Читать книгу The Lord’s Highland Temptation - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 12

Lucas woke to daylight and a strange room. It took a moment to remember. He was in the house of a Scottish baron and had been cared for by his angel of a daughter—or had that merely been another fevered dream? His head pounded, his mouth tasted foul and his throat felt parched.

He sat up in bed, waiting for a moment until his head stopped spinning, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. When his bare feet touched the cool slate tiles of the floor, he looked down at himself. He wore only his drawers. Where were his clothes? Where was his satchel? His money?

Folded on a nearby chest was a nightshirt. Lucas tossed it aside and opened the chest. There were some clothes in there, but not his own. He rummaged through the chest and found a shirt and breeches that had been made for a more corpulent man. They would fit, especially with the set of braces at the bottom of the chest. Still seated on the bed, he put them on, having to rest at intervals from the exertion. When he gathered strength again he rose and took a step towards the door. His legs wouldn’t hold him and he collapsed on to the bed again.

Voices sounded from outside the room. One voice came closer. A woman. A familiar voice. ‘He is in here.’

The door opened and the lovely creature of his dreams entered the room. Lucas expelled a grateful breath. She was real. In the daylight from the window he could clearly see she was taller than most women, elegantly so. Her mahogany hair was coming loose from its pins, framing her face with its arched brows, nearly perfect nose and lips and an unmistakable look of intelligence.

He managed to stand.

‘You are awake.’ She sounded surprised. ‘And dressed.’

He gestured to the chest. ‘I found some clothes.’

With her was an older man in a black suit, carrying a black-leather bag. ‘This is the doctor, Mr Grassie.’ She turned to the doctor. ‘As you can see, he is much better.’

The doctor had seen him before? Of that he had no memory.

His legs weakened and he grasped the bedpost to keep from falling. ‘Forgive me. My strength fails.’

‘No need for apology,’ the doctor answered. ‘Please do sit on the bed and let me examine you.’

The doctor opened his bag and took out a glass tube, which he placed against Lucas’s chest. ‘Breathe in and out.’ He moved the tube to various spots on Lucas’s chest before putting it down. ‘Your lungs are much improved. Almost no congestion. How do you feel?’

‘My head aches and my throat feels dry.’ Lucas stole a glance at the young woman, who waited by the door with her arms crossed. There was a warmth in her expression that loosened one of the knots inside him.

‘Open your mouth,’ the doctor ordered.

Lucas complied.

After looking inside Lucas’s mouth, the doctor stepped back. ‘Your throat is better, too. A little red still, but that might be from lack of fluids. You’ve had a bad case of the grippe. There is too much of it going around. It can be very contagious, you know. Your fever has broken, so that is a good sign, although it will return if you exert yourself and you might not be able to throw it off next time. You need rest.’

The baron’s daughter frowned.

Lucas turned back to the doctor. ‘Mr Grassie, I presume I am imposing on this family’s hospitality. Perhaps I should gather my belongings and retire to an inn somewhere.’

The doctor shook his head. ‘No, no. That you must not do. You could spread this all over the county. Rest here. At least ten days. If your symptoms continue to abate, you will not be contagious by then.’ He turned to the young woman. ‘He must rest. You can accommodate him, can you not?’

A worry line creased her brow. ‘I suppose so.’

Had Lucas misread her earlier warmth?

Lucas directed his gaze to her. ‘I will not stay if I am imposing.’

The doctor packed his bag again and shut it. He glared at the young woman. ‘Miss Wallace, shall I speak to your father or mother about whether this man may recuperate here?’

So her name was Miss Wallace. Not married, then. An eldest daughter.

Her face coloured. ‘You need not trouble Papa or Mama, Doctor,’ she retorted in as sharp a tone. ‘We will not turn away a sick man.’

‘Excellent.’ The doctor picked up his bag.

‘About payment?’ Miss Wallace sounded uncertain as the doctor walked towards the door.

Lucas spoke up. ‘I am well able to pay. Assuming my purse is with my clothing.’

‘I will send a bill,’ the doctor said. He hurried out of the door without once asking Lucas’s name.

Lucas’s gaze met Miss Wallace’s and held, but before either spoke, two young people burst into the room.

‘You are awake!’ The girl appeared to be a younger version of the beautiful Miss Wallace, this one on the verge of womanhood rather than in its finest bloom.

With her was a youth, a brother by the family looks they shared. He, also, was younger than Miss Wallace. He reminded Lucas of the young ensigns sent to war when barely breeched.

‘How are you, sir?’ the boy asked. ‘Mairi said your fever broke during the night. What did Mr Grassie say?’

Her name was Mairi.

Mairi Wallace ignored her brother’s question and shooed them back to the doorway. ‘You two must leave at once. Wait for me. I will be right out.’ She closed the door and turned back to Lucas. ‘My brother and sister. Your rescuers.’

‘I hope I might thank them,’ he said, although he wasn’t yet sure whether he was glad he had not perished.

He tried to stand, this time bracing himself against the side of the bed. ‘Miss Wallace, no matter what the doctor said, if you prefer I leave—’

Her expression softened again. ‘No. No. We will not turn you out. You must forgive me if that is what you thought.’

He looked around the room, which seemed plainly furnished and devoid of decoration. ‘Whose room am I in? I gather this is not a guest room.’

She nodded, but her expression seemed...uneasy. ‘This is our butler’s room. He...he left our employ recently, so this room was not occupied. The silver is kept in another room, not here. And, for now, the housekeeper holds the keys.’

Why mention the silver? Did she think he might pinch it?

He looked down at himself. ‘Are these the butler’s clothes I am wearing?’

‘They were in the chest? We did not realise he’d left anything behind.’

Had the man left in haste? Lucas wondered. ‘And my clothing? My satchel?’

‘They were washed and brushed,’ she replied. ‘Possibly they are dry now. I will check. I charged Niven with keeping your purse.’

‘Niven?’

‘My brother.’

The intruding youth, no doubt.

She turned to leave.

He stopped her. ‘Miss Wallace, wait.’

She turned back.

‘You should know who I am.’ It was on the tip of his tongue to introduce himself as Lucas Johns-Ives, son of the Earl of Foxgrove, but was he not now Viscount Bradleigh—his father’s heir—his brother’s title? He could not bear to be that person, could not bear taking his brother’s name and rightful place. Disappointing his father. He wanted none of it.

‘I am... Lucas. John Lucas.’

That was who he would be, plain John Lucas.

She nodded and smiled, albeit sadly. ‘I will bring you something to eat, Mr Lucas. You must be hungry.’

He smiled back and fancied his smile a reflection of hers. ‘I am ravenous, Miss Wallace.’

* * *

Mairi’s heart raced as she stepped into the hallway. In daylight, without the pallor of illness, he was quite the handsomest man she’d ever seen, even with three days’ worth of beard. Even more disturbing was the connection she felt with him, as if nursing him through his fever had somehow linked him to her in a way she did not understand. She shivered, trying to shake the feeling away.

Davina and Niven accosted her.

‘Is he recovered?’ Davina asked. ‘What did Mr Grassie say?’

Niven chimed in. ‘What was wrong with him?’

What was wrong was that he was a stranger—an Englishman—who would now be a guest in their house for at least ten days.

She pushed past them. ‘I need to speak with Cook. He needs food and water.’

They followed her to the kitchen.

‘At least answer us!’ Davina cried.

Mairi held up a finger to warn them to give her a moment.

Cook was busy stirring something in a pot over the fire.

‘Mrs MacNeal, our patient is hungry. What might I bring him?’

Mrs MacNeal’s wrinkles creased into a sympathetic look. ‘Oh, the poor lad. I take it he is feeling better?’ Cook had kept her supplied with broth and tea for him the last three days.

‘He is much better,’ she replied. ‘His fever has broken.’

Cook winced as she tottered over to a shelf where the servants’ dishes were stacked. The poor woman’s arthritis must be paining her. She ought to be given a nice pension and a little cottage on the estate, not running the kitchen with only one kitchen maid to help.

‘Let me help you,’ Mairi said, hurrying to her side.

‘Thank you, Miss Mairi.’ The old woman pointed to a high shelf. ‘One of those bowls and a plate will do. The soup is ready. I’m keeping it warm for dinner. And there is fresh bread.’

‘I’ll cut some bread,’ Davina offered. She skipped over to the bread box and took out a loaf.

‘He’ll want some ale, I expect,’ Niven added. ‘Shall I get him some?’

Mairi nodded.

‘I’ll slice some cheese for him, as well,’ Davina said. She carried some cheese to the worktable.

Cook, Davina and Niven arranged a very generous tray for the Englishman.

‘Now tell us about him,’ Davina demanded. ‘Who is he? What did the doctor say?’

Of course they would be curious about the man she’d rescued.

Mairi replied, ‘His name is John Lucas.’

‘But what is his regiment?’ Niven asked. ‘I thought he was a soldier.’

‘I did not ask him about being a soldier. He has only this morning been out of danger.’ Mairi glanced from Niven to Davina. ‘Mr Grassie believes he is much improved, but he must rest. And he still may be contagious, so you must stay away from his room.’

‘I do not mind helping,’ Davina said.

Mairi frowned. ‘Better it be Niven. It would not be proper for you to be in his room.’

Davina’s chin lifted. ‘Then it is not proper for you either, Mairi. But you were in his room day and night, were you not?’

Mairi could see that Cook listened to their every word. ‘Only because he had the fever and we had to limit how many were exposed to it. In any event, now that the fever is gone, it should be Niven who attends him.’

‘But I won’t be here!’ Niven protested. ‘Not tomorrow. I am off to Crawfurd’s tomorrow.’

William Crawfurd was Niven’s childhood friend, about to embark on a Grand Tour abroad—something out of the question for Niven since both his tutor and Davina’s governess had left for positions that would actually pay them.

‘Well, attend him today.’ Mairi would worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

She followed Niven down the hallway, knocked on the butler’s door and opened it, stepping inside long enough to see Mr Lucas rise.

‘Miss Wallace.’ He nodded.

Again she felt that pull towards him.

She stepped aside so Niven could enter. ‘My brother. Niven.’

The Englishman’s eyes left hers only briefly to acknowledge Niven.

‘He brought you food,’ she said unnecessarily.

Before the man could say another word, she left the room.

* * *

The youth carrying the food tray grinned at Lucas. ‘You’ll have to forgive Mairi. She has a bee in her bonnet about something, I’ll give you that.’

‘I understand she tended to me these last three days,’ Lucas responded. ‘She must be quite fatigued.’

‘Well, I helped some,’ the boy said. He lifted the tray slightly. ‘I’ve brought you some food. Shall I set the tray on the table or would you like to eat on the bed?’

‘The table.’ After the doctor had left, Lucas had forced himself not to crawl back under the bedcovers, but he’d not progressed beyond sitting on the bed’s edge.

He rose, holding on to the bedpost until he knew his legs would support him. He marshalled enough energy to walk the few steps to the chair by the table. He nearly collapsed into it.

‘Mairi said your name is Lucas.’ Niven set the tray in front of him.

He ought to have introduced himself. ‘That is so.’

The boy flopped down on a second wooden chair at the table. ‘Mr Grassie said you were in the army, because of the scars on your chest. Is that so?’

They’d seen his scars? Of course they had. He’d been nearly naked.

‘Not any more,’ he replied, wishing the boy would probe no further. He tore off a piece of bread and swallowed a small bite. ‘Tell me what you know of how I came to be here,’ he said instead. ‘Your sister said very little of it.’

The boy was eager to answer. ‘Davina and I found you. Davina is my other sister. You saw her before when we came in.’

He told the story in great detail with emphasis on the speed of his running to seek help from his older sister and again to send for the wagon that had carried Lucas back from one of the hills on their property, a hill that possessed a stone circle. Flashes of memory returned. The rain. Staggering to a stone that kept the cold wind from his back. Voices—Niven’s and Davina’s voices, he now surmised.

Mairi Wallace had waited with him until the wagon came. It seemed she’d been at his side right from the beginning.

‘How was it your sister was the one to care for me?’ Why not a servant? Or their mother?

‘Mairi? She wouldn’t let anybody else,’ the boy responded. ‘Except for me. I sat with you when she had to eat or rest or something, but she wouldn’t let me touch you. Said nobody else should get close.’

Because they could become ill? What about her? She had risked illness tending to him.

Lucas took a long gulp of ale. ‘Were there no servants who could help?’

‘Mairi would not hear of it,’ Niven replied. ‘We don’t have that many servants, anyway. Several have left us recently.’ Niven leaned back, balancing on the back legs of the chair. ‘So Mairi thinks she has to do everything to make up for it.’ The chair slipped, but he caught it in time to right it again. ‘If Mama knew it, she’d be very cross.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘Mama thinks the servants are still doing all the work. I tease Mairi that I’ll tell Mama she’s doing it. Or making Davina and me do it. Mairi becomes too iron-handed at times. She can be the most insufferable nag.’

Mairi sounded incredibly burdened. More so now with him barely able to stand.

‘Why did your servants leave?’ Lucas asked.

‘I think they wanted to get paid,’ Niven replied. ‘Things are a little tight for us at the moment.’

That was quite an admission. Lucas had apparently wound up in a household that could not afford one extra mouth.

The boy chattered on as Lucas finished the soup. An hour passed pleasantly enough and Lucas learned more about the family than he suspected Niven’s older sister would have wished.

There was a rap on the door and Niven called out, ‘Come in.’

Miss Wallace—Mairi—entered. Lucas stood, but braced himself on the table.

‘Niven!’ She glared at her brother. ‘I’ve been searching for you. What are you doing in here? You should not be bothering this man.’

Niven looked petulant. ‘We were conversing. Conversing isn’t bothering.’

‘It is when he’s unwell,’ she retorted. ‘Take the dishes back to the kitchen, then wait for me. I need your help.’ She turned to Lucas. ‘I’ve brought your purse, Mr Lucas.’ She handed it to him.

‘Thank you, Miss Wallace.’ His hand brushed hers as he took it from her. ‘I appreciate that.’

Niven glanced towards Lucas and rolled his eyes. ‘I suppose I must do her bidding. Good day, Lucas.’

‘Thank you for bringing the food.’

‘Mairi made me do it.’ The boy grinned. ‘But I did not mind.’

‘Go!’ Miss Wallace commanded.

Niven slowly slid off the chair and ambled from the room.

Miss Wallace turned her lovely blue eyes on Lucas. ‘I am terribly sorry. He wasn’t supposed to stay.’

‘He was no bother,’ Lucas assured her. ‘Thank you for the food, Miss Wallace. I am much restored.’

She shrugged. ‘Cook had the soup already made.’

Her gaze caught his and held. Her presence soothed him. He did not want her to leave.

She glanced towards the door and back. ‘Do you require anything else?’

He would not hold her there, much as he wished to.

He rubbed his chin. ‘My satchel? My razor should be in it.’

She nodded. ‘Your satchel was also hung to dry. That night you spent out on the hill, it rained quite heavily.’ She started for the door. ‘I will have Niven bring it to you.’

Not her?

‘I will leave you now.’ Their gazes caught again, but she turned towards the door.

‘Miss Wallace?’

She looked back at him.

‘I am grateful to you. More than I can say.’

She lifted the latch on the door and walked out.

Lucas was left alone with only his memories and regrets. He closed his eyes, wishing he had the company of a bottle of whisky. Or two.