– What do you think you're doing, you wretched girl? You are out of hand! Now go back to the hall and charm the king! – There was an almost animalistic growl that made Brigid flinch and open her eyes in fright.

Sir Guise had entered his daughter's room. He was furious, his eyes seemed to be shooting sparks. Walking over to the bed, he jerked his daughter onto her back and swung his big strong arm.

– Father… Don't hit me! Don't hit me! – wheezed the poor girl. From fear, heavy reflection, and hurt feelings, she had turned pale enough to make her tyrant father withhold his blow and squint his eyes suspiciously.

– Are you pretending to be ill? – Sir Guise asked incredulously. He did not want to believe that his daughter could be ill: not now when the King of England himself was sitting downstairs in the dining hall! She must be there, though dying, though half faint! The King must see her rare beauty and fall at her feet, forget the poisonous snake Anne Boleyn!

– I dare not pretend, sir… It is hard to breathe! – Brigid barely breathed out, and suddenly the hands with which she tried to cover herself from a possible blow from her father, fell limply on the bed, the pupils of her eyes rolled up, and her eyelids closed tightly.

– What's the matter with you, you filthy girl? – Sir Guise said with some fear, but more with anger, and, wishing to bring his daughter to her senses, he slapped her white cheek with his open palm.

The slap did the trick: Brigid slowly opened her eyes and breathed heavily.

– Have you taken ill? – Sir Guise patted his daughter's cheek a few more times, as if trying to bring back her blush. – Brigid, I command you…" But the sudden tears that escaped from the girl's eyes made him cringe. His eyes rounded: this was how he had lost his son. His heir.

Thomas Guise had died at the age of fifteen. His death was sudden, for no one had expected a tall, broad-shouldered, strong young man to leave this sinful earth within a couple of hours of going to bed. Hot, clammy skin, heavy, ragged breathing, pupils rolling under his eyelids… Thomas had been taken away by a fever that had come from nowhere, and now this deadly disease was planning to take away the Guises' daughter, their only child.

Brigid's father was horrified: no, he did not want to lose his daughter! Lord, don't take her away so soon! He vows never to abuse her again, but to cherish her as the good Virgin Mary cherished her Saviour Child! He will not bear the death of both his children! He cannot bear to see his children, the fruits of his life, disappear forever in the old family vault!

– My daughter…" Sir exhaled. His face turned as white as Brigid's. He seized the girl in his arms, pressed her tightly against him, and kissed her burning forehead. – Brigid! Stay with us! I could not save your brother, but I will not let death take you too! Lie down, my daughter… I will call your mother… She will know what to do! – Sir Guise gently laid his daughter back on the bed, kissed her sweat-damp hand with feeling, and ran out of the chambers like an arrow, calling loudly for the servants.

"Love your children while they are alive. Tears cannot raise them from death." The cruel father, who mocked his daughter's pure first love, humiliated her for the slightest trifle and repeatedly beat her on the hands with a thin rod, only now realised that he loved Brigid, and that if he lost her, he would lose everything… Including the opportunity to rise again. After all, if Brigid, the most beautiful girl in all of England, were to die, he would have no chance of returning to the palace and getting his titles and lands back. But despite his greed and cold calculation, as he walked swiftly down the corridor, Sir Guise thought of only one thing: he could not lose his daughter too! If she dies, so does his soul. And what would become of her mother? She'll go mad with grief! God be with the King! Let him have his fun with the snake Anne Boleyn, let this family continue to poison the fool Henry's mind! He needs to save his girl, his Brigid, his only child.

– You! Bring cold water and clean cloths to Brigid's chamber! Now! – Sir Guise rudely ordered the first maid he could get his hands on, and the maid, even dropping her broom from surprise, picked up the hem of her old dress and ran to do what she had been instructed to do.

"Am I dying? But what about William?" – raced through the delirium of Brigid's inflamed brain. She was so hot that she wished she could take off all her clothes and remain naked, but her body was so weak that she could not move even the fingers of her hands. Her scalp was wet under the heavy Spanish hood, her hair was sticky, and her forehead was strewn with drops of sweat. She felt as if she were being burned alive at the stake like a witch.

She had seen a witch burned once. It was a young woman with long black hair and blue eyes. She was tied to a stake surrounded by dry brushwood and hay to the whistles and curses of the crowd, wearing only a torn lower dress, and soon only a charcoal silhouette remained. It seemed to Brigid that she was the witch, that it was her body that was greedily devoured by the flames.

– Alienor, farewell, sister! William, my love…" the girl whispered faintly. – God save the Queen!

A moment later she was swallowed up by darkness.

When the girl opened her eyes again, the sun had already set behind the horizon, and evening twilight was descending on England. But Brigid could not realise how long she had been unconscious: the large windows of her chambers were tightly closed with dark curtains. The scent of hay and flowers could be clearly heard in the air: it was the girl's mother who had ordered the floor to be laid to lighten her daughter's plight and to add freshness to the stale air of the small chambers. The fire burned hotly in the fireplace, and beside it, asleep in an armchair, sat Lady Guise. Only the flame of the fireplace lit the room, but it was enough to chase away the darkness, and the semi-darkness was even pleasant to Brigid's tired eyes.

Brigid found the strength to raise herself slightly on the pillows and found herself lying in bed in only her nightgown, her hair braided to keep it out of the way.

"Then I am still alive… But how my whole body aches! Every bone in my body aches!" – involuntarily flashed through the girl's mind. Despite the pain, Brigid felt a little better: the fever that had been burning her was gone, but her skin was still hot and clammy, and her nightgown was sticking unpleasantly to her body.

– Mother! Mother, is that you? – The girl asked quietly. Her voice sounded harsh and breathy, but Lady Guise did not move: she was sound asleep. – Mother! – With all the strength left in her from the attack, Brigid repeated, and this time the tired woman slowly opened her eyes. – Mother! How glad I am that you are here! – Brigid whispered loudly, and tried to stretch out her hand to her mother.

– Lie still, my child, do not move! – said Lady Guise affectionately, hastily rising from her chair and approaching her daughter. She knelt at the headboard of the bed, not sparing the velvet skirt of her dress, and took her daughter's palm in her own. – 'We were frightened! You had a stroke, and there was nothing we could do! – She sobbed and gently stroked Brigid's face, pale and hot.

When Lady Guise heard that Brigid was taken ill, that she seemed to have had a fit of fever, she hurried to her, forgetting the King and Queen and breakfast. She had been cruel to her daughter, and had never found an affectionate word for her, but now that her daughter was on her deathbed, the maternal love that had been hiding deep in her soul engulfed her whole being. She spent the whole day in Brigid's room, never leaving her side, undressing her herself and changing her into her nightgown, wetting her forehead with wet cloths, and praying fervently. It was not until evening, when Brigid had ceased to toss and turn in bed, that Lady Guise allowed herself a little rest in the armchair by the fireplace, and as soon as she sat down she fell asleep. Like her husband, this woman was suffering every second from the loss of her beloved son, and the possible loss of her daughter made her exactly what a mother should be – loving and caring.