Mischance

by Smith, Carla Susan

  “Ah, that will be the doctor,” she told him. “I think it would be best if you left the lass to us now, Master Rian.” Her frilled white cap bobbed in the general direction of the bedroom door. Mystified by her directive, and even more so by the firm hand that pushed him across the room, Rian tried to protest. But found no words to do so.

  “Best leave the girl to the doctor, sir. I’ll send word when he’s finished with his examination, and in the meantime I’ve had breakfast set out. Why don’t you go down and get a bite to eat?” She emphasized this last by taking the empty brandy glass from his hand, and giving him a reproachful look.

  “How do you think I could possibly be interested in food at a time like this?” Rian hissed.

  The woman before him had the advantage of having dealt with Connor men all her adult life, and took no umbrage at his snappish tone. No matter how long he had been gone, some things didn’t change. The firm hand that she placed in the small of his back now felt like a steel fist. “I think you will find your appetite has returned, Master Rian,” she said in a tone more curt than his. “It isn’t proper for you to see the lass like this.”

  He opened his mouth to utter one last protest, but found himself brushed to one side as a smaller figure stepped past him. The doctor, Mrs. Hatch mouthed, right before she closed the door in his face.

  Rian stood on the other side for a few moments, staring in disbelief at the intricately carved wood paneling, before realizing his housekeeper was absolutely right. Even if he could claim the right of a husband, it still would have been inappropriate for him to remain. He had not been gone so long that he had forgotten Mrs. Hatch was a kindly, God-fearing woman with a strict moral code. One that was respected by all the staff. Which explained why he had never considered bedding Isabel in the townhouse. He was too terrified of having his ears boxed by the matronly chatelaine if she found a woman in his bed who was not his wife. It made no difference that he was now a grown man. She had known him since he was a child, and his brother would be absolutely livid if he was the reason they needed to find another housekeeper.

  When he entered the dining room, the enticing aroma of a freshly prepared breakfast made his stomach rumble loudly. It had been too long since he last ate. Rian was on his third cup of coffee when the doctor was shown in.

  Dr. MacGregor was a compact man who had lost none of the highland burr of his native Scotland. It rang out pleasantly as he gratefully accepted the invitation to breakfast. Rian couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched the man demolish the contents of his plate with clinical precision. He imagined the doctor did not get many chances to start his day so well fortified, and found it no hardship to wait until the man had eaten his fill before speaking.

  “Well?” he asked as the doctor pushed his plate away and spooned a generous helping of sugar into his coffee cup.

  “I’ve done all that I can, Mr. Connor. The wounds have been cleaned and dressed and I have left a salve with your housekeeper along with instructions for its application. I have also given the lass something to help her sleep.” He stirred the contents of his cup as a worried frown creased his already wrinkled brow. “There was, however, one verra nasty wound that required stitching. It canna’ be helped, and I’m heartily sorry the lass will be scarred.”

  Rian nodded in understanding. He had no doubt the physician had done whatever was best for his patient. “Is there anything we can do to make her more comfortable?” he asked.

  Dr. MacGregor sipped his coffee, his face momentarily blissful before resuming a more professional expression. “Infection is always the biggest concern,” he replied.

  “The wounds on her back?”

  “Aye, but I am more concerned about her feet.”

  Rian raised a brow as he stared across the table. “Her feet? I’m not sure I understand you.”

  “From the poor condition of her feet, I would say the lass has traveled a fair distance without the benefit of shoes. Something, in my professional opinion, she is not used to doing. She has lacerations on both soles, and, despite my best efforts, I fear I may not have been able to give them as thorough a cleaning as I would like.” He shook his head as he replaced his cup in its saucer. “It’s nigh impossible to know what muck she’s walked in, but it would be best if she stays off her feet as long as possible….” He trailed off and looked pointedly at his host. Unasked was the question of the girl’s status in the household.

  “Of course,” Rian answered. “She will remain with us as long as is necessary.” Dr. MacGregor nodded with both relief and approval. Rian raised a hand and gestured to his face. “What about these injuries?” he asked.

  “There is too much swelling to know if she has suffered any permanent damage to her eye. Hopefully I can make a better diagnosis in a day or two. She will be sore, and in time the bruises will fade. I have recommended to your housekeeper she only eat soup and perhaps soft puddings. Though her jaw is not broken, I am certain it is verra sore, and it may be a while before she feels up to tackling solid food.”

  Rian grunted. Leaning back, he placed his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers, lost in thought. The sound of throat clearing made him look up.

  “Please understand, Mr. Connor, I mean no offense,” the doctor said with a troubled look, “but I feel it is my duty to ask—”

  “I have no idea,” Rian said, cutting off the question in a tone as grim as the expression on his face. He quickly repeated the same story he had told his housekeeper, certain the pertinent facts would already be known. There was silence as the physician digested Rian’s fuller accounting.

  “I don’t know if it is a concern of yours, but your housekeeper does nae think the lass is a working girl. It is an opinion I support.”

  It occurred to Rian that Mrs. Hatch was indeed a woman of many surprises. How she was familiar enough with prostitutes to know the girl lying in the bed upstairs was not one, was beyond him. “It makes no difference at all, but I would be curious to hear your reasoning,” he said, picking up the coffee pot and refilling both their cups.

  “I can only speak for myself, Mr. Connor, but in my profession I have seen too many lassies who, due to harsh circumstances, believe this is the only way they can survive. Many are barely more than bairns their first time. Though the young lass upstairs has not known that type of life, someone has used her most cruelly.”

  “I saw the lash marks,” Rian admitted.

  “Aye, but did you know she was also bound?” Rian felt himself go cold as the doctor continued. “There was a strip of cloth still tied about her one wrist, and the bruising on her ankles would suggest movement was restricted.” The Scotsman paused before adding, “However, she does not appear to have been raped.”

  “You…examined her?” Rian sounded slightly shocked.

  “Mr. Connor, it is not often that I am called upon to treat the kind of injuries sustained by young woman you have upstairs—”

  “You surprise me, doctor. From the way you spoke I assumed you were familiar with such injuries.”

  The doctor gave him a cross look. “You misunderstand my meaning, sir. The lass in your care has all the appearance of being strong, and for the most part, healthy. As I can find no signs of previous ill treatment about her person, I must assume this is a singular event. How she came to be the victim of such abuse is unknown, but I would stake my reputation that she was held against her will. I saw no evidence of a wedding band, sexual intercourse, or any indication of having birthed a bairn, so I would rule out the probability of a husband or family of her own. And I believe the status of her virtue would be very important to the lass.”

  Feeling thoroughly chastened, Rian apologized.

  “Aye, well you’re not entirely wrong,” Dr. MacGregor told him. “Black eyes, split lips, bruises and broken bones I deal with on a regular basis, but injuries like hers?” He p
aused and shook his head. “It takes a particular type of wickedness to revel in such vicious cruelty. Be thankful, Mr. Connor, that she was spared the additional degradation of rape.”

  Rian felt his stomach roil at the thought of all that single word entailed. Life aboard ship had introduced him to some of the uglier aspects of what men could do to each other and, even though his size and fists made sure he was never touched, he had witnessed others who were not so lucky. One youth, cursed with features better suited for a drawing room, had thrown himself overboard one night. An alternative more welcome than the attention forced on him by some of his crew mates.

  “Thank you, doctor, for your candor,” Rian said. “What is your prognosis regarding her recovery?”

  “That all depends on the lass. There is no reason to suppose, with rest and proper care, she will not make a complete physical recovery. But who can tell?” He shrugged slightly.

  “Physical recovery?” Rian repeated, turning the distinction over in his mind. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  The older man sighed and stared frankly at Rian as if trying to decide how best to phrase his reply. “I canna vouch for her state of mind. ’Tis impossible to know what effect such violence to a body will leave on the senses.” Dr. MacGregor tapped his temple with his forefinger and paused, wanting to be certain he had Rian’s full attention before continuing. “I have heard of cases where a complete recovery, in the wholeness of the meaning, is never achieved. It would be remiss of me not to make you aware of the possibility.”

  “You’re saying she may never get over the attack, in her mind?”

  “It would not be unheard of.”

  Rian thought for a moment, and then gave Dr. MacGregor an unflinching look. “That,” he said firmly, “is a bridge we will cross when, and if, we come to it.”

  Chapter 14

  Standing by the side of the bed, Rian looked down at the sleeping figure. Dr. MacGregor had left with a promise to return the following morning to check on his patient. Rian had a feeling he would be in time for breakfast.

  “How is she?” he asked softly, addressing his question to Mrs. Hatch.

  “Calm enough for the present, Master Rian,” she answered. “The doctor gave her a draught to help her sleep, and left me some ointment for her back.”

  The patient was lying on her stomach, the best position for her, and her head was turned toward him. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was now deep and even. Mrs. Hatch had managed to wash the matted blood from the girl’s long hair, and it lay spun out on the pillow to dry. Rian couldn’t remember ever seeing such a color before. It reminded him of a field of winter wheat waiting for the kiss of the harvester’s scythe. A sheet had been modestly pulled up to her shoulders to cover her, but it did not hide the bulky strips of linen that crisscrossed her back, and continued down her legs.

  Following the contours of her body, Rian allowed his eyes to linger on the hollow in the small of her back, continue over the rounding curve of her buttocks and the long tapering legs that ended with unnatural looking lumps. It took him a moment to recall the doctor’s words, and realize he was looking at her heavily bandaged feet.

  “Dr. MacGregor said you don’t think she’s a working girl.” Rian kept his voice low and gave his housekeeper a wry smile.

  “That’s right, Master Rian,” she confirmed in a voice that remained firm in spite of the heated blush fanning her cheeks.

  His own curiosity got the better of him, making him ask, “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s her hair and hands.”

  He raised a brow, a sign that further clarification was needed.

  “Her hair is clean, much cleaner than a girl working the docks would have, and her hands are soft. Though she has a few calluses, they’re the kind a lady of good breeding would have. The kind your mother used to have.”

  Rian could remember the feel of his mother’s hands soothing his brow as a child, but he had no memory of whether her hands were calloused. He was amazed that Mrs. Hatch could recall such a detail. “I had no idea ladies got calluses.”

  “Those who refuse to be idle do.”

  Unable to fault the housekeeper’s logic, and knowing this was all the explanation he was going to get, Rian turned his mind to a slightly more mundane, but no less pressing concern. He hadn’t considered where to put the girl when he first entered the house. He had simply taken her to the only room that made sense to him. The room he was using. Obviously he needed to move out, but had no idea which bedroom to use. Glancing at the dresser, he noted the absence of his personal items. Mrs. Hatch, it would seem, was a step ahead, as usual.

  “Your clothing and personal belongings have been moved to the suite down the hall, if that will be satisfactory,” she told him, noticing his look, and grateful to change the subject. “The doctor advised not moving her for a day or so.”

  Rian nodded. “For as long as it takes, Mrs. Hatch.”

  He turned to leave, and then turned back and spoke in a low voice. “I think, for the time being, it would be best if news of our guest did not travel beyond this house. I leave her well-being entirely in your care, and I trust you to deal with questions from the rest of the staff as they arise, but until she can tell us who she is, and what happened to her, I see no reason to broadcast her presence.”

  “Of course, Master Rian. No one will breathe a word about her,” the housekeeper assured him. She did not need to add that anyone foolish enough to disobey her instructions would soon be looking for another position.

  He gave a satisfied nod. “Well, I will leave you to your patient then.”

  It had been a long night, and, thanks to Isabel, he had gotten little sleep. Making his way to the room he had been moved to, he quickly undressed, got into bed, and fell asleep almost immediately.

  * * * *

  When Rian opened his eyes the lengthening shadows on the wall told him he had slept through the entire morning and much of the afternoon. Far longer than he had intended. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and shook his head to clear away the last cobwebs of sleep. With a yawn, he walked to the washstand and poured cold water into the basin provided. After washing his face and hands he dried off and quickly dressed. He wanted to check if there had been any improvement in the girl’s condition, even though he was confident that Mrs. Hatch would have woken him if there had been.

  Seeing the door to the master suite ajar, he paused. The sound of low moaning came from within the room. It was similar to the fretful mewling he remembered from earlier; although more agitated it seemed to him. It was possible the girl was being attended to, having her dressings changed, and he did not wish to disturb the process. But he did not hear any sounds that would have accompanied such a task. There was no soft rustle of the housekeeper’s skirts as she moved, no gentle murmur offering comfort. Rian heard nothing save for the girl moaning.

  Concern got the better of him. He pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. The girl was completely alone, moving restlessly beneath the sheet, and the sound of her distress was turning more insistent. Rian occupied the vacant chair at the bedside, watching as the girl rolled onto her back, tossing her head from side to side, and drawing a labored breath between clenched teeth. His initial anger at finding her alone was now replaced with alarm. A basin of water was on the table next to the bed. Using the cloth left for such a purpose, Rian dipped it into the water, wrung it out and then wiped it across the girl’s brow.

  His effort seemed to soothe her a little, but as he smoothed the cloth over her forehead and across her cheeks, he could feel an unnatural heat coming from her. Placing his hand on her forehead, he confirmed the burn of fever. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing became even more labored as he listened. He began to hum softly. A tune he recalled from his childhood. One his mother had turned to if ever he or Liam had difficulty sleeping. The sound se
emed to ease the girl. Rian did not think it was his slightly off-key crooning she responded to; rather he imagined the melody was familiar. In his experience almost all lullabies sounded the same.

  He was concentrating on wiping the perspiration from her brow when she took him by surprise. Gripping his wrist with an unexpected strength, she turned her one bright blue eye to him, tears sparkling on the thick lashes like small diamonds. Her swollen lips moved painfully as she tried to speak, and Rian leaned closer so he might catch her words.

  “Please…no more. Please…don’t hurt me.”

  It was the most harrowing plea he had ever heard, and as he gently unclasped her fingers from his wrist and held her hand, a strange sensation engulfed him.

  The feeling of rage that had coursed through him earlier now returned, racing fiercely through his blood, its fury directed at her unknown assailant. But moving alongside it, with an equal intensity of passion, came a sense of protectiveness that was so strong it threatened to overwhelm him. Staring down at her, Rian saw not the injured girl in the bed, but the woman she really was. It wasn’t that hard for him to look past the swelling and discoloration, to imagine her cheeks flushed with joy, her eyes sparkling, and her generous mouth lifted in happiness. And he knew he wanted to see her look like that with his own eyes. More importantly, he wanted to be the one responsible for making it so.

  Holding her hand, he brushed a stray curl from her damp cheek and as he did so, she opened her eye again and looked directly at him. Her gaze was steady, even though the blue iris glittered wildly with an unnatural light as her fever ran its course. For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the two of them gazed upon each other, and Rian felt his throat tighten. Any words of comfort he thought to offer died in his throat as the girl struggled to speak.