The Princess Wore Plaid

by Karen Hawkins

  “He’s taken a bad turn and Dr. Fraser is gone to Edinburgh. We need Mrs. Drummond.”

  “Nae his congestive fever again? That is a wicked business, it is.”

  “Congestive fever!” Tatiana said, unable to breathe. “He— Is it dangerous?”

  “Aye.” Mr. Drummond shook his head sadly. “It can be verrah dangerous.”

  “Lord Buchan brought it back from India with him,” Tavish said. “It’s been over a year since he’s succumbed and we thought him better, but now—” He spread his hands as if hopeless.

  “But Mrs. Drummond can help him?” Tatiana asked.

  “Of course she can,” Mr. Drummond said in a flustered tone. “She’s as guid of a doctor as Fraser, if nae better. She makes a tonic that helps his lordship, if ye gi’ it to him soon enou’.”

  Tatiana thought of the rows and rows of neatly labeled bottles in Mrs. Drummond’s pantry. “Mrs. Drummond’s tonics are in the pantry. Which one will help Buchan?”

  Tavish blinked. “I dinnae know.” He looked hopefully at the innkeeper.

  Drummond bit his lip before he admitted, “Neither do I. Only Iona knows tha’, and she’s nae here.”

  Tavish grimaced. “Where did she go? I’ll fetch her.”

  “I wish I knew. We had a bit of a rowl and—” The innkeeper looked miserable. “I should nae ha’ said what I did.”

  Tatiana pressed one hand to her temple, trying to still her tumultuous thoughts. Bozhy moj, what to do? She turned to Tavish. “How bad is his lordship?”

  “’Tis bad, miss. He’s oot of his mind, he is, burning hot and mumbling aboot how he has to get oot of bed, though he has nae idea where he is. His valet, Murray, has had to restrain him to keep him from getting oop.”

  Mr. Drummond sighed. “Puir mon.”

  “Indeed. Something came oopon him this week. He started drinking, and would nae eat. And now his fever is nae like any he’s ever had.“ The footman shook his head. “Mrs. Hay dinnae think he’ll make it through the night. I must find Mrs. Drummond!”

  Drummond twisted his hands together. “But, lad, I’ve no idea where to begin to look fer her. She could be with any of a number of people, fer she’s well liked.”

  “What am I to do?” Tavish asked, agonized. “I was told to take her to Auchmacoy as soon as I can, and then go to Edinburgh and fetch the doctor, but it’ll take hours to do so, and by then—” The footman couldn’t finish his words.

  “Nyet.” Tatiana drew herself up and turned to the innkeeper. “Put all of Mrs. Drummond’s tonics in a basket.”

  “All of them?”

  “Aye. I will take them with me. They are labeled. And I think I know a way to figure out which to use on his lordship.”

  Drummond raked a hand through his hair, which left it on end above his worried face. “I’ll fetch the tonics, but be careful. There are some that’ll kill as soon as cure.”

  “I’ll be very careful. Just send Mrs. Drummond to us when she returns.”

  “Aye.” The innkeeper hurried down the hallway.

  Tavish didn’t look reassured. “Forgive me, miss, but how will you decide which tonic to give his lordship?”

  “I know where the medical volumes are kept in his lordship’s library. Surely one of them will be about this fever and the cure.”

  “But—”

  “It’s our only hope. We must hurry.” Tatiana ran to get her cloak, whispering, “Please live. Please live. Please live.” Over and over she whispered the words until they blended into one long, breathless sigh.

  Chapter 9

  As soon as the carriage pulled up to Auchmacoy, Tatiana let herself out. “Tavish, bring the basket.” Not waiting for an answer, she hurried into the house, peeling off her gloves as she went.

  Mrs. Hay met her. “Och, miss, I’m so glad to see you!” She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “His lordship is horrible bad, he is. I’ve never seen the like, and he dinnae know where he is or who he is—”

  “Who’s with him now?” Tatiana shrugged out of her wet cloak and handed it to MacInnes, who’d just arrived in the foyer.

  The butler answered. “Murray has been tendin’ his lordship and he will nae let anyone else in the room, though he has nae been shy aboot ordering us aboot, askin’ fer this and tha’.”

  “Take him whatever he wants.” Tatiana crossed the foyer, calling over her shoulder. “MacInnes, bring a lantern to the library. If his lordship is to get better, then we’ll need answers, and I’m hoping to find them in the medical books.” She opened the door to the library, and the shelves stood before her in the darkened room, towering and imposing. For the first time, she realized how large the task before her truly was. So many books. Too many.

  But I only need one. The right one.

  MacInnis arrived with the lantern, and Tatiana straightened her shoulders and walked over to the shelves. It took an hour of searching, every minute feeling like an entire day, but finally Tatiana came out of the library, a heavy tome in her hand, the butler following.

  Mrs. Hay waited in the foyer. On seeing Tatiana, the housekeeper hurried forward. “Did you find what you were looking fer, miss?”

  “Da. I think so.” She showed the older woman the book and then hurried to the stairs, the servants scurrying behind her. “I must see Lord Buchan. MacInnes, bring the basket of tonics.”

  “How do you know the tonic is even in this batch?” Mrs. Hay asked.

  “Since Mrs. Drummond treated Buchan before and knew he had a recurring illness, I expect she’d keep some of his medicine on hand.” Or so Tatiana hoped.

  MacInnes labored behind her, the glass vials tinkling together in the basket. “I hope you’re right, miss.”

  At the top of the grand staircase, they turned down a wide hallway and stopped before a large, double set of doors.

  Mrs. Hay lifted her hand to knock, but Tatiana walked past her, grasped the doorknob, and went inside.

  The room was large, a huge tapestry-hung bed at one end, a large fireplace at the other. Several deeply cushioned settees clustered around the fireplace, another set of chairs about a brace of large windows that were now curtained against the night cold. Someone had turned down the lamps, and in the dim light, she could just see Buchan’s large form in the bed. He tossed and turned, muttering under his breath.

  Murray stood nearby, a basin in his hand, a damp towel draped over it. “Miss! I dinnae expect to see you.”

  “Mrs. Drummond is not available.” Tatiana moved to the bed, her gaze locked on Buchan. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved since she’d left—a thick scruff of beard covered his chin and cheeks. Dark circles lay under his eyes, his thick lashes resting on his flushed cheeks. “How is he?”

  “I’ve never seen him like this, miss. He dinnae know where he is, who he is—I fear fer him, I do.”

  Buchan coughed, the sound wet and harsh. He moaned after, shaking his head as if to rid himself of his illness.

  She bent to place her hand on his cheek. Ehta prost nivazmosha! His fever is so high. “Easy, Buchan. Hold tight. We’ve a way to save you now.”

  As if he heard her, he turned his cheek into her palm and for a moment lay still. But then another cough wracked him and he began to toss and turn again, the sheets twisting to reveal his injured leg.

  She caught her breath at the sight of the thick, red scars that twisted in gnarled ropes over his thigh. No wonder he was in such agony.

  Murray tugged the sheets back in place. “What should we do, miss?”

  “I’ll need a lantern to read by. MacInnes, put Mrs. Drummond’s basket here.”

  The butler did as he was told and then stood to one side, Mrs. Hay sniffling beside him.

  “Mrs. Hay, while I’m reading, can you bring fresh sheets? Once his lordship’s fever has broken, we’ll wish to change his bed.”

&
nbsp; Brightening on being given a task, the housekeeper dipped a curtsy and left.

  “MacInnes, see to the fire, for it’s dying.”

  The butler bowed and hurried to the fireplace.

  “Och, ’tis guid to have you here, miss,” Murray said with relief. “I assume you’ve had some experience assisting with ill persons?”

  “Nyet.” Tatiana pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down where the lantern light would spill upon the pages. She opened the book and began to search for the segment she’d read in the library. “I found a chapter in this medical book on his lordship’s illness. Tavish said both Mrs. Drummond and the doctor had tonics that helped his lordship, so we know there’s a cure.” She turned to the page she’d marked. “Here it is: Murray, go through the vials and find Jesuit powder. That’s what we need.”

  Mrs. Hay returned carrying a stack of neatly folded sheets, set them on a table, and then came to watch as Murray dug through the basket, the glass vials tinkling as they bounced against one another.

  “I dinnae see it, miss. There are so many and— Och, wait, here ’tis.” He held up a vial neatly labeled JESUIT POWDER.

  “Good.” She read through the page. “We’ll need some warm water, a lemon, and some sugar. We’re to heat that and add the powder.”

  “I’ll fetch what you need.” Mrs. Hay hurried to the door, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll nae be a moment.” She left, and some minutes later she returned, panting from her haste, the requested items, a small brass bowl and a brazier, neatly arranged on a tray.

  It took a while to heat the water and the juice she’d squeezed from the lemon, and then dissolve both the sugar and the powder in the mixture; but once it was done, Tatiana poured a generous cupful and carried it to the bed.

  Just in the half hour she’d been in the bedchamber, Buchan’s breathing had grown more labored. His cheeks were flushed, and his skin was hot and red. He tossed and turned, kicking at the covers one moment, and then shivering and groping for them the next. She sat on the edge of the bed and then bent closer. “You must drink this.”

  He muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if to say no.

  “Come, Buchan. I need you to drink this. Don’t make me issue a royal decree.” She held the cup to his lips. “Drink.”

  He quieted as she spoke, but the second she stopped, he gasped her name and then restlessly tossed his head, almost jarring the cup from her grip.

  “Och, he’s such a stubborn lad!” Mrs. Hay exclaimed.

  MacInnes looked worried. “Perhaps we should hold him doon and force him to drink it.”

  “He’d drown,” Murray said, sending the other two servants a dour look. “Mrs. Hay, is there soup made? His lordship will awake hungry as a bear, and you know Cook’s soup would nae serve.”

  Tatiana was glad when Mrs. Hay nodded. “So he will. I know a thing or two aboot soup, at least.” She looked uncertainly at Tatiana. “Do you think you’ll need me, miss?”

  “Murray and I can handle everything.”

  “Verrah weel.” Looking unconvinced, Mrs. Hay left.

  MacInnes cleared his throat. “If ye’ve got wha’ you need, then mayhap I’ll return the library to order. I fear Miss Romanovin and I unshelved a good number of books whilst trying to find that particular tome. Lord Buchan will be horrified to see tha’ when he’s oop and aboot.”

  “So he would,” Tatiana said, smiling. “Thank you, MacInnes. That is an excellent idea.”

  “If you need aught, ring the bell.” With a bow, the butler left.

  Tatiana turned back to Murray. “He must drink this tonic.”

  “Aye, miss. I think it might be best to use a spoon. I believe there’s one on his tea tray from this afternoon.” The valet crossed the room to the tray and brought the spoon to Tatiana.

  She dipped out a spoonful of tonic. “His mouth is clenched so tightly.”

  “The fever causes his leg to pain him.” Murray came to stand beside her. “Talk to him, miss. He’s been calling your name since he first grew ill.”

  Tears stung Tatiana’s eyes, but she pushed her feelings aside. Right now, she needed to focus on Buchan. On getting him better. Please live.

  “Buchan,” she said in a sterner tone, “take this blasted tonic and live, damn you.” She cupped his head and lifted it from his pillow.

  Murray hurried to push a pillow under Buchan’s head to hold it in place.

  She thanked the valet, and then held the spoon against Buchan’s lips.

  At first, his lips remained clenched together, as if he held all of his fury between his teeth.

  “Buchan, you fool,” she whispered. “Open your mouth.” She bent closer and whispered. “For me. Please, please, do this for me.”

  To her shock, his eyes opened, and for one startled instant, he looked at her. Though his deep chocolate gaze was shiny with his fever, recognition flickered in his eyes.

  She brushed the edge of the spoon against his bottom lip and smiled. “Open, my love.”

  His gaze still locked with hers, he parted his lips enough for her to tip the spoon into his mouth.

  He swallowed, and when she held another spoonful to his lips, he took it and swallowed again. Little by little, he emptied the cup. With the final swallow, she put the spoon into the cup and handed it to the valet.

  Buchan coughed, deep and wet, shivering as he did so, and his eyes slowly slid shut.

  Tatiana watched him, her breath struggling with his. He was so dear to her, every frustrating, powerful, caustic, stubborn inch of him. She traced her fingers over his jaw, his stubble tickling her fingers. “He hasn’t been shaving.”

  “Nae since you left the last time, miss.” The valet hesitated, and then added quietly, “He’s been lost. I dinnae pretend to know why, but perhaps you do.”

  She did know, for she’d been just as lost as he. She loved him, and knew he loved her. And so long as they didn’t peer into their future, that was enough. But one look into the reality of their worlds showed that their love was doomed—finished before it had even a chance to grow.

  Something dropped on her arm. She looked down, surprised to see a glistening tear, and she realized she had begun to cry.

  Murray, pretending not to notice, handed her a clean cloth from the stack near the bed.

  Grateful, she took it and dried her eyes.

  “What do we do now, miss?”

  “We give him more tonic every few hours until the fever breaks. We do that until the batch I made is gone.”

  “And then?”

  “And then we pray, Murray. We pray and we wait.” She smoothed the blanket over Buchan while the valet collected the used cloths from beside the bed.

  “I’ll take these to be washed. I think you’ll be fine here alone with him fer now; he’s resting much quieter. Do you need anything else, miss?”

  “No, thank you, Murray.” She placed her hand on Buchan’s cheek. “I have everything I need.”

  The valet inclined his head and, carrying his burden, left.

  Tatiana waited for the door to close. Then she took off her shoes, peeled back the blankets, and climbed into the bed with Buchan. Tugging the blankets back in place, she curled about him, her arms clasped over his waist, her legs entangled with his, her cheek on his chest, the heat of his fever warming her.

  With an audible sigh, he turned toward her and, shifting to one side, he tucked her against him, his breathing easing yet more. She didn’t know what the future held, but for this moment, tomorrow could take care of itself. She had enough to worry about right here, right now.

  Closing her eyes, she burrowed closer, watching over him as, in the silence, Buchan slept.

  Chapter 10

  Dr. Fraser moved his medicine bag to one side and stood. “I’d say you’re doing verrah weel.”

  “Then why do I sleep
all of the time?” Buchan groused. He tugged his shirt back over his head and tucked it into his breeches.

  “I suspect that has more to do with the amount of whiskey you were drinking in the weeks prior to your illness than with the illness itself.”

  Buchan cast an accusing look at Murray, who instantly began cleaning an imaginary spot from Buchan’s coat, which hung over a nearby chair.

  “I dinnae drink too much,” Buchan said. “I drank just enough.” Just enough to dull his brain and keep it from thinking constantly about Tatiana. Just enough to keep his heart from splitting in two once she’d left.

  He picked up his boots and began to put them on, careful not to jolt his pained leg. He was tired, deeply so, and all he wanted to do was climb back into bed, but he’d had enough of that nonsense. Besides, it wasn’t helping.

  It had been exactly seventeen days since he’d last seen Tatiana, and for two of those he’d been unconscious in his bed with a fever. Even then he’d been thinking of her, dreaming of her, imagining her cool hands on his brow, her husky voice tempting him from the depths of his illness, her warm body pressed to his. Bloody hell, I am tormented by her.

  Dr. Fraser opened his bag and began to put away his instruments. “My lord, I dinnae know what sent you careening so madly off the cliff of good reason, but I hope you’ve learned from it. Congestive fever is nae something to ignore. You were fortunate Miss Romanovin brought the tonic when she did.”

  Murray lifted a hand as if to shush the doctor, dropping it when Buchan turned his way.

  “Miss Romanovin brought the tonic?”

  “Aye.” Dr. Fraser, busy packing away his equipment, answered over his shoulder. “She found a book in the library that gave the correct dosage, too. Verrah smart of her. I understand she stayed almost two days and did much of the nursing herself, as weel.”

  Suddenly, all of the dreams Buchan had had of Tatiana feeding him, tucking him in, and sleeping at his side, held new meaning. He eyed his valet. “Murray? What have you to say?”