Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 279: Chapter Two Hundred And Seventy Eight

Damon drove the carriage with desperate speed. The wheels bounced violently over the streets of the lower city. He drove like a madman, weaving through the traffic, his mind

focused on reaching the mansion before her fever got any worse.

In about an hour, the carriage finally rushed through the high iron gates of the Benson mansion.

The carriage rolled into the paved courtyard and came to a sharp, violent stop. The horses were panting heavily, covered in sweat.

The loud noise of the rushing carriage alerted the servants.

Mr. Murry came running quickly out of the grand front doors. He saw the General sitting on the driver’s box, panicked.

"My Lord, my lord!" Murry shouted loudly, rushing down the stone steps. "Did something happen to the lady? Is she alright?"

Damon did not answer immediately. He jumped down from the high box, his boots hitting the stone pavement with a loud thud. He rushed to the carriage door. He unlocked the metal latch and yanked the door wide open.

Inside, Camilla was lying on the seat. She was sweating profusely, her face bright red from the high fever. The drug had finally forced her into a deep restless sleep. She was shivering and panting.

Damon reached in and carefully gathered her into his arms. He carried her out of the carriage, holding her close to his chest.

He turned his eyes to the terrified housekeeper.

"Call the doctor," Damon commanded loudly. His deep voice boomed across the courtyard, full of urgency. "Tell him it is a severe emergency. He must come right now."

Murry’s eyes widened as he looked at the Lady’s pale, sweating face.

Damon continued his rapid orders as he walked toward the stairs. "And bring me a large bowl of cold water and a clean white towel. Bring it to the bedroom immediately."

Murry nodded his gray head frantically. "Right away, my lord!"

Murry turned around and ran as fast as his old legs could carry him, shouting for the stable boys to fetch the doctor and for the kitchen maids to get the water.

Damon did not slow down. He carried Camilla up the wide stone stairs. He walked through the grand foyer, ignoring the shocked gasps of the maids standing near the walls. He climbed the grand curving staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He reached the long hallway on the second floor. He walked quickly to the door of the master bedroom. He did not have a free hand to turn the handle, so he simply raised his boot and kicked the door open with a loud bang.

Damon walked into the bedroom. The room was dark and cool.

He walked to the bed in the center of the room. He leaned forward and placed Camilla very carefully onto the soft white mattress.

She groaned softly in her sleep, shifting uncomfortably. Her skin was burning up.

Damon knew he had to cool her body down immediately. The clothes she was wearing were trapping the intense heat against her skin.

He did not hesitate. He reached down and gently removed her shoes, dropping them onto the floor.

Then, his hands moved to the tight laces of her dress. His fingers, usually used for gripping swords, moved with surprising gentleness and care. He untied the ribbons and slowly unlace the back of the dress.

He carefully pulled the silk fabric down her arms and over her hips, removing the thick outer layer entirely. He tossed the dress onto the wooden chair.

Camilla was left wearing only her chemise. The simple undergarment was breathable and light, allowing the cool air of the bedroom to finally reach her hot skin.

Just as he finished undressing her, two young maids rushed into the bedroom. They looked worried and eager to assist.

"My Lord," the first maid asked softly. "Should we help change the Lady’s clothes?"

Damon stood up straight. He turned his back to Camilla, shielding her from their view. His eyes were cold and protective.

"No," Damon ordered flatly. "Get out. I will take care of her."

He did not want anyone else touching her. He wanted to be the one to care for her.

The maids bowed quickly and hurried out of the room, closing the door.

A moment later, the door opened again. Mr. Murry hurried inside. The old housekeeper was carrying a large bowl filled to the brim with cold water. A clean, soft towel was draped over his arm.

Murry placed the bowl carefully onto the small wooden table next to the bed.

"Here is the water, My Lord," Murry said, breathing heavily. "The messenger has ridden to the doctor’s house. He will be here very shortly."

"Thank you, Murry. Leave us," Damon replied quietly.

Murry bowed and left the room, pulling the door shut.

Damon was left alone with Camilla.

He sat down heavily on the very edge of the mattress, right beside her. He looked at her flushed face. Her red curly hair was sticking to her wet forehead. She was shivering slightly, tossing her head from side to side on the pillow.

Damon reached out and picked up the towel. He dipped the entire towel deep into the bowl of cold water.

He pulled the dripping towel out. He used his hands to wring the fabric tightly, squeezing all the excess water back into the silver bowl until the towel was just damp and cold.

Damon leaned forward. Very gently, he placed the cold, wet towel across Camilla’s hot forehead.

Camilla let out a very soft, long sigh of relief. The sudden coldness felt incredibly good against her burning skin. She stopped tossing her head. She relaxed slightly into the pillows.

Damon watched her chest rise and fall. He felt a deep ache in his own heart.

He remembered the warehouse. He remembered the terrible moment when he saw her drop her dagger and stagger backward, completely helpless against the hooded man’s attack. If he had arrived just ten seconds later, she would have been killed. The thought made his blood run cold.

"I am sorry I was late," Damon whispered softly into the quiet room. His voice was full of

regret.

He reached out his hand and gently took her small hand in his. Her skin was so hot. He held her fingers carefully, wrapping his large, calloused hand around hers, providing a steady, solid anchor for her in her drugged sleep.

He sat there for many minutes. Whenever the towel on her forehead grew warm from her fever, Damon would take it off, dip it back into the bowl of cold water, wring it out, and place it gently back on her skin. He wiped the cold towel down her hot neck and over her bare arms, slowly and meticulously working to lower her dangerous body temperature.

"You are safe now," Damon murmured quietly, rubbing his thumb softly over her knuckles. "I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise."

About twenty minutes later, the quiet silence of the bedroom was broken.

The door pushed open quickly.

Mr. Murry stepped into the room, looking relieved.

"My Lord," Murry announced, gesturing to the hallway behind him. "The doctor is here."

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!