– 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.