counted them one by one. As the night went on, it could no longer be a denied that Lily did feel much warmer to the touch. Her skin, which had been almost translucent, had colour returning in the glow on the fireplace. Neither he nor the duke said anything, however. They did not remark on her appearance. They did not outwardly hope. Callan surmised that they both possessed a great fear of having that hope ripped from them.

But as the sun rose the next morning, Lily's eyelids began to flutter, before they finally opened. Callan was frozen still, half in shock, and half with utter exhaustion. But the wave of euphoria that filled him as he saw Lily's ocean blue eyes once more was enough to make him break down in tears.

"Lily?" The duke was out of his chair so quickly that the thing toppled over behind him. "Lily, darling. Can you hear me?" His hands cupped his daughter's face, and her lethargic, yet frightened gaze, fell upon her father.

"Papa?"

Lily's voice was virtually soundless, her throat sounding as though she had swallowed glass. The very act of speaking brought her pain, and Callan could see it etched upon her face. She was in pain, and she was scared.

But she was alive.

"Oh, thank God!" the duke wept, bending down to kiss Lily's forehead as his relief poured out of him. "Thank God for you. Thank God you are alive."

As Lily's father pulled backwards to look upon her, Lily became aware that there was another holding her hand. Her lethargic head turned over slightly to look down at the hand holding hers, before her blue eyes found Callan.

There were no words that could have been offered to her to properly express what he was feeling in that moment. He had died a thousand deaths and yet lived in these past hours, and Lily had suffered far worse. Callan hated to see the fear in her eyes, and he wished that he could have taken her pain from her instantly.

Her frightened eyes bore into his. Could she remember being in the water? Or was she afraid of him? Was she remembering Callan's unforgivable behaviour back in London?

The latter thought was enough to help him find his tongue, and Callan squeezed Lily's hand. His heart squeezed as he looked upon her, and Callan could not fathom having any room in his chest for hatred towards this woman. She was precious and defenceless, and yet she had been far braver than he had been as she had tried to defend his interests.

"You're safe," Callan uttered, his own voice sounding like gravel without having Lily's excuse. "You're safe, and everything will be alright."

"I'm sorry." Lily's weak voice just about broke Callan, as she expelled whatever energy she had left to apologise to him.