The Lord's Highland Temptation

by Diane Gaston

  At a safe distance.

  * * *

  The shade of the stone lengthened as Mairi waited for Niven to return with the wagon. After what must have been more than two hours, she finally heard the horse’s hooves and the creak of the wagon wheels. There was only MacKay, the elderly stableman, to help, and the three of them had a struggle to get the man in the wagon.

  * * *

  By the time they reached the house, Davina was already there. ‘I left word for the doctor. He was out.’

  He was the only doctor for three villages. It could be hours or days before he’d come.

  ‘Did you tell Mama and Papa about the man?’ Mairi asked.

  ‘No,’ Davina answered. ‘They have not returned from calling on Laird and Lady Buchan, Mrs Cross said.’

  It was a wonder Mrs Cross, the housekeeper, knew the whereabouts of their parents. With only maids Betsy and Agnes to tend to the whole house, she spent a great deal of her time working along with them, cleaning and polishing and cleaning some more.

  ‘We can tell Mama and Papa later,’ Mairi told them.

  Niven jumped down from the wagon box. ‘What now? Where do we put him?’

  Mairi climbed out more carefully. She certainly was not going to place him in a guest room. ‘In the butler’s room.’ Their butler had left the family’s employ over a month ago.

  One of their two remaining footmen helped carry the man into the house and into the butler’s room, far enough from the rest of the house not to give their parents any bother. Mairi would wait until dinner to tell them of the stranger.

  ‘We must get him out of his wet clothes.’ Mairi looked from Niven to the footman. Both avoided her gaze. She put her hands on her hips. ‘You two must do it. You cannot expect me to. Or Davina. We will find some dry clothes for him.’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ Niven grumbled.

  Mairi left the room and closed the door behind her.

  Mrs Cross charged down the hallway. ‘What is this, Miss Mairi?’

  ‘Davina and Niven found a stranger at the standing stones. He is feverish. We could not leave him.’ Though she dearly wished they could have.

  ‘We cannot care for a sick man,’ Mrs Cross protested. ‘We are barely able to do the work that needs to be done as it is. What if he makes us all sick?’ She sounded at the end of her tether.

  ‘You and the maids will not have to go near him,’ Davina piped up. ‘We will take care of him.’

  Mairi swung to her. ‘Not you, Davina. You must not.’

  ‘Why not?’ her sister huffed.

  Because he could be dangerous, she wanted to say.

  ‘Because you are too young,’ she said instead. ‘And it isn’t proper.’

  Mairi would have to take charge of him. Her insides turned to stone at the thought.

  * * *

  That night at dinner, Mairi told her parents about the sick man in their butler’s room.

  Davina piped up, ‘We were being Good Samaritans, were we not, Mama?’

  Their mother smiled indulgently. ‘Very Good Samaritans, Davina. Of course we must care for the poor man. I hope you told Mrs Cross to care for him as if he were a member of the family,’ her mother added.

  ‘I spoke to Mrs Cross about the man’s care, yes,’ Mairi responded.

  She shot warning glances to Davina and Niven to say no more about it. Her mother and father would be thrown into a tizzy if they knew Mrs Cross could not handle one additional task. And her parents could so easily be thrown into a tizzy, like when Mairi tried to talk to them about economising, or suggest they sell something to at least pay the servants. Surely selling just one of her mother’s necklaces could pay the servants and perhaps hire new ones.

  * * *

  Later that night, when she was certain that her mother and father had retired, Mairi crossed the hall to Niven’s room.

  ‘Come with me, Niven,’ she insisted. ‘We must check on the man.’

  ‘Why do I have to go?’ Niven protested.

  ‘Because I said so!’ He would be her safeguard.

  She led him to the servants’ stairs. They climbed down to the ground floor, where both the butler and Mrs Cross had their rooms.

  They entered the butler’s room.

  Davina rose from a chair by the man’s bedside. ‘I tried to spoon him some broth, but it was no use.’

  Mairi gasped. ‘Davina! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.’

  Davina tossed her a defiant look. ‘We told Mrs Cross that we would care for the man.’

  ‘I said not you.’ Davina should be nowhere near this man. ‘You go to bed. Niven and I will remain with him.’

  She’d meant only to check on the man, not stay, but now she feared if she did not, Davina would sneak back down.

  Besides, he looked deathly ill.

  ‘I don’t want to stay the whole night,’ grumbled Niven.

  Mairi whirled on him. ‘Well, you must.’

  Davina tossed her head haughtily as she walked to the door. ‘Try to get him to take some broth.’

  Niven settled in the upholstered chair that had once sat in their library before their mother had decided on a whim to redecorate. Niven promptly closed his eyes. Mairi moved the wooden chair away from the bed. She stared at the stranger and felt her cheeks grow hot.

  He’d thrown off the covers and was naked above his waist. The nightshirt Mairi had sneaked from their father’s room lay folded on a nearby chest.

  ‘Niven! Why did you not dress him?’

  ‘He started fighting us,’ her brother replied without opening his eyes. ‘Do not fret. He’s wearing drawers.’

  The man looked even more formidable bare-chested with every muscle in stark relief. Even more disturbing were the scars criss-crossing his chest, a dozen random cuts. Mairi made herself approach the bed and pull the blankets over him. He stirred and flung the covers off again.

  ‘Niven!’ she whispered.

  But her brother had fallen asleep and she did not have the heart to wake him.

  Her gaze returned to the stranger and she saw that his breathing was ragged. She reached over and felt his forehead. It was still hot with fever.

  She must do something for him. She rose to the chest of drawers and poured water from the pitcher into the basin. She grabbed a towel and brought the basin to the bed. Dipping the towel in the water, she bathed his head. When she touched the scrape on his forehead, he groaned. His eyes opened and fixed on her.

  She gasped.

  He stared at her. ‘Are you an angel?’ His speech was slurred.

  She recoiled. ‘An angel? No.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Not heaven?’

  ‘No. Not heaven.’ She glanced towards Niven. He was still asleep. No help to her.

  ‘No,’ the man rasped. ‘Wouldn’t go to heaven.’ He swallowed and the effort seemed painful. ‘Bradleigh. Where is he?’ He tried to rise.

  ‘Bradleigh?’ Was it possible there was another man out there? ‘You were alone.’

  ‘Alone.’ His ramblings were very close to madness. He lay back down and closed his eyes. ‘Yes. Yes. I am alone.’

  His accent was English.

  Her attacker had been English.

  Reluctantly she pulled her chair closer. ‘You should drink some broth. Sit up.’

  ‘Want whisky.’ His eyes opened again, but for a mere moment. ‘To forget.’

  She bristled at the word whisky. The memory of its pungent odour struck so vividly she thought she could smell it all over again, even though it had been five years ago. This man did not smell of whisky, even though there had been bottles at his side. This man smelled of fever.

  ‘No whisky,’ she stated firmly. ‘Broth.’

  It took Mairi several minutes to compose herself enough to assist him. He could not sit on h
is own. She needed to put her arm around his bare shoulders to help him. His skin was damp with sweat, but still very hot. His muscles were rock-hard. No wonder his grip had been vice-like when he’d lunged at her. How easily he could overpower her.

  Holding her breath to still her trembling, she brought the bowl of broth to his lips.

  Her head was inches from his and her hand shook at how close and vulnerable she was. His face was deathly pale and the bristles of his unshaven jaw made him appear rakish. Still, she could not deny how fine his features were. His handsome looks did not reassure her, though. Not all ogres had warts and pointed teeth.

  He drank only a few sips before slumping against her arm. His body was too heavy for her to hold and she had to release him. He returned to his fitful sleep.

  She moved her chair a bit further away. When she glanced at him, she saw that he still tossed and turned and mumbled in his sleep. Had they helped him at all? What would happen if he died?

  What would happen if he lived?

  Of one thing she was certain. She would not allow him to hurt her family.

  As she had once been hurt.

  Chapter Two

  As the night stretched on, the man’s condition worsened. His breathing turned raspy and he often seemed in the throes of some delirium. He kept calling for Bradleigh, reliving something dreadful over and over. There in the middle of the night, all alone, deprived of sleep, Mairi, too, relived something dreadful. Rescuing this man—this Englishman—had cracked open memories she always tried to keep at bay. Now those memories assaulted her and she relived that day when a strange man—another Englishman—had seized her arm, dragged her out of sight of the village road and ruined her life for ever.

  Sometimes she could go for days without thinking of it. Then a sound, a word, even a smell, would put her right back in that shrubbery, that horrid man on top of her—

  She pressed her fingers into her forehead.

  Stop! Do not think of it.

  It had been five years ago. It was over. No one knew and she could keep pretending it had never happened.

  Mairi turned to the sick man in the bed. He was still. Quiet. Her heartbeat quickened. No. No. He could not die!

  She glanced over at Niven, who was still sound asleep. She wanted desperately to wake him so she would not be alone with a dying man, but how cruel would it be to put her brother through what she feared to endure herself?

  Finally, the man took a deep, rasping breath and sat up, startling her so much she almost tipped over in her chair.

  His feverish eyes fixed on her, but without indication he really saw her. ‘Let me die,’ he begged. ‘Me, not him. My fault.’

  His tone was bereft. Mournful. A wave of incredible sadness washed over her. She shook herself. She did not wish to feel sympathy for this man, this stranger. This Englishman.

  But she also did not want to witness him dying. She stood and gently pushed on his bare shoulders. ‘Lie down. No talk of dying now. You must rest.’

  He lay back against the pillows, breathing hard. ‘No. Better to die.’

  The pain in that statement washed through her again. She remembered wishing she could die. After what had been done to her, she’d felt too ashamed to live. She’d once stood on the red sandstone cliff, determined to throw herself over the edge, but then she’d thought of Davina and Niven, and her mother and father. They needed her. No matter her unhappiness, she would not desert them. Gradually, she’d learned to live with what had happened to her.

  The stranger rolled on to his side, facing away from her. She strained to see that his chest still moved. She shifted her chair to a better vantage point and tried to stay awake.

  * * *

  She did not succeed.

  She woke to Niven shaking her. ‘Wake up, Mairi! The doctor is here.’

  She straightened in the chair and her gaze shot to the stranger. Still breathing, thank God!

  He lay on his back, the bedcovers flung off, revealing his undressed state.

  Mr Grassie, the doctor, a stocky man who seemed perpetually in a rush, strode into the room, stopping abruptly at the sight of her dishevelled appearance and the half-naked man in the bed nearby.

  ‘Miss Wallace!’ He eyed her disapprovingly. ‘You are tending to this man?’

  She stood and lifted her chin. ‘Niven and I watched over him during the night.’ At least the doctor would not presume she’d been alone with the man.

  Mr Grassie’s gaze swept over the stranger as he approached the bed. He felt the man’s pulse, then opened his black bag and pulled out a glass tube. He pressed one end of the tube to the man’s bare chest and the other to his ear, moving it to various spots. He frowned. He put the tube away and opened the man’s eyes with his thumb and looked inside his mouth. The Englishman did not rouse.

  Finally Mr Grassie stepped back. ‘His chest is not clear. He is gravely ill. How did he come to be here?’

  ‘Niven and Davina found him at the standing stones,’ Mairi told him. ‘He’s not been sensible enough to tell us anything more.’

  Mr Grassie gestured to the scars on the man’s chest. ‘He was a soldier, I’d wager. Those are sabre cuts. I’ve seen the like before.’ Mr Grassie had once been an army surgeon.

  ‘A soldier!’ Niven’s eyes kindled with interest.

  Mairi’s brows knitted. ‘What was an English soldier doing on our property?’

  Mr Grassie looked up at her. ‘English, is he?’

  ‘In his ravings, he spoke with an English accent.’ He’d called for whisky and wished he would die. ‘What are we to do? Is there some medicine for him?’

  The doctor shrugged. ‘I’ll have the apothecary mix up something. It might help his breathing.’

  ‘Might help?’ This was not very encouraging.

  He gave her a direct look. ‘If the fever doesn’t break soon, well, there is no hope for him.’

  ‘Do you mean he could die?’ cried Niven. ‘He must not die.’

  Mr Grassie patted Niven’s shoulder. ‘Only time will tell, son.’ He picked up his bag. ‘Give him broth or tea. He’ll need the fluids to flush out the fever. And limit who tends to him. I’ve seen this grippe in the village. It is highly contagious.’

  That did it. Mairi would tend to him alone and no one besides Niven would enter the room.

  ‘Shall I stop above stairs and report this to your father or mother?’ the doctor asked.

  She knew he was in a hurry. ‘I will tell them.’ Or some version of the doctor’s report. She did not wish her parents to fret. In any event, they were likely still abed. The morning was not yet very advanced.

  ‘I will come tomorrow if I can.’ Mr Grassie shook his head. ‘But there is a lot of this sickness about.’

  ‘Come when you can, sir.’ She walked him to the door. ‘I’ll have Niven or one of the footmen collect the medicine from the apothecary this afternoon.’

  The doctor nodded and took one more glance at the patient. ‘I wish I had more to offer.’

  So did Mairi.

  As he was crossing the threshold, Davina appeared in the hallway. ‘Good morning, Mr Grassie,’ she said brightly. ‘How is he?’

  Mr Grassie hesitated to answer her.

  Mairi broke in. ‘Let Mr Grassie be on his way, Davina. I’ll fill you in.’

  The doctor nodded gratefully and hurried away.

  Niven came up behind Mairi. ‘He said the man could die, Davina!’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Davina cried.

  Niven couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Why alarm Davina that way?

  ‘We will not let him die,’ Mairi assured her, although the truth was more uncertain. ‘We will take care of him.’

  Davina gave her an earnest look. ‘I will help. What can I do?’

  Mairi certainly would not risk Davina becoming ill. ‘The doctor said he is ve
ry contagious and that we must limit who is in contact with him, so I do not want you in his room.’ Even if there was no chance of contagion, she did not want Davina in the presence of a half-naked Englishman. ‘I’ve already been exposed, so I will continue to care for him.’

  ‘I can help, too,’ Niven said. ‘I’ve also been exposed.’

  ‘Yes, you can help,’ she agreed. ‘But I must be the only one who touches him. No sense you getting sick.’

  ‘I must do something, too!’ Davina insisted.

  ‘Help Mrs Cross. She really needs help and I won’t be able to assist her,’ Mairi said. ‘Or go with Niven to pick up the medicine.’

  Davina pursed her lips. ‘Oh, very well.’

  She stormed off, and Mairi, still very weary, returned to the bedside of their patient.

  * * *

  After the doctor left, Mairi sent MacKay and John out to look for this other man the Englishman kept raving about. Had he called him his brother? No one was found, but they did retrieve a satchel she presumed belonged to the Englishman. She and Niven searched through it and discovered a purse full of money, but nothing that told them anything about the owner. At least there would be money to pay Mr Grassie, which was one worry off Mairi’s shoulders.

  * * *

  The Englishman remained feverish for two days straight. Mairi fed him the medicine the doctor had ordered. She pushed him to drink broth and tea. She bathed his skin with cool cloths and remained by his side with only short breaks to eat and change clothes. She no longer insisted Niven stay with her. The man was no threat to anyone in his state and she was long past any limit propriety would dictate. She did ask Niven to fetch things for her and to sit with the man while she caught a little sleep, but that was all.

  The doctor returned on the second day and declared it a hopeful sign that their patient was still alive, but he also cautioned that the fever needed to break soon.