by H. C. Brown
“Christ, how much longer are ye planning to suffer? Ye ken verra well I am a healer.” Drew’s attention moved to her bruised leg. He uttered a string of unintelligible words under his breath and leveled his gaze on her. His lips flattened into a determined line. “Lift your shift. I insist on examining the damage to your leg.”
“I will not. I can manage well enough.” Seeking something to cover her, she bent for the oilskin. Pain shot through her temples and the room moved in and out of focus.
“It is not as if I have not seen your legs afore and more besides.” Drew caught her in his strong arms and lowered her gently to the oilskin. Sharp, hot agony stabbed to the bone cutting off her protest. Tears dampened her cheeks and unable to resist his ministrations, she rolled over onto one side.
He gave a grunt of derision, kneeled beside her and lifted her shift to examine her leg.
“Saint Bride!” He lifted his gaze to Betty. “Bring the lantern closer, aye.” He squeezed Adrianna’s shoulder. “Ye are foolish to leave this unattended. There is a splinter, the size of ma thumb, buried in your thigh with poison leaking into your hip. Canna ye smell it putrefying?” He pulled the dirk from his boot and handed it to Betty. “Tell Angus I need him and to place the tip of ma dirk in the fire. He is to have Dermot ready to bring it to me the moment I call, aye.”
His expression filled with compassion and he moved his cool fingers over her examining her leg with the gentlest of care. She inhaled his familiar masculine scent and refrained from fighting the inevitable. Cold air hit exposed burning flesh and in a wave of panic, she grasped a handful of her shift and attempted to push the thin fabric over her bare bottom. He stilled her with one large hand and thrust a bottle of whisky under her nose.
“Drink as much as ye can, it will help with the pain. I will remove the splinter and drain the pus.” He guided the bottle to her lips. “Drink, Adrianna, and for once do as ye are told, aye.”
She understood the procedure having witnessed the lancing of boils and the like, but her father always administered laudanum before the process. A shiver of apprehension slipped down her spine and curled in her belly. Why did he need his dirk hot from the fire? Did he plan to burn her? Her father used a sharp knife but never burned his patients. She took a mouthful of whisky and red-hot flames shot down the back of her throat stealing her breath. Coughing, she pushed the bottle away. “That is disgusting.”
“Aye well, it is ma clan’s twenty-year-old whisky but it is all I have. Drink again and then twice more.” Drew upended the bottle into her mouth. “Do it now.”
She blinked back tears and drank more of the foul liquid. A warm glow filled her belly and slid agreeably to her toes, but the throbbing pain in her leg persisted. Embarrassment at her intolerable predicament heated her cheeks and she leveled her gaze on him. “I do understand what you are about but why does Angus have to witness my shame?”
“It is nay shame to need help wi’ an injury such as this. Ye canna deal wi’ it yourself. Angus is the only married man wi’ me and I will need someone to hold ye while I tend to your leg. The wee lassie is not strong enough, but I will see she bides close by.” Drew’s eyebrows met in the middle in a deep frown. “Is it considered dishonorable in England for women to ask for your father’s care in such matters?”
She dashed a hand over wet cheeks and shook her head. “No, of course not but he is a physician.”
“Aye well, in ma clan so am I.” Drew pressed the bottle back to her lips. “So I will try ma best not to disgrace ye.” He reached into his sporran, took out a dark strip of something, and pressed it into her hand. “Bite on this, aye.”
Her face burned and a pulse throbbed behind her eyes, but she managed to focus on the thick piece of leather indented with bite marks, he had thrust into her trembling fingers. Of course, he was correct and struggling would only make things worse. She lay back and squeezed her eyes shut allowing tears to stream down her cheeks unrestrained. Under her, the rank smelling oilskin did nothing to prevent the cold seeping through the floor and chilling her to the bone. She shivered and Drew gently pressed a rough linen rag to her cheeks dabbing at the tears.
“Bide awhile. I will fetch ye a blanket.” His footsteps faded into the low hum of men’s distant conversations.
She clutched the bottle of whisky to her chest and drifted in a muddle-headed state. She started at the sound of voices then Betty kneeled beside her and wrapped a warm blanket around her shoulders. She raised her head and Betty’s face swum before her.
“I am afraid.”
“It will be all right, milady. Laird Mackenzie says it will be all over in a matter of minutes.” Betty pressed the opening of a small bottle to her lips. “Have a sip of this for the fever and take a little more of the whisky to help with the pain.”
Betty gave her a quivering smile and smoothed the hair from her face.
“I have some herbs steeping to help with the healing so you will be as right as rain before you know it.”
Convinced nothing would help with the pain or ease the fear paralyzing her, she lifted the bottle of whisky and swallowed, gagging at the sharp burn. Good Lord, to think men drunk this foul concoction for pleasure. Moments later, Drew returned with Angus and their shadows moved in an eerie procession across the walls. Indeed, she must have fallen into hell because the men’s use of the Gaelic sounded demonic even spoken in hushed tones. She pressed a hand to her forehead in an attempt to quell the awful throbbing and glared at them. “Will you please speak English? I am afraid and convinced you are hiding the truth from me. D–do you intend to a–amputate my l–leg?”
“Nay, I may be strong, but I doubt I could sever your leg wi’ ma dirk.” Drew squatted beside her. “Dinna fash, I will have the splinter out in nay time at all.”
“Then I beg you explain what you plan to do so I may ready myself.”
“Aye well, ye will have seen it done before, aye?” Drew took the bottle of whisky and poured a quantity over a blade in his hand then splashed some on her leg. “Well, in ma experience the best cure for purulent skin is whisky and fire. I will be making a small cut to remove the splinter and wash the wound wi’ the whisky then I will wi’ use the tip of ma dirk to cauterize it. Dermot will bring it to me red-hot when needs be.” He laid a hand on her back. “It will hurt like buggery but if I leave the splinter to fester, ye will die of the fever.”
“Will ye allow me to hold ye still?” Angus loomed over her. “I have been married twelve years, so I will not be taking notice of ye.”
“Are ye ready, Adrianna?” Drew’s voice drifted to her soft and encouraging.
The heat from his palm seeped through the blanket sending comfort. She clasped Betty’s hand. After all, she had little choice and nodding her consent placed the leather between her teeth then bit down hard.
Drew soaked rags in alcohol and ignoring Angus’s descriptive Gaelic curses for the waste of good whisky on a Sassenach, packed them around the inflamed area on Adrianna’s hip. Her screams of pain tore at his heart, but he bit down hard on his cheek and continued. The heat radiating from her worried him, as did the red lines spreading down her thigh from the injury. He shook his head in disbelief. The pain she had suffered would have toppled a warrior let alone a lass.
He pressed one hand on her hip to stretch the skin, took his dirk in the other, and sliced the length of the splinter. She shook violently under Angus’s firm grip and her screams sent the horses inside the Great Hall into a panic. He spoke in Gaelic to Angus insisting he increase his hold on her trembling thigh and moving swiftly scraped the wound, removing the splinter and debris. After excising the damaged flesh, he splashed the cut with whisky.
“Aaaarh! Sweet Jesus.” Adrianna spat out the leather strip and turned her ashen tear streaked face toward him. “Stop… please, Drew. I beg you to cease, I cannot stand a moment longer.”
Christ! Her begging near undone him. He wanted to hold her close and whisper words of comfort but instead, he touched her cheek
. “Ye are verra braw. Not much longer, mho creagh.”
He caught Angus’s expression of incredulity at the Gaelic endearment and shrugged, Adrianna understand the meaning of the phrase and needed his comfort. He strengthened his resolve and called to Dermot for the scalding dirk. The boy came running and skidded to a halt at the entrance. He lifted his gaze to him. “Bring it here.”
Taking the blade, he wiped the red-hot tip across the open wound sending blue flames dancing over the raw, whisky-soaked skin in a sizzle. The small room echoed with Adrianna’s screams and the smell of burning flesh rose up in a curl of white smoke.
“There, it is done. Ye have been verra braw. Hold still and I will dress the wound to ease the pain.”
Not wasting time, he covered the wound with a thick layer of comfrey salve. He lifted her thigh to bind the wound and all gallant intentions vanished. His attention riveted on the glimpse of soft golden curls at her apex and her delicate feminine allure. Captivated, he paused in his ministrations.
Angus’s Gaelic cursing slapped him back to reality.
“Get on wi’ your work and keep your lustful gaze away from the lass.” Angus glared at him. “Ye are a healer, aye? Then act like one and stop allowing your cock to rule your head.”
Drew bit down hard on his cheek and set to his task, apparently his godfather had not missed the direction of his lustful attention. He ached for her. Christ, she was everything he desired in a woman but his duty to protect her came before his own needs. In truth, he would wed her in a heart’s beat. His clan would object strongly to him taking a Sassenach for his bride, but her natural charm would soon win their hearts.
Will she have me now? I am not the fine gentleman, she expected. Would she accept his offer after experiencing the hard life of a Highland laird or leave him to pursue a new life of her own? Apart from ma horses, and a fledgling company in France, I have not one thing to offer her. No doubt, Rupert, with his fortune would be a better match. The thought of the two together made his wame curdle. Sighing, he tucked in the end of the strip of linen to secure the bandage then pulled down the shift to cover her bottom.
Had he done enough to save her? Her skin burned with fever and the escape had exhausted her. How could she possibly have enough strength to fight the poison from the wound let alone be fit enough to travel in the morning? Sobs and fever tremors racked her, but he dare not offer comfort in front of Angus. He wrapped the blanket around her and patted her back then lifted his chin to meet his stern expression. “Do ye disapprove of ma healing, godfather?”
“Nay, but I will be speaking to ye in private, aye. Come away from the lass and let her rest.” Angus folded his arms across his broad chest and glared at him.
He did not have the slightest inclination to argue with Angus and pushed to his feet. “Fine, but I will need to check her during the night. Go along now, I need to speak wi’ Betty afore I seek ma rest.”
“Verra well.” Angus stomped out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway.
Drew turned to Betty clearing his throat to get her attention. The young lass’s shoulders drooped with exhaustion. If she fell asleep, Adrianna may die. He could not risk leaving Adrianna’s side no matter what Angus thought about his intentions.
“Leave her to rest for a wee while. I will have the men fetch the wagon. Try and stay awake for another two hours then I will come and take care of her so you may seek your rest.” He smiled to calm her terrified expression. “Your mistress will be fine and will not have more than a small scar to show for it but mind ye keep giving her the herbs. I will send ye another bottle of whisky for the pain. Ye might have a wee dram yourself ye look a bit peaked.”
Betty bobbed a curtsy and her dark hair spilled around her shoulders. He cleared his throat. “Do you have a cap to cover your hair? It is not seemly for a woman’s head to go uncovered in Scotland. I want ye to make sure her ladyship wears a plain gown and is well covered with ma plaid, aye.”
“Yes, milord. I will see to it right away.” Betty’s eyes became round. “Beg pardon, milord?”
“Aye, what is it and call me laird if ye please?”
Betty drew herself up and with a determined expression on her face, jutted out her chin. “You know very well, she may die of the fever but if she survives, you cannot expect milady to travel in the morning. She is suffering great pain. Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but only a beast of a man would expect such a thing.”
“A beast would have left her to suffer, aye? Dinna fash once she is over the fever I have a verra strong medicinal to help wi’ the pain.” He stared down at Adrianna’s chalk white skin. “If I had time to wait for her to rest dinna ye think I would? Apart from Lord Moreau hot on our heels, dinna ye ken the customs officers watch this coastline? If we are discovered with smuggled merchandise, ye will both be hanged along wi’ us. By morning, we will have the carts filled and our goods well hidden under straw and animal carcasses. God willing, as a clan taking their kills to market, we will not draw the attention of the excise men or Lord Moreau. We leave at first light.” He strode out without a backward glance and called to Dermot to bring him water to wash his hands.
“Will she live?” Ian’s face appeared out of the gloom. “She was screaming something terrible.”
Drew shrugged trying to dismiss the need to return to Adrianna and sit beside her to aid in her recovery. He glanced at Ian. “She might.”
“What do ye mean she might? If she is so close to death, ye should be tending her not leaving her wi’ that slip of a lass.” Ian narrowed his eyes. “Ye used to care for the ailing. Has becoming laird turned ye into a cruel sod?”
“Nay.” Angus moved to Ian’s side. “But he lusts after the Sassenach and is in nay fit state to be left alone wi’ her.”
“Ye told Da, ye had found a lass to marry and I gather Lady Adrianna is the one, yet when she arrived, ye acted like ye despised her.” Ian scowled at Drew. “Now ye want to spread her thighs wi’ out the sanctity of the Church?”
Indignant he glared at him. “I will not have ye speak about Lady Adrianna in that fashion. I told Da the truth. I do care for her, aye, but it is not what ye think. I made her acquaintance in London.” He sighed. “If ye want the truth, if her father had not warned me off I would have made her an offer.”
“Acquaintance be damned.” Angus’s eyes flashed. “I have seen wi’ ma own eyes the way ye lust after the lass.”
Anger flared and he grasped Angus by the throat and squeezed until his godfather’s face turned purple. “Who I lust after is none of your business. Ye have overstepped your place. I am laird and ye have nay power over me.” He glared at Angus. “I promised the lass ma protection and she will have it and ma skill as a healer too. Ye will have nay say in the matter.” He glared at him. “Christ, I canna believe ye think I am so depraved I would force maself on a woman dying from the fever?” Exasperated he dropped Angus and turned to Ian. “Take another bottle of whisky to Betty then lay your head down.”
Shaking with fury, he waved the men away and drew a deep breath to steady his nerves. He would rest for two hours before returning to Adrianna’s side. The night ahead would decide many things. She may not survive the fever or the pain he had inflicted. Confusion foxed his mind and he moved away from his men to lean against the moss-covered wall. He needed time alone to think, to distance himself from the spell she had woven over him.
In her presence, all logical thought ceased to exist. His attraction to her had not faded since their last meeting. He stared at the glow of light pouring from her room and bit back the desire to return and offer comfort. Pushing away from the wall, he scoffed. Christ, he had started to behave like an untried youth lusting after a petticoat. Adrianna’s face filled his mind and his heart squeezed. He wanted her.
He straightened and moved deeper into the Great Hall, then paused to gaze at his men, lying in rows and appearing in the half-light like lines of corpses covered with blankets. Without doubt, Lord Beachwood or Moreau would eve
ntually discover he had Adrianna. He could never allow them to take her and would fight to the death before allowing Baron du Court to deflower then murder her. For now, she would require his healer’s skill to overcome the fever and his sword arm to protect her. He made the sign of the cross. Lord, I offer my life willingly if you will only keep her safe.
Chapter Seven
Lord Rupert Bainbridge issued a few final instructions to the stable master and strolled along the row of stalls to inspect the mares. The warmth inside the stable heated flesh chilled from standing dockside in a wind intent on freezing him to death. He had taken Lord Bradshaw’s groom into his employ, one Sam Greeks, a most fastidious man who had raised the mares from foals. What better surety for their comfort and needs during the voyage and a guarantee his prized horses reached Scotland without incident.
They were indeed the most splendid mares he had ever had the fortune to own. Each had a most agreeable temperament and superb bloodlines to complement Drew’s stallion. He moved into the first stall and ran his hand down the mare’s sleek neck inhaling the comforting smell of horse and leather. “What a beautiful creature you are.”
The mare huffed a greeting then continued to munch from a manger filled with oats as if a long sea voyage happened to be a regular part of her life. He smiled and moved along the line, checking each mare’s condition before moving to the next. Satisfied his charges had not suffered during the unloading, he nodded to Greeks. “They all appear in the very peak of health. I thank you, Greeks.”
“Thank ye kindly, milord.” Sam bowed then straightened. “Will I be returning to England or stayin’ on ’ere?”
Rupert rubbed his chin. Where had his mind been of late to forget to consider the fate of this poor man? After receiving news of his uncle’s death on his previous trip to Badenoch, his focus had been directed toward selling Drew’s assets including his townhouse in Berkley Square and obtaining a good price for a quantity of the clan’s family jewels. He cleared his throat. “What would you prefer? I am sure there are very fine grooms at Badenoch, but you do have a history with these mares.”
