This afternoon, after leaving Ohenewaa, Millicent had returned to Aytoun’s room and had watched him sleep. While there, she had pondered the physical ailments that were plaguing him. He had broken his arm and both his legs over six months ago, and she had no idea why he still could not use them. Gibbs said that one of the doctors had blamed it on the fall, referring to it as a form of “palsy.” The dowager had commented about the earl’s melancholia, but had not related it to his injuries, only to the accident. Considering that Aytoun had lost his wife and his independence of movement in the same horrible fall, Millicent could well understand the thinking of her mother-in-law.
As she approached her husband’s bedchamber, Millicent thought about melancholia. It was an ailment that she herself had struggled with during one of the lowest points in her marriage to Wentworth. She had lost a child in the first part of her pregnancy because of the squire’s violent rage. Physically beaten and feeling utterly defeated, Millicent had been more than ready to take refuge in the oblivion of the illness for the rest of her life. But at that stage of their lives, Wentworth had not been ready to commit her to Bedlam. He had still needed her for his social climbing. It was only when her friend Rebecca had come to the neighboring estate with Lord Stanmore that she had started fighting the disorder.
At the earl’s door, she could hear raised voices, and she lifted a hand to knock. Neither man paused or looked at her when Millicent and the valet entered.
“You will do as I order, you cankered piece of dung, or you can just carry your wretched carcass out of my sight. Do you hear, you miserable, disloyal, dog-faced…”
Millicent paused just inside the door with John right behind her. She stared as the vehemence poured out of her husband. The number of words he had uttered surpassed the total he had spoken in nearly a fortnight.
“Curse me as ye wish, m’lord, but ye’ll not be getting a drop of this poison until yer wife gives her blessing.” Gibbs stood between the bed and the table that contained the medicine.
“You filthy, spineless cur,” the earl spat out. “You take orders from me, not from that foul bitch. Do you hear me?”
Gibbs turned in that instant and saw her. He shook his head in disgust as his master continued cursing one and all with equal vigor. Walking away from the bed, he joined Millicent by the door. “Do not take anything of what he says to heart, m’lady. Believe me, this is not his lordship talking. I think ‘tis best if ye left him to us for tonight. He looks to be no company for man or beast.”
She stayed where she was, refusing to be intimidated again in her own house. “Why is he so angry, Mr. Gibbs?”
“He wants the medicine. Stubborn as a goat he is, mum. He says he’ll take no food, but only the laudanum.”
“Is he in any physical pain?”
“I do not think so, m’lady,” Gibbs answered in a low voice. “Those bones of his are long healed. Not that he ever complained of pain whilst they were mending.”
Millicent sent a sharp look at the bed as the raging maniac referred to her as a lump of stale, mouse-eaten cheese.
“His lordship wants the medicine,” the servant repeated, “because he knows ‘tis sure to calm his mind. It makes him sleep, if ye wish to call it that—fretful as ‘tis—but at least he rests.”
The earl grew quiet, and Millicent realized that he was trying to catch his breath. For a moment, genuine worry overshadowed her desire to teach her new husband a lesson in manners. “Is this the worst you have seen him?”
“Physically? Nay, m’lady. But as far as that viper’s tongue of his, he’s lashing out quick enough to kill a company of Dutch mercenaries.”
And as if to prove Gibbs correct, Aytoun unleashed another string of obscenities.
“What do you think would happen if we refrained from giving him any more opium?”
Gibbs was astonished. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, m’lady. I’m no doctor. But I can tell ye that his lordship wasn’t sleeping after the fall. Before he started taking the laudanum, he was miserable as a starving hound, though, and always made certain that every poor creature around him was sure to be miserable, too.”
Millicent made a quick study of the chamber. Her husband was propped up in bed. The curtains of the windows were tightly drawn, holding out the chill of the winter evening. The brandy and the bottle of opium sat on a table. As she looked back at Aytoun, Will came in behind her, mumbling an apology and leading a servant girl who was carrying a bowl of soup and some bread on a tray.
Millicent told herself that she could handle this.
“None of you need to suffer his lordship’s wrath tonight.” She motioned for the servant to put the tray down on a table. “I want you all to go and catch up on your sleep. I should like to keep my husband’s company for the night.”
*****
After a year and a half, Mary Page still considered herself new to the place and the job. Widowed as a young woman when her husband had died in a carriage accident in London, she had worked for almost ten years as a housemaid, putting in long, backbreaking hours of work, and getting treated with minimum respect. Then she had seen Lady Wentworth’s advertisement for a housekeeper.
Mary had been impressed with Sir Oliver, and even more so with the mistress since meeting her. And she was forever grateful for the position and the opportunity she was given in coming down to Hertfordshire. And being new at the job no longer bothered the housekeeper, for the help was very good. The freed slaves worked as well as or better than the native English workers, and Amina, Jonah’s wife, had become a good friend to her as well as a trusted helpmate.
Indeed, Mary Page loved her position, and she found she quickly came to love Melbury Hall as well. The addition of the Earl of Aytoun and his people was no hardship, either. In fact, she thought the mistress and the household had all adjusted to it quite readily.
Sitting in a settle by the fire in the servants’ hall, her needlework on her lap, she raised an eyebrow as two of Lord Aytoun’s personal servants trudged in from the master’s bedchamber. When the tall Highlander appeared a few minutes later with a troubled expression in his eyes, Mary fought down the fluttering feeling she felt in her stomach whenever she saw him. She sensed, though, that something was amiss.
“Good evening, Mr. Gibbs. You and your lads are taking a holiday this evening?”
“Aye. Though ‘tis not to our liking, I must say, Mrs. Page. Your mistress insists on staying alone with his lordship for the night. The lass does not know what she’s getting herself into.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye, mum.” With a frown etched on his face, the Highlander sat on the settle beside her.
Mary spoke to him in a low voice. “Don’t think I mean any disrespect, sir, for I have great affection for the mistress, but this is the second time she’s been married. I’d say she knows her way about.”
The dark brows of the Scotsman lifted in surprise. “She knows her way about what, Mrs. Page, if I might be asking ye?”
Mary felt a blush rise up in her cheeks. “I was simply jesting to ease your mind, Mr. Gibbs.”
“Och, well. I’m delighted to know that you care enough to be doing any such thing, Mrs. Page. I believe that in the course of this past sennight ye haven’t seen fit even to return a lonely Highlander’s morning greeting.”
“I’m quite sure I have treated you with all due civility, sir.”
“Ah, civility.” He sighed dramatically. “’Tis come to that, now?”
Mary felt herself growing warm. Despite his size and his fierce attitude to many around him, she found Mr. Gibbs to be quite attractive. Mary smiled as she remembered Vi’s comment to a group of giggling serving maids when they were discussing the looks of the newcomers. Handsome enough, she’d said, if you consider hairy monkeys attractive.
“But now ye smile.” His dark gaze lingered on her face. “Now, to what should I contribute this glimpse of heaven?”
“Surely, I don’t know. It must have been something I
ate for dinner,” she answered flippantly. “But about your master. In spite of anything you have heard about her ladyship’s circumstances during her first marriage, Lady Aytoun has worked hard to become a very capable individual. His lordship will do perfectly well in her care.”
“To be honest, I was more worried about her. I doubt the lass has ever faced anyone with a temper as foul as he possesses this night.”
“From everything I’ve heard, sir, she has survived a husband who was the devil incarnate. I think you can put your mind at ease.” Mary patted his hand confidently. “She can handle him, Mr. Gibbs. She can handle him.”
****
The heat of his fury was scorching the inside of his skull. He could feel it swelling in uncontrolled waves, burning the skin of his face, of his neck. His chest was a knot of anger, and if he could get his one good hand around her throat, he’d go whistling to the gallows.
Not much chance of having luck that good, though, Lyon thought as he continued to stare at the closed door. The stubborn woman was moving about far beyond his reach—sliding a chair here, straightening a table there, ambling about the room as if nothing were amiss. Why, the bloody woman was simply carrying on and pretending that she was not responsible in the slightest for turning those dogs he once thought of as loyal servants against their master. Like cattle at feeding time, the feebleminded cowards had dutifully lined up and marched from the room at her command.
He finally exploded. “Get Gibbs.”
“You were looking for something?” she asked in a disgustingly cherubic voice.
He wanted to throw up again. “Aye. I said, get Gibbs!”
“I’m very sorry, m’lord, but Mr. Gibbs just left. And he won’t be coming back for quite some time.” She moved to the foot of his bed, a smile plastered on her face, behaving as if she were not bothered at all by his barking at her. “But I am here if there is something that you need.”
He had been aware of her presence from the moment she’d arrived. Strange, he thought, that even in the midst of the haze and the anger, he was becoming aware of her. And how curious that even the horrible names that he called her seemed to have no effect on the woman. In becoming his wife, she had promised to take care of him, but Lyon knew that many a woman in her position might be thinking right now about how to rid herself of baggage as foul as he must seem to her. He prayed that she was thinking those exact thoughts. Poison would finish it all.
“Give me a drink.”
She walked away from the table of medicines. He was annoyed to see her pouring a glass of what he assumed was water. Lyon waited until she came back, glass in hand.
“Can you manage this yourself, m’lord, or do you need help drinking it?”
This close she didn’t look quite so confident. When Lyon reached out with his hand, he saw the tremor in hers. He could make a grab for her throat now.
Almost against his wishes, he found his fingers closing around the glass. As soon as she released it, though, he let it fall.
The glass dropped onto the bed, spilling the clear liquid before tumbling off onto the floor. It didn’t break, and he watched it roll away.
“I am sorry. I thought you had it,” she said, immediately reaching for a towel and starting to soak the wetness from the blankets.
“Get me my drink. I’ll have no more of whatever that was.”
Her eyes snapped up to his. They narrowed as the realization flashed upon her that it wasn’t an accident. She backed away quickly and picked the glass up from the floor.
Lyon waited, only vaguely pleased with the small victory. The weakness was back and the nausea as well. But he could only remain quiet for so long. He fully expected her to do as he commanded.
His mood soured even more than before when she sat down in a chair across the room. “You vile, inhuman wretch. Do you defy the doctor’s o-orders to give me the med…medicine?” The struggle to form words smoothly increased Lyon’s anxiety. He needed the medicine now. “If your p-plan is to kill me, then do it, by the devil. But don’t t-torture me. Listen, damn you. I need it Now!”
His plea must have penetrated her thick skull, for he saw her rise to her feet again.
“I shall give you that only if you eat something first.”
“I have no desire for food,” he snapped.
“You need to try, all the same.” She started sitting down again.
“You are a hateful, withered hag,” he said in a raspy voice. “I know now for certain that I d-died at the bottom of that fall, for this is hell. You are my eternal punishment.”
“Say whatever you wish to me, but know that you shall receive the medicine only after we get some food into you.”
“No. I’ll have it before.” Lyon wished he had throttled her when he had the chance. “You will give it to me now.”
“Not before you eat,” she responded without any further consideration. “That mistake was made today at noon. And last night. And God knows how many times before that. No one can remember when was the last time you had a meal.”
“You are no woman. You have no warmth in you.” He turned his face away. “Damn you. You can see that I cannot move. I have no appetite. Medicine, however, I need.”
She went to stand by the tray of food, and he watched her. “Think of this as medicine, too.”
Lyon cursed ferociously at the world, including in his verbal barrage Gibbs and Millicent and his damnable luck at being stuck with such a bloodless, unfeeling villain. When he leaned back to catch his breath, she approached with the tray of food. He considered upending it, grabbing the tray, scaling it across the chamber, and sending her scampering on her merry way. But already exhaustion was setting in. His body had begun to tremble badly, and his stomach was knotted with cramps and nausea. He just wanted the opium-laced brandy. He just wanted to forget.
“I should like you to feed yourself.”
He turned his murderous glare on her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers still clutching the tray tightly.
“You have one good hand. You feed yourself, and I shall ready your medicine.” She positioned the tray on his lap. “But I warn you. If you intentionally spill this food, then I shall need to go to the kitchen for some more. So keep in mind how much this will delay you from receiving your precious medicine…if that is what it is.”
He continued to glare at her, making certain she saw the extent of his hostility. The damn woman, though, simply carried on as if nothing were wrong. She removed the cover from a bowl of broth. She put a spoon near his left hand and spread a napkin on his chest. Then she stood back, looking triumphant and watching him expectantly. He moved his hand over the spoon, and she turned to the table holding the tray with the bottles of brandy and opium.
If she wanted this to be a battle of wills, Lyon thought, then he could easily be the victor. She started counting the tincture of opium, drop by drop, into a small glass. He watched her add the brandy.
“I have done my part.” She raised the glass to him. “Now let me see you do your part.”
He waited for a long moment, but the desire for the laudanum overwhelmed his pride. Picking up the bowl of broth crudely, he brought it to his lips and—almost against his will—took a sip.
It was the smile of approval that crept across her face that killed him. Without a word, he flung the bowl away from him, soaking himself and the blankets with the broth. The bowl broke into a dozen pieces on the floor.
She didn’t raise her voice or complain. She didn’t even look startled, though the smile was gone from those lips.
Instead, calmly, she placed the glass on the tray and deliberately tipped it over.
“Oh, how clumsy of me. I have spilled your medication.” Picking it up, she looked at the glass closely. “And only a couple of droplets are all that are left, it appears. I do hope this will suffice for the night.”
He should have killed her. Next time he had the chance, he vowed, he would.
***
“So, ye
vixen. Tell me what’s new at Melbury Hall.”
“Lady Aytoun spends a lot of time looking after her new husband. But other than that, nothing to speak of.” Violet stretched leisurely on top of Ned’s naked body. Her fingers played in the thick mat of blond hair on his chest. “She’s sending me to St. Albans this Saturday to buy some woolens and other things. While I’m there, I might get a chance to stop and see my mother and my grandmum. Will you come with me?”
“Nay, lass. I’m far too busy a man to be traipsing around the country after ye.”
“Then perhaps I can slip away some Sunday when you’re free. I’m anxious to have you meet my family.”
“What for?” Ned asked shortly. “Are ye so anxious to tell them ye’ve got yourself a good lover?”
“No. I just thought that since we’ve become so close,” she said, blushing, “I just thought, now that you’re my man—”
“What’s this?” Ned rolled over on top of her. He smiled that devilish smile that made her quiver inside. She could feel his huge member was hard again. “Your man? And here ye’ve only come to my bed but twice.”
“Aye, that’s true, but now that you’ve said you love me--”
“To be sure, lass. But ‘tis not a good thing, my wee Violet, making me wait more than a week before coming to see me.”
He spread her legs with his knee and pushed his shaft deep into her. She was still sore from his rough handling of her when she’d first come to him tonight, but she bit her lip and didn’t complain. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him tightly and hoped this time he would go slower.
“A man needs good reason ‘fore meeting family, vixen.”
“More reason than this?” she asked in a small voice.
“Aye. Much, much more,” he said, beginning to slide within her. “But ye’re a smart one. Ye’re learnin’ all the time.”
An hour later, Violet felt somewhat queasy as she ran back to Melbury Hall. He had done it to her again, and she’d let him. That was not the truth. She had gone to his bed willingly, only to walk away unhappy with the way he treated her. What was worse—and she hardly wanted to admit it, even to herself—she was already starting to doubt his words. He had said he loved her, but he was not interested in meeting her family. He told her how pretty she looked, but in the next breath he was asking the news of Melbury Hall. Why did he care about the place anyway? It was not like he worked there or even knew anyone there but her.
Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) Page 9
