“Alissa? Sweet? I … I …” His fists balled. “Alissa! Deceptive witch! I almost believed … Damn you!”
The venom in his voice hit her like a physical blow. Fighting back her tears, she attended him, gentle hands working to make him comfortable, feeding him his medicine to ease his pain.
Then, just as quickly, the fiery heat would leave him, and a violent chill racked his body. “C-cold … s-so c-cold,” he bit the words between chattering teeth, and she’d heap the covers on him, sometimes lying next to him to share her own warmth.
In those moments he clung to her, and she to him. Tears formed in her eyes as she feared she’d lose him, their last words said in anger. But seldom did she let them flow.
The old crone came again, and upon examining the wound, a doubtful look entered her eye. But she reapplied her treatment, this time Edward, Ian, and Robert restraining him, while Eudora comforted an anxious Alissa.
Immediately afterward, a pale Robert left the room, the duke cursed, and Ian sank into a chair, his hands raking through his hair. “Why the hell didn’t he believe me?” Ian asked of no one in particular.
Nanna mixed a new concoction of herbs for Jared to ingest, then left, Mr. Stanley carrying her sack of medicines; the process to be repeated at dawn on the next day.
Only once did Alissa dare leave him. Having sent Eudora for more water, she’d forgotten to ask for fresh linen and towels. When she returned, she found Robert hovering over him, his fists clenched tightly. Instantly, she feared something had happened to Jared and rushed to the bed. “Robert, is he all right?”
The sound of her voice startled the man, and as he spun toward her, hard eyes met hers. “Yes … I was just checking on him.” Then he strode from the room.
Alissa could not fathom why Jared’s cousin acted in such an abrupt manner. But, then, she realized everyone reacted differently to a crisis. Perhaps, he’s simply distraught, she thought, shrugging away the incident.
About midnight on the third day, Alissa sat alone in her ever-present vigil. By her own declaration, this time of day was her private time with Jared. Strangely she felt a presence behind her and turned to see Megan. The child’s wide eyes were teary and sorrowful.
“Come, darling,” she entreated, folding the girl into her arms, drawing her onto her lap. “He’ll be all right. Believe it, and it shall be so.”
Through her hand signs, Megan asked question upon question, and Alissa answered as best she could. “Yes, Megan, he knows we are here. I talk to him, constantly, the same as I did with you when you were so ill. Your father spoke to you, too. Do you remember?”
Megan’s brow furrowed, then a light sparkled in her eyes, and she nodded.
Alissa smiled. “The doctor in Edinburgh told me that a person’s hearing never shuts off, no matter what the body does. …” Except in death, she thought, but held her knowledge. “That’s why we told you how much we loved you … that you would be fine, and you are. I do the same with your father. Even if he doesn’t respond, I know he hears me.” Jared groaned; his head twisted on his pillow.
“His fever is rising again,” she said, setting Megan on her feet. “I need to bathe him.” Moving to the night table, she discovered the pitcher almost empty. “I’ll have to fetch some more water. Will you be all right alone with him?”
Megan placed her small hand on her father’s brow. New tears formed in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away as she nodded.
Alissa viewed her carefully. The poor child had recovered from one emotional shock, only to be thrust into another. Twice Megan had been in the room when Jared had gone into his fever; she’d fled in tears. Now, Alissa wondered, if she should leave her, in case Jared should start his wild thrashings. Yet, if Megan were chased from the room, she thought it would only upset her more. Explaining what she might see and hear, Alissa said, “Don’t be frightened. You must understand, it is the fever that makes him act so strangely.”
Megan nodded she understood; a confident look entered her eyes.
“Then, I shall be right back.” On swift feet, Alissa rushed down to the kitchens for some cool water. But the return trip took her longer than expected, a light-headedness overtaking her as she climbed the stairs. She fought it off, however, then traversed the hall to her husband’s room. As she quietly stepped inside, she immediately stopped and drew back into the shadows to watch the scene unfolding before her.
Megan leaned close to her father’s ear, her mouth working open then closing; as always, when they’d practiced, an odd garble escaped her throat. Tears of frustration gathered in her wide green eyes, then rolled down her cheeks, but this time she refused to give up. Her small hand rose and nudged his burning face closer to hers. And with one last effort, Megan finally pushed the sounds through her lips: “P-Papa … p-please d-don’t die.”
Tears of joy and sorrow filled Alissa’s eyes and heart; she knew, if anyone could rouse him to fight harder, his daughter could. Yet, if he fought and lost, would he have known the ecstasy of hearing Megan’s sweet voice, once more? No, not consciously. “Say the words again,” she said, surprising the child, then walked on shaky legs to Megan’s side, the pitcher wobbling in her hand. “Tell him, darling. Talk to him. He’ll hear you. Tell him of your love.”
“Papa … papa, I l-love y-you,” she said with more self-assurance. “Don’t die … please don’t leave me.”
Heartened by Alissa’s gentle smile and tender words, Megan continued to speak, her voice growing stronger and stronger. And, as the night progressed, both wife and daughter whispered their encouragement, their hopes, their fears, sometimes in anger, sometimes tearfully. But they never let up.
Unable to sleep from his worry over his son—his daughter-in-law, as well—the duke entered Jared’s room to halt in his tracks. “Papa,” he heard his granddaughter say, “do you remember …” As she went on with her words, Edward’s watery gaze connected with Alissa’s, his praises of thanksgiving written there. One more miracle, he prayed. Just one more.
Then, as the pink of dawn glowed on the horizon, Jared started perspiring, soaking his sheets. “The fever has broken,” Nanna announced, proudly, her crooked fingers pulling the bandage free. “The infection is gone.” She seemed surprised. “There be a stronger medicine that made the miracle besides mine.” She patted Alissa’s shoulder. “You gave him life again, lass.”
His body washed, dry sheets placed beneath him, and another herbal drink ingested, Jared lay in a restful slumber, Alissa still hovering at his side.
“Now, dearest,” Eudora said authoritatively, drawing Alissa’s attention, “you shall have a warm bath and slip beneath the covers of your own bed for a much needed sleep.”
“Indeed she will,” the duke piped. “I’ll not have my new grandson’s health jeopardized because his mother is intent on staying with her husband. Now, daughter,” he said, surprising her. “Take yourself off to bed.”
“But—”
“I think you’re outnumbered,” Ian interrupted, and smiled. “Jared’s in fine shape. You’re not.”
Suddenly, Alissa realized she was indeed tired and offered a weak smile. “I suppose you’re right. But I go only with the promise that as soon as he awakens, one of you will wake me. Do I have it?”
“You do,” the three said in unison.
Her hand lightly brushing a lock from Jared’s brow, Alissa gazed at him a moment, then bent to his ear. “Welcome back, my love.” And she pressed a light kiss on his lips.
Eudora came to her side. “Come, dearest. I’ll help you to bed.”
“We’ll call you the moment he wakes,” Ian promised again. “From what Nanna said, he’ll be out for several hours. Now off with you.”
After she’d eaten a light breakfast and bathed, changing into a silk nightdress, Alissa slipped into her bed and fell into an exhausted, yet restless sleep.
In Jared’s room, while the duke and Ian kept watch, Edward finally said after a long silence, “From listening to my son�
�s ramblings, plus through what little Eudora has been able to tell me, this so-called duel was precipitated because he believed you’d cuckolded him—not once, but twice. Is this true, Sinclair?”
Ian looked at the man. “You’ve known me since I was in short pants. Do you think it’s true?”
Edward’s lips tightened. “I didn’t accuse you of doing it … I asked if that’s what caused this unseemly incident to come about! An answer, please.”
“Unfortunately, Your Grace, yes. Jared, for some ungodly reason, not only thinks I’ve imposed myself physically on Alissa, but he’d accused me of it with Celeste, as well. I am innocent in both cases.”
Edward Braxton eyed the Earl of Huntsford at length. “I believe you.” Then he said, “Jared has never opened up to me about Celeste. I’d consider it a favor if you were to tell me what you know of their marriage … and her death, if possible.”
Ian almost refused. But upon reconsidering, he decided it best to clear the air. As he quietly spoke of Celeste’s shallow nature, a trait she’d hidden well from the duke, and of her refusal to share Jared’s bed after Megan’s birth without a bribe, Edward seemed taken aback.
“Several times, she threw herself at me,” Ian stated, angrily, “but I refused. Jared was my best friend. I know nothing of the night she died, except that Jared severed all relations with me immediately afterward. When I came round to discover why, he accused me of cuckolding him. I denied it, of course, because it wasn’t true. But he wouldn’t listen. Somehow, I doubt that he cared if Celeste had friendships with other men. But something must have given him the idea I was involved with her. Alissa told me that Jared had relayed to her that Celeste had died with my name on her lips. I’ve no idea why. I never encouraged her. I hardly spoke to her. It all remains a mystery to me.”
“And Alissa?” the duke asked. “What of her?”
Ian looked to his hands. “I’ll admit, my feelings for Alissa are far different than they were for Celeste. But as you’ve seen for yourself, she loves your son, not me. Alissa and I are simply friends. Besides, I still consider Jared my best friend. I’d never encroach. Never.”
“You are an honorable man, Sinclair. My son could not have a better friend than you. It’s a shame he’s too thickheaded to realize it.”
“Since Jared is on the road to recovery, do you think we should set ourselves to finding who shot him?”
The duke’s brow furrowed. “Do you believe it was done on purpose?” He saw Ian’s shrug. “My thoughts had lain along the line of poachers … a stray shot from afar. Perhaps—” The door opened, and upon seeing Eudora, Edward fell silent.
“She’s sleeping,” the woman said, seeing their questioning eyes. “The poor child’s head barely hit the pillow and—”
A groan rose upward from the area of the bed; all three moved toward it. “He’s coming out of it,” Ian said, glancing at Eudora. “I hate to do it, but we promised her.”
“I’ll get her.”
Jared’s ponderous hand ran over his face; he grimaced when it dropped to his chest, pain shooting through him. A heavy eye opened to fall shut. He tried to open the other, but it seemed an impossible feat.
Jared couldn’t quite grasp what his problem was. He felt as if he were struggling, hand over hand, upward from the depths of a black cavern. Attempting to take a deep breath, he lurched and groaned. His chest hurt like hell. Why?
The haze clouding his brain suddenly cleared, and his eyes opened to find Ian Sinclair standing over him. “The bastard is in my own house,” Jared rasped, then coughed; his face twisted in pain. “Unfortunately, Sinclair, I survived.”
“I never intended to kill you, Jared,” Ian said, stepping closer. “In fact, it wasn’t my shot that injured you.”
His short, cynical laugh erupted, and Jared paid for it, but he wouldn’t allow it to show on his face. “Whose, then? Did you pay one of your servants to accomplish what you knew you couldn’t?”
“You’re still suffering from the fever.”
His memory sharpened with every word that passed Ian’s lips; his mind saw Alissa riding toward him across the glade. “I have it! It was my beloved wife. She feared she’d lose her lover! I had no idea she was a marksman. Another point in her favor, eh, Sinclair?”
Ian was fast losing patience; his eyes narrowed. “Again, I’ll excuse you. The fever has obviously numbed your brain.”
Jared pulled his bored gaze away. “Where is my faithful bride, anyway?”
Edward stepped forward, stating curtly: “At the moment, she’s resting. She’s been at your side constantly these past four days.”
“Obviously, you had the sense to keep someone with her.”
The duke felt his anger rise. With sheer willpower, he kept it in check. “You dolt! You wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for her! She helped save your life!” A snort of disbelief erupted from his son; Edward ignored it. “When your fever broke, Eudora insisted she lie down. She did so under protest. She had to think of the child she carries.”
Child! Jared’s gaze widened, then it narrowed as it hit Ian. “Yours or mine, Sinclair?”
The insult was too great. “You unfeeling bastard!” The indignant words escaped between Ian’s teeth as his fist balled and rose. “I should beat the truth into—”
“Don’t!” Alissa commanded, having heard the exchange from the doorway. A driving pang had pierced her heart with each insensitive word Jared had uttered. Especially his last. Then as she stepped from the shadows, her emotionless gaze met her husband’s.
Her luxurious hair cascading around her petite form, falling to her slender waist, she looked so very frail. Streaks of purple slashed beneath her tired eyes, and Jared realized the marks were real, not some trick of makeup. Unable to hold her vacant stare any longer, he faced away.
“Since he refuses to open his heart, the truth will always elude him. Don’t waste your anger on him, Ian. He’s not worth the effort.”
Her words pricked Jared like a sharp knife. His gaze bounced off his father, to see his disgust, and ricocheted back to his wife. Megan stood at her side, looking at her askance. Alissa nodded, and his daughter came to his bedside.
Huge eyes, so much like his own, gazed at him; then she opened her lips. “Papa, I love you.”
Not absorbing what he’d heard, his gaze lingered, searchingly. His brow furrowed. “Sweet?”
“I love you, Papa,” she repeated, smiling. “You’ve come back, just as Alissa said you would.”
His good arm surrounded his daughter as joyous tears glazed his eyes and cramped his throat. Over Megan’s silky head, he viewed his wife. Alissa, he thought, wistfully. Through her love and understanding, she’d allowed him to regain his daughter, unbroken, renewed. How could he repay her? Blank eyes held his only a moment; then he watched as she turned and left the room.
Suddenly an unbearable ache compressed his chest. It had nothing to do with his wound, he knew. Alissa, he cried, silently. With his bitter mistrust and heartlessly cynical words, he’d driven her away. And he was certain her love was now lost to him—forever.
CHAPTER
Twenty-one
Jared withdrew another article of clothing from the wardrobe and packed it in his portmanteau.
“Yer lordship, sir, do ye still needs me help?” Mary asked, in a frightened little voice. “If not, Mrs. Dugan has some work for me.”
He glanced in her direction, noting the nervous twist of her hands, and immediately took pity on her. “You may leave in a moment, Mary. First, I wish to apologize for the way I behaved the day I intercepted Lady Ebonwyck’s note. It was extremely high-handed of me.”
Since a member of the peerage never apologized to a mere servant girl, Mary blinked in surprise.
“When I return from Edinburgh, I’ll have a fine gift for you to make up for my abominable behavior.”
She blinked again. “Oh, yer lordship, ye don’t have to do that!”
“It’s my way of saying I’m sorry
.”
She smiled. “Thank ye, sir … I mean, yer lordship, sir.” She turned to leave.
“Oh, Mary,” he called, and she pivoted. “What time is your mistress to return from Selkirk?”
“Megan and her ladyship should be home soon. If ye remember, Mr. Stanley promised he’d be back by noon to take ye on to Edinburgh.”
Jared sighed. “Yes … I remember, now. That’s all.” He watched the door close, then jerked another article of clothing from the wardrobe.
Each minute seemed like an hour when Alissa was away. Why it would make any difference, he had no idea, for he’d not seen her since the night he’d awakened from his fever, three weeks past. And he wanted to, desperately. But it seemed the entire household conspired against him. And rightfully so.
From the moment he’d uttered his unconscionable accusation that she carried another man’s child, Hawkstone had become a house divided, its master ostracized. The congenial Eudora had instantly turned frosty. Mr. Stanley, his trusted servant and longtime friend, had taken to grumbling and scowling at him. His father had called him an “incorrigible idiot!” and a “blasted fool!” Even Mrs. Dugan had sniffed her distaste while managing to accidentally spill hot broth on him, not once but twice, while he remained in his sickbed. As he dressed today, he’d noticed his inner thighs still retained a red mark where the searing liquid had branded him. Fortunately, the woman had not aimed her sights higher.
Only Robert had remained an ally, but he was now in Edinburgh, sent on ahead to conclude some business. Using that same ploy himself, hoping that while away he could discover the solution to regaining Alissa’s heart, Jared planned to join his cousin later tonight. He needed time to think.
Then he thought of Megan. Of course, being sweet and innocent, she had no knowledge of the undercurrents flowing through Hawkstone. “Why did you make Alissa cry?” she’d asked one day while visiting him when he was still abed. Embarrassed, he’d not been able to admit the truth, and she’d quickly admonished, “You’re not very nice, Papa, to hurt her so.”
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