The Devil Wears Tartan by Karen Ranney

Author:Karen Ranney [Karen Ranney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9780061252426
Google: vFeWvuBb8U0C
Amazon: 0061252425
Barnesnoble: 0061252425
Goodreads: 2844317
Publisher: Avon
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Garrow came to Ambrose today. I have not seen him much in the past few months, but I must confess that I was glad to see him today. He is such a fashionable man. My physician could take lessons from him in how to be more sober and less flamboyant in his dress.

Up until today our meetings have always been cordial, but there has been a degree of distance between us. Upon seeing me, however, he crossed the room and pulled both my hands into his. I was seated by the window on a chaise and clutched the coverlet lest he whisk me upward into a fervent brother-in-law’s embrace, revealing that I was still attired in my bedclothes. Dressing seems such a chore lately, and such an unnecessary bother.

I moved my legs aside so that he could sit, and when he did so, he asked me what was wrong. I looked fully into his face, meeting his direct gaze with no thoughts of subterfuge. I am dying, I told him, and to my astonishment he only nodded, as if my fate was evident from the sight of my pale face and pinched features.

A spasm struck me then, inopportune as such things are, the pain traveling from the core of my belly and outward as if a hand reached inside me and gripped each of my organs in turn. I laid my head back against the chaise and prayed that it would pass. Such pains are commonplace lately.

Perhaps it is time to send for Marshall in London. If I do, it will be a sign of acceptance, my acknowledgment that these are my last days. Foolish as I am, however, I have not yet sent for my son. Evidently, hope still lingers in my mind.

Garrow told me that he would fetch me something for pain, and I wanted to ask him if he meant some of his Chinese herbs, but I didn’t speak. At that moment, I was afraid my voice would sound feeble and old. Perhaps nature itself felt robbed of my old age and pinned dotage on me in addition to a cancer.

Garrow must have noted my feebleness as well, because he halted and looked down at me, and there was pity on his face.

He promised that what he would bring me would ease my pain, and coward that I was, I did not demur. I do not like the pain. It has not become a friend.

He returned to the room in a matter of moments, calling for the maid and a glass of wine. Despite my protests that wine did nothing for my pain, only gives me a raging headache, he mixed several powders in the glass and handed it to me. Wine aids in digestion, he told me, and also masks the taste of the herbs. It will work quickly, he assured me, and I took the glass from him, drank it, and found that it was only a matter of moments before I felt some relief.

There

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