Treasured

by Candace Camp

  “Don’t be a goose, Andy,” Isobel said, and her aunt erupted in a series of denials, getting up and going over to embrace Andrew. “Of course I don’t want you to turn around and rush back to London. Baillannan is your home, and you’re always welcome here.”

  “I’m not sure your husband would say that.” Andrew relaxed into a more normal expression, returning Aunt Elizabeth’s hug and patting her on the back. “Now, come, come, Auntie, I’m not going away forever. I’m just going to stay with Greg and his father for a few days. Until your memories of my bad behavior have had a chance to fade.” He cast a sheepish glance toward Isobel. “I am sorry, Izzy. You were right; I should not have done that. Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course. But perhaps it is Mrs. Kensington to whom you should apologize. And Jack.”

  “Good gad.” His eyebrows flew up in an expression of such alarm that Isobel had to cover a smile. “I mean, well, of course. When I return from Kinclannoch. Right now would be, well . . . and I feel sure Mrs. Kensington would be embarrassed by a discussion of last night, don’t you? I need to go, actually; Gregory will be wondering what happened to me.”

  “But, dear, surely you must have something to eat,” Aunt Elizabeth protested.

  “No, must run. Cook will let me grab a bit of sausage and bread, I warrant.” Hastily he made his good-byes and left the room.

  Isobel watched him go, sadness lurking in her heart. She could not help but wonder if Andrew would ever change.

  “I do worry about our boy,” Elizabeth said, surprising Isobel by echoing her thoughts. Picking up her needlework, Elizabeth sat down again. “Ah, well, much as I love those boys, it will be nice to have the house quiet again.”

  Isobel smiled and agreed and sat down at the secretary by the window to catch up on her correspondence while her aunt began to ply her needle. The morning passed in this quiet, comfortable manner until shortly before luncheon when Millicent made her way downstairs. Millicent paused in the doorway, looking pale and subdued.

  “Mrs. Kensington.” Isobel rose and went to her. “I hope you are feeling better.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Millicent reached up to give her curls a nervous pat. “I—I must apologize. I do not know what came over me last night.” She could not meet Isobel’s gaze, looking from her to Elizabeth briefly, then heading toward the sofa, where she sat down with an air of relief, as if having reached safe harbor. “I, um, felt quite faint, you know. I feared I was coming down with a fever, but I am better now.”

  “I cannot help but wonder,” Isobel said carefully, “if there might have been something amiss with that cordial Andrew brought back from Meg’s.”

  “Why, yes!” Millicent seized on the excuse with enthusiasm. “No doubt you are right. I am not accustomed to liquor, you know; my father was so strict.”

  “But, Isobel, what could be wrong with Meg’s—” Elizabeth broke off abruptly. “Oh, yes, that is probably true.”

  “I’ll just tell the maid to pour the rest of it out,” Isobel went on smoothly.

  “Oh, well . . . I don’t know if that is necessary.” Millicent’s brow wrinkled.

  “No, I insist. We dare not risk you getting ill again.”

  “I would not want to offend Sir Andrew. Such a courteous young gentleman.”

  “He will understand perfectly,” Isobel assured her. “You need not worry.”

  “Of course. Yes. Well. Thank you,” Millicent said faintly. She sat for a moment, twisting her handkerchief in her fingers. “Jack must be quite cross with me.”

  “I know he understands.”

  “Perhaps.” Millicent’s tone was doubtful. “Where is he?” She glanced around vaguely.

  “He is out riding, but I am sure he will be back before long. ’Tis almost time for luncheon.”

  “Oh. Yes, I do remember he was always fond of horses.” Millicent paused, looking down at the handkerchief she was worrying in her hands. “I . . . I think sometimes that I was not, well, not a very good mother.”

  Her words left Isobel at a loss for something to say, so she was grateful that Elizabeth quickly responded, “I am sure that is not so, Millicent. Sometimes I feel exactly the same about Andrew. Boys are so difficult to raise, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” Millicent brightened. “That’s true. Especially without his father.”

  “Indeed.”

  With Millicent ensconced with Elizabeth, Isobel seized the opportunity to leave, pleading the necessity of seeing to the accounts. She went first to the butler’s pantry, where she found Hamish and one of the maids polishing the silver, a never-ending task.

  “Edith, run upstairs to Mrs. Kensington’s chamber and dispose of the bottle of cordial there. She has decided it does not agree with her. And any other spirits that might be there,” Isobel added as the girl started out the door. Isobel turned back to Hamish. “For the time being, I have decided to stop serving wine with the meals, Hamish.”

  “Yes, miss.” If Hamish saw anything odd with her request, he did not show it. “Shall I put the whiskey and brandy decanters in the smoking-room cabinet?”

  “Excellent idea. Just give the key to the cabinet to Mr. Kensington when he returns.”

  Isobel could not be rude to Millicent and could not help but feel sorry for her. However, Isobel was determined not to allow the woman to put Jack through any more scenes such as last night’s. Her plan, she hoped, would enable her to do that without embarrassing Millicent. Satisfied that it had been put into effect, Isobel went down the hall to the study.

  In truth, she had no work to do on the accounts but was glad of the chance to be alone. She finished up her correspondence, pausing only a few times to think about Jack. When she went into the dining room later, she was disappointed he had not returned for luncheon.

  When another hour, then two, passed without his return, she began to grow concerned. By the time tea came and went without him, her stomach was dancing with nerves. She did her best to keep a calm demeanor when Millicent began to ask about Jack, reassuring her that he had undoubtedly stopped to talk to someone. But as soon as she could, Isobel fled outside to the stables to question the groom. Jack had apparently given no indication that he might stay out longer than usual or where he intended to go or when he might return. She walked back to the house thoroughly dissatisfied.

  She was being foolish, she told herself. Jack was a grown man. There was no reason why he shouldn’t stay out all day if he chose. It wasn’t as if he had told her he would return at a certain time. She was being overly nervous because he had gotten caught in the rockslide yesterday. To think that he would get caught in another was absurd. Still, she could not help but consider that if something had happened to him, if he had fallen, say, and hurt his leg or had gotten ill or been thrown from his horse or any of a host of things that could happen, he could be lying out there somewhere, unable to walk back. And she would not know.

  As she neared the house, she heard the whinny of a horse, and she whirled around, her heart lifting. A man was walking up the path toward the house, leading a horse. She started to smile, but in the next instant she realized the tall figure had light hair that glinted in the sun. In another heartbeat, she saw that the horse was indeed Jack’s. And a man’s form lay slumped against the horse’s neck.

  Jack!” Isobel lifted her skirts and ran toward the horse. She could see now that it was Coll who led the horse, and though she could not see the face of the man on the horse, she knew it was her husband. “Coll! What happened?” She stumbled to a halt, ice gripping her heart, her breath coming in sharp, harsh pants. “Oh, God. Jack. Is he all right? What happened?”

  She went to the horse, which danced to the side.

  “There, there, now, lad,” Coll said soothingly, turning to the animal and stroking his hand down his neck. “He’s scared and skittish, Iz, don’t rush at him.”

  Isobel nodded, still as a statue, her hands clasped in front of her chest. “What happened? Is he . . . is he . . .” She could
not choke out the words.

  “He’s alive, aye.” Coll’s voice was too grim for Isobel to feel much reassured. He cast her an assessing glance. “I found him lying on the ground. He’s been shot.”

  Isobel simply stared at him. A buzzing started in her ears, and her vision began to darken.

  “Izzy! Don’t you go fainting on me, lass. I canna carry the both of you.” Coll reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “No.” Isobel let herself lean into the strength of his arm for an instant as she sucked in a long breath, then straightened. “No. I won’t faint. What happened? How—”

  “I don’t know. But that’s not important now. Find someone to help get him off this horse.”

  Isobel nodded, not wasting her breath with more questions. She ran to the kitchen, calling for Hamish. Within minutes, Hamish and Coll had lifted Jack down from the horse and given him to the footmen to carry upstairs.

  Isobel started after the men, then swung back. “Coll—”

  “Aye, I know. I’m going for Meg right now.” He took off toward the dock, and Isobel whirled and ran after the others.

  The servants were halfway up the stairs when she caught up with them. The sight of Jack’s body in their hands, limp and pale, a dark red stain across his shoulder, made her heart stutter. She paused, gripping the stair rail. She had to be calm. She had to be strong. It would not help Jack in any way for her to shatter and fly apart. Taking a steadying breath, she continued up the stairs.

  “Isobel?” Elizabeth appeared at the door of the sitting room. “What’s happening? Was that Jack—”

  “Jack!” came Millicent’s alarmed voice from behind Elizabeth, and an instant later, Millicent popped her head into the hall as well. “Is something the matter with Jack?”

  “He . . . I . . . he was injured on his ride, apparently. Coll just brought him in.”

  His mother let out a shriek and sagged back against the doorjamb, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Please, don’t worry,” Isobel said quickly. “I am going in to look at him right now.”

  “I should go to him.” Millicent pushed away from the door and started determinedly toward her.

  Isobel cast a pleading glance at her aunt.

  “Millicent.” Elizabeth took the cue and caught up with the other woman, taking her by the hand. “No. Come. Don’t upset yourself. Isobel will handle it. I promise you.”

  “But I must. He’s my son.”

  Isobel turned and went into the bedroom, leaving the two women behind her. Someone else would have to deal with it if Millicent insisted on coming in to see her son. Isobel’s only concern was Jack.

  Hamish and the footmen had laid Jack out on top of the bed and were wrestling his boots off him now. Jack’s eyes were closed and his face was so pale that he looked horrifyingly like a corpse. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest reassured Isobel that he was alive. The stain across one side of his chest was a dark reddish brown, the material already stiffening with the dried blood. Isobel swallowed hard and clasped her hands together to stop their trembling.

  Behind her she heard the sound of footsteps, then Millicent’s gasp before Elizabeth led her out of the room, murmuring comfortingly. Isobel straightened her shoulders and reached down to take Jack’s hands in both hers.

  “Jack?” Her voice trembled, and she cleared her throat. “Jack, it’s Isobel. Can you hear me?”

  His eyes drifted open, their dark, vivid blue momentarily hazy. “Isobel.” His voice was barely a whisper, and Isobel leaned closer.

  “Yes. I am here. You’re home. We’re going to take care of you.”

  His tongue touched his dry lips. “Thirsty.”

  “Yes. I’ll get you some water.” She looked at Hamish, and he gestured to one of the maids, sending her running to fetch a glass. “Hamish, bring the bowl and pitcher over here. And a rag.” Isobel nodded toward the small table beside the bed.

  Hamish set the things she requested on the table. “Best get his jacket off, miss.” He reached out and grasped the lapel, starting to peel it carefully from his shoulder.

  Jack let out a gasp and a sharp oath.

  “Don’t. It’s stuck to the wound,” Isobel said quickly. “I’ll soak it first.”

  Isobel laid the cloth against Jack’s dried lips, then washed his face, her movements light and careful. Wetting the cloth again, she laid it over his wound, letting the water sink in and loosen the dried material.

  “Get me some scissors and clean cloths and bandages. Meg will be here before long, but best fetch my medicine basket in case she needs it.” As Hamish started toward the door, she added, “And a bottle of brandy.”

  “Isobel . . .”

  “Yes, I’m still here. I have your water now.” She took the cup from the maid’s hand and held it to his lips, sliding her other hand behind Jack’s head to lift it. He made a move as if to sit up, but winced and managed only to raise his head a little. She gave him a few tiny sips and eased his head back down to the pillow. “Coll went to get Meg, so she should be here soon.”

  “Meg?” He looked confused. “The girl with the potions?”

  “Yes, but she does a great deal more than that. Trust me; you will be in better hands with her than with any doctor. Besides, there is no doctor in Kinclannoch. It would take hours to get one here to see you.” She took his hand again and squeezed it. “I trust Meg.

  “In the meantime, I’m going to take this jacket off you.” The footman who had been hovering in the background stepped forward at her words, but she waved the man back. “No. I’ll just cut it. Jenny, fetch my sewing scissors.”

  Jack made a noise of protest when Isobel took the scissors to the sleeve of his coat, murmuring, “It’s new.”

  “I think that great hole in the front has already rendered it unwearable,” she told him tartly. “Now, hush.”

  She carefully cut up the sleeve and across the shoulder, then eased the jacket back from the wound. It was slow work, for even damp, the material still stuck a little to the wound. Jack let out a low groan.

  “I’m sorry, love.” Isobel looked at him. Jack was paler than ever, and his eyes wavered. Her eyes filled with tears. “Stay with me. I am almost done.”

  After she peeled back the jacket, she had to remove his waistcoat and the lawn shirt beneath. It made her stomach lurch to reveal the white shirt, now soaked with red, and it was even worse when she cut it away, exposing his chest and the raw, red wound with the black center just beneath his shoulder. She swallowed hard and glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed. They flew open, however, when she began to clean around the wound.

  “Bloody hell!” he bit out through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sorry. I am trying not to hurt you.”

  “You’re not . . . succeeding.”

  “I know.” Her voice wobbled at how faint and slurred his words were. How long could it take Coll to get to Meg’s? She looked to the clock on the mantel and was astonished to see how little time had elapsed. “Here is Hamish with the brandy.”

  Hamish helped lift Jack’s head so she could give him sips of brandy, and she thought the spirits put a bit of color in his face. She stood up to set down the glass, and Jack clenched his fingers in her skirts.

  Her throat closed with tears, and she moved back, taking his hand. “I’m here, love. I won’t go anywhere. Hold on.”

  After what seemed an eternity, the sound of quick, light footsteps came in the hall, and Meg hurried into the room.

  “Thank God you are here.” Isobel squeezed Jack’s hand and released it, and she started to step back.

  Jack made a noise and his eyes opened. “Where—”

  “Meg’s here now, love. Let her see to you. I’ll be right over here.”

  “Hello.” Meg’s voice was calm, even cheerful, as she stepped to Jack’s side. “It looks as if you landed yourself in a mess, didn’t you?” She bent over, looking intently into his eyes, then pressing her fingers to his neck. “I’m going to
look at your wound now.”

  He gave her the faintest of smiles. “Do your worst, then.”

  “Well, I will try to do my best, but you may be cursing my name.” Coll had come in after Meg and set a small wicker chest on the dresser. Meg went to it and took out a small bottle, dousing a rag with the liquid. She took up her place at the bed again, saying, “Coll?”

  “Aye. I’m here.” Her brother went to the other side of the bed and leaned over Jack, putting one hand on Jack’s chest and the other on his unhurt arm. Meg bent over him, washing away the blood to examine the wound.

  Jack choked back a curse, digging in his heels, but Coll’s firm grip kept him flat on the bed. Isobel’s stomach lurched and she looked away, clenching her fists, fighting down the cries that tried to shove their way up her throat.

  “There, now,” she heard Meg say. “That’s it for a bit. I think some brandy would do you well right now. Coll . . .”

  Meg took Isobel’s arm and pulled her away. “He has lost a lot of blood; you can see that. But I don’t think the ball pierced his lungs; there’s no sound of his lungs filling. The thing is, the ball is still in him, just below his collarbone. I have to pull it out; we cannot leave it there to fester.”

  Isobel paled, but nodded. “I understand.”

  “Coll will help me, and Hamish if I need him, but you might want to leave the room.”

  “No. I won’t leave him.” Isobel shook her head firmly.

  “I thought as much.” Meg smiled faintly and put her arm around Isobel’s shoulder. “I will try to hurt him as little as possible.”

  “I know.”

  “Promise me you won’t spring up and try to stop me.”

  “I promise.” Isobel faced Meg, taking her hand. “Please save him, Meg. I don’t . . . I can’t bear it if he . . .”

  “I’ll do everything I can.” Meg squeezed Isobel’s hand. “Now, go help Coll pour that brandy down Kensington’s throat while I get my things.”

  Meg went to the small chest, and Isobel walked over to the bed. Coll had Jack halfway sitting up and was trying to get him to drink from the cup.