Jacob looked at her sheepishly. “I couldn’t find the whisky, but I brought some rum—“
It was the alcohol that was important, not the type. “That’ll do. Give it here.” She extended one hand, the other pressing against the wound to keep the blood from flowing.
Jacob placed the bottle in her grasp, then stood watching, curious to see what she would do with it. Tommy’s eyes grew wide as he watched her pour a liberal amount over the wound she’d just been probing.
Taken by surprise, Duncan started. He caught a shout of pain before it could emerge from his throat, strangling the sound. His eyes reddened and filled with it.
“The devil take you, woman,” he yelped. “What are you doing, pouring spirits over me like some pig about to be roasted?”
Beth set the bottle down on the nightstand. “Very possibly saving your arm.”
Suddenly very weary, Beth brushed the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. She sank back for a moment, gathering to her what was left of her strength. The worst, she hoped, was over.
She looked up at Hank and Jacob. They were far more manageable than either the old man or Duncan. “I need to bandage his shoulder now. Take the rest of his shirt off, please.”
Jacob and Hank were swift to follow her instructions.
“She said the shirt, not my skin,” Duncan hissed between his teeth.
His arm hurt worse now than it had before. The room began to swirl before his eyes and he blinked hard to steady it once more. He saw Beth tearing something white into strips. A sheet. She was tearing a sheet.
“I would prefer your petticoats next to me again,” Duncan murmured. Damn, he was drifting, he thought.
“I imagine you would.”
As gently as she could she bound his wound again. Blood insisted on seeping through each layer. She wound the bandages she’d made as best she could. “There, is that too tight?”
She raised her eyes to his. But his eyes had slid closed once more.
Just as well, she thought; he needs his rest. She dusted her hands one against the other as she looked at him. His was a strong body. It should mend.
“Well, I’ve done what I can. The rest is in God’s hands.” She glanced at Samuel. “I doubt if He would want to see him so soon.” She fervently hoped not. Not on her account, at least.
“More than likely,” Samuel laughed, trying to shake off the grip that fear had upon him, “it would be the other place.” He gestured toward the basin, its water now darkened with Duncan’s blood. “Tommy, take that back to your mother.”
Hank raised his eyes until his thick black brows formed a single dark line across his forehead. “Are you done with that, mistress?” His hand hovered over his knife on the night stand.
“Yes, thank you.” She sighed wearily as she said it and offered the weapon back to him.
Hank cleaned the blade against the back of his trousers and then sheathed it once again. He saw Beth watching him. He shrugged shoulders that moved uncomfortably in a shirt that had always been too small.
“I’ll wash it later,” he mumbled.
“A very good idea,” she agreed, knowing that despite his words, he would forget.
Beth rose from the bed, but as she turned, Duncan caught her wrist. Surprised, she stared at the link between them. She would have taken an oath that he was unconscious but a moment ago.
Duncan had circled her wrist weakly with his fingers. “Stay,” he murmured.
The next moment his eyes had slipped closed once more, as if he had no more strength to keep them open, as if the last of it had gone into his words. Beth could have easily slipped her hand from his. There was nothing to make her remain.
Nothing but his petition.
She sat down again.
Samuel looked down at her in surprise. Why hadn’t she taken her hand from Duncan’s? The man was clearly as weak as a newborn lamb. He cocked his head and studied her more closely, now that the danger had seemingly passed. “Will you be eating, mistress?”
Beth shrugged, disinterested. Hunger had been her companion earlier. Now, she was oddly past that. “Perhaps later.”
She had done her best for Duncan. It had earned her a place in Samuel’s esteem. Earlier hostility at her territorial invasion was now nudged aside by sympathy and compassion, two sentiments he’d have cut out a man’s tongue for accusing him of possessing. “Surely you need to rest.”
Rest.
It had a lovely sound to it. She was exhausted and miserable beyond belief. Her clothes adhered to her body uncomfortably, and she longed to strip and wash herself. But she had not come on this long, arduous journey to surround herself with niceties. She had known, when it had all started, that the road which lay ahead of her would be a hard one.
And she did owe this man a great debt. Beth looked down at the slumbering face. She had always believed in a debt for a debt, a life for a life. She would stay to see him through the night. By the morrow, if all went well, he should be on his way to mending.
If not ...
She found herself unwilling to dwell on it.
Her gaze drifted toward the window. The weather was just as inclement now as it had been half an hour ago. As it would undoubtedly continue until dawn. They could not travel far in this had they the means, and she yet to arrange for that.
No, she and Sylvia would have to remain here for the night.
Beth looked toward the large scarlet chair standing at the ready by Duncan’s desk. “I can rest here.”
She slipped her wrist from Duncan’s grasp. His hand lay open, fingers lax, against the dark cover. Beth rose and crossed to the chair. It was a cumbersome, heavy piece of furniture, and it resisted as she tugged on it.
Jacob was quick to rush to her assistance. Smiling shyly at her, he placed his hands where hers had been. His brother was a shadow’s breath behind him, taking up the other side. Determined to win exclusive favor, they tugged one against the other. It took but a look from Samuel to have them working together.
“By his bed, please.” Finding herself amused, Beth stepped back as they maneuvered the chair toward Duncan’s bed. She nodded at both men. “Thank you.”
Heads bobbing like will-o-the-wisps in the wind, Jacob and Hank stepped away.
Clearing his throat, Samuel motioned them all out of the room. Sylvia, swept up by his authority, retreated, but hovered hesitantly in the doorway.
“He’ll sleep now,” Samuel told Beth gently, trying to urge her away.
“Yes, I know.” She pressed her lips together as she stared at the sleeping face. “But there yet might be a fever.”
“And you can fix that?” Genuine curiosity lit his eyes.
Would that she could without fail. But her father had shown her things that could help. Nature had provided aids that men passed by without suspecting.
“There are herbs and potions and poultices that can help at times. I can tell you what to pick, if it comes down to that.”
Samuel stepped forward where the light was better and studied the young woman intently. She was fair of face and hair, and though her tongue was sharp, her disposition seemed kind. And magic, he knew, took on many forms.
“Are you a witch, mistress?” When she looked up sharply, he leaned forward in the manner of a confessor ... or a conspirator. “You can tell me.”
The laugh that rose to her lips was genuine and light. “If I were a witch, I wouldn’t have needed the knife, now, would I? I could have simply cast out the lead and healed him with but the pass of my hand.”
Samuel nodded slowly. What the girl said was true, of course, but that did not change the fact that she had certainly bewitched Duncan. He had seen the look in the man’s eyes. Beyond the pain, there was something more. It was a look a man wore when gazing upon his first treasure.
Perhaps she was a witch, at that.
A movement at the door caught her eye. Sylvia. Poor woman, she thought, to endure all this. Beth looked at Samuel as she settled into
the chair to wait out the night and the fever that might yet come.
“I would appreciate it, kind sir, if you would find a room and supper for my companion tonight.”
Samuel smiled. “ ’Tis already done.” But his concern, for the moment, was the young woman by his Duncan. “I’ll be bringing your supper here, then.”
She smiled, grateful. Eventually, her hunger would return. “That would be very nice.”
His eyes slid over her and the way her clothing clung. “And a change of clothing?”
Beth glanced down. She smiled ruefully. There was mud and blood on her dress, and it was torn in several places, ruined. But there were others, and she had no time to mourn something so insignificant as cloth. She knew her mother would differ with her on that, but apparel had never been important to her.
“I do look like something that the cat might have brought in when she was mousing, don’t I?”
Samuel laughed, pleased at her humor. Pleased to see her smile. “A very fortunate cat it would be.”
Flattering words seemed to come easily to this crew. Because he was her father’s years, she found herself at ease.
“You’ve a tongue on you, sir.” Beth laughed softly.
“Aye, and an eye to match.” He winked. “I’ll have Jacob bring your trunk up here. And Amy makes as fine a soup as any could want.”
Despite the warm weather, there was a chill in her bones. She nodded her consent. “That sounds wonderful. And you will see to—“
He nodded. That would be his personal pleasure. “The lady will be well looked after, mistress. This much I can promise you. Do not give it a care.” He cast one last look at Duncan. “Thank you for taking care of my boy.” The words were said softly.
She had surmised as much, though there was no resemblance to look upon. “He is your son, then?”
Pride swelled Samuel’s thin chest. “As sure as if I had given him seed.”
With a nod of his head, Samuel withdrew quietly, urging Sylvia along with him.
Sylvia cast one uncertain look toward Beth, then followed.
Settling back once more, Beth shook her head. This was a very strange place fate had flung her to, she thought.
Without, the wind howled its agreement.
Chapter Nine
Left alone with only Duncan in the room, Beth felt restless. Like a book whose open pages were being rustled by the wind, she couldn’t find a place for herself. She could not guess at the reason for it, but there was no denying that an unease had seeped into her.
Annoyed with herself, Beth scoffed at her unease as being as baseless as being afraid of things in the dark. That she had outgrown long ago.
She glanced at Duncan as if he was the cause of her trepidation.
He was just a mortal man, after all. A wounded mortal man. Perhaps fairer of body and limb than most, but still a man. There was no reason for her disquietude. It made as little sense now as when Sylvia had voiced it earlier, before entering the coach.
With renewed determination, Beth leaned forward, her outstretched fingers brushing against his forehead. It was warmer now than it had been just minutes ago. She didn’t like it.
“Where shall I put it, mistress?”
The voice had caught her unawares. She looked toward the doorway and saw Jacob dragging in her trunk. It “shooshed” along the boards as he pulled it inside.
Beth gestured vaguely about the room. It mattered not to her where he placed it, so long as it was here. She wanted to be close to the ransom money she had brought with her.
“Anywhere will be fine, thank you.”
Taking her at her word, Jacob left the trunk exactly where he had stopped. His brows drew together like light-haired caterpillars huddling for warmth.
“You’re frowning,” he noted, as he straightened. He took her look to reflect on him. “Somewhere else, perhaps?” He pointed at the trunk.
As if that could possibly make any difference. “No, it’s not the trunk.” She looked over her shoulder at Duncan. Her concern deepened her frown. “He’s warm.”
Jacob nodded his head vigorously. This was nothing new to his ear.
“Aye, so I’ve heard many a lady say.” He saw the startled expression cross Beth’s face and realized his error. “Oh, you mean something else.”
He blushed for her and his own mistake, not wanting to offend.
She wondered how young the man was and how he remained that way, considering the company he maintained. She nodded toward Duncan. “He has a fever.”
This was not good. He had to inform Samuel. Late last year, two of their own on the manor had died of a fever. The very word brought fear to Jacob’s heart. “Samuel will not be happy.”
“ ’Tis not Samuel I am worried about.” She sat down again beside Duncan upon the bed. The fever had to be brought down. “Could you fetch me more water?”
“You wish to bathe?” he asked eagerly. He moved quickly to the doorway.
Yes, oh yes, Beth thought longingly. But that was a luxury for another time, not now. Now there was something more urgent to concern herself with.
“I wish to bathe his forehead,” she clarified. If Duncan awoke in the night, he was going to need nourishment. “And Samuel said something of sending up some soup?”
She had no sooner finished her question than a woman, wide of hip, with tawny hair bound up religiously by a battalion of pins, came marching in. She was carrying a large bowl of soup before her, balanced on what appeared to be a knight-errant’s shield.
When she heard that there was company, Amy had taken the shield from the weapons room and pressed it into service as a tray.
“Right here, mistress,” she clucked, as chipper as the weather was gloomy. “Hot and nourishing it is, if I must say so myself.”
Beth turned to find herself looking up into a smile as wide as a garden gate.
Amy had brought up the meal herself, rather than send her son or someone else with it. She wanted to see the woman they were all whispering about downstairs. Her bright blue eyes, the mirror image of Tommy’s, appraised Beth as swiftly and as thoroughly as Samuel had. But she saw a strength there, beneath the weariness, that Samuel had missed. It was a determined chin the woman possessed, and those were keen eyes. Amy smiled to herself knowingly.
Without question the woman was a match for this rowdy house she found herself in, Amy mused.
She smiled at Beth genially, and a maternal note was struck in her breast.
“Where will you be wanting this?” Her eyes shifted questioningly to the soup that tottered unsteadily on the rounded underside of the shield.
It was more for Duncan that she wanted the soup than for herself.
“Here, on the stand.” Beth gestured toward it.
The young man was still standing in the doorway, gawking at her as if she was some sort of eighth wonder. “The water—“
“Jacob, mistress.” He inclined his head, waiting to hear her repeat his name. “My name is Jacob.”
Beth had laid the back of her hand against Duncan’s cheek. It was hot. “The water, please, then, Jacob. And hurry.”
She needn’t have bothered adding the last words, for he had dashed off before she was done, the sound of his name on her tongue providing the wings beneath his feet.
The bowl safely on the table, Amy held the tray against her wide bosom. “Leaping around like a puppet, you have him,” she noted, with no trace of envy or malice. “The other one, too.”
Beth looked at her, confused. Which one was she referring to? “The other one?”
“Hank. His brother.” Amy jerked a thumb at the doorway through which Jacob had disappeared.
She was talking about the taller one, Beth thought, the one who had given her his knife. She wondered if her presence threatened the woman.
“I mean to have no one leaping,” Beth told her. “I only want to pay my debts and go.”
Amy was silent for a moment as she weighed the import of Beth’s words. “Do you,
now?”
Beth guessed at the woman’s thoughts. The slight smile on her face reached her eyes, but there were many in Virginia society who laughed and smiled into your eyes while they readied a dagger to use on your back. The world was not as simple a place as her mother believed or her father would wish.
“Yes,” Beth said firmly. “I do.”
Beth was weary beyond words. She needed to be off, to find her father and bring him home. She longed to have this whole business behind her. Instead, here she was, sitting in a darkened room—a man’s sleeping chamber, no less—ministering to him while a parade of his servants came by, one by one, to look at her.
Amy cocked her head. “You look tired.” Any fool with half an eye could have seen that, she judged. Why hadn’t Samuel? “I can send Tommy in to sit with Duncan and watch him. Tommy’s my son,” she added proudly.
So the boy actually did belong to someone. Beth shook her head. “No, that’s all right. I’m not tired.”
The bloody hell she wasn’t, Amy thought. She made up her mind about Beth. A warmer smile rose, creasing into the folds of her cheeks and transforming her round face into a beatific one.
“My name’s Amy. Mind you eat that.” She indicated the bowl with a short, stubby finger. “It’s better hot, but not so bad cold.” With that, Amy shuffled out of the room. There were still things to do before she could see to her own needs and Tommy’s.
“I’m sure,” Beth agreed absently.
The woman was forgotten before she even left the room. Beth feathered her hand across Duncan’s brow again. It was too warm, much too warm to please her, even for such a warm night.
Beth sat back on the bed, her eyes skimming over Duncan as if she hadn’t seen him before. He was lying on his covers, stripped to the waist with only the bandage she herself had applied to divert the eye from a chest that undoubtedly had many hearts beating fast. It was smooth and hard, and as she passed her hand lightly over it, urged on by curiosity, she felt a tingling sensation cross her palm.
Of course she was unaffected by such things, Beth thought stoically. She saw him only as a human being in need of aid, nothing more.
Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3) Page 7
