Sleepless in Scotland

by May McGoldrick

  “So,” he said, looking at Phoebe, “in bringing chaos to the house, upsetting your hosts, and raising an uproar that caused men from two counties to leave their farms and join the search, the consequences of your irresponsible behavior are a few scratches on the side of your face.”

  She was good at deflecting reprimands, but this man had a way of delivering a sharp jab, and he caught her off guard.

  He shifted his attention again to Millie. “And the scratches will heal soon enough and leave no scars.”

  “Doctor,” Millie began curtly, “I hope you know that my sister—”

  “I know that being where she doesn’t belong and wandering alone in unfamiliar places are dangerous pastimes,” he said, cutting her off sharply and glaring at Phoebe. “If you saw the anguish you caused Captain Bell, after all he’s been through.”

  “I didn’t . . .” Phoebe said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t go into that well . . .”

  “No?” He turned on his heel. “Watch for bouts of hysteria in her,” he ordered Millie. “Forgetfulness, fever, confusion, or memory loss.”

  None of which would be as disagreeable as enduring this man’s manner for even a moment longer.

  The doctor started for the door. “Have Captain Bell send for me if any of those symptoms appear.” He stopped with his hand on the knob and frowned at Phoebe. “You’re lucky to be alive, young lady. Cherish this moment. Next time, no one may come around to save you.”

  The physician’s words rang a warning bell. The push from behind. The way she’d been left. Whoever had done it assumed no one would ever find her, never mind save her.

  The bedroom door closed behind Dr. Thornton, and Millie looked back at her with utter disbelief. “Have you ever known anyone more disagreeable?”

  She had. Their father could be fairly disagreeable after one of their arguments. But the earl’s temper was generally justified.

  Millie came to the side of the bed, fussing with the sheets and blankets. “You’re still shivering, and you’re very pale. You should try to eat something, and then sleep. I’m going to ask Mrs. Hume to send up some light supper. Would that be all right?”

  Phoebe took her sister’s fluttering fingers in hers. She looked into grey eyes still red-rimmed from earlier tears. “I know you were frightened. I’m sorry.” She placed a kiss on the fingers. She hated seeing her younger sister upset like this.

  “What happened to you?” Millie sat on the bed. “You’re adventurous but not clumsy. How is it possible you fell into a well? This is so unlike you.”

  It was one thing to share her adventures and successes with her sister. It was quite something else to divulge the dangers. Just as she could not tell her what happened in the Vaults, Phoebe remained silent now.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” she replied. “But would you ask Captain Bell to come and see me?”

  “Of course.” She stood slowly. “I’ll fetch him now.”

  Phoebe waited until her sister was at the door. “And Millie, if you please, I need to speak with him alone.”

  * * *

  “You have no reason to worry, Captain. Her ladyship is hearty enough. What’s a wee dunking to a lass her age?”

  Standing in the gallery, Ian frowned at the doctor. Thornton was clearly working at being his most disagreeable tonight. If this was the way the man spoke to Phoebe, he decided, they’d better lock every door to the castle to keep her from running back to Edinburgh tonight.

  “What about her fall? Her face is bruised. Her shoulder was injured.”

  He waved a hand unconcernedly. “She’ll recover from her bumps and scratches in a day or two. I spoke to the sister about complications to look for, though I don’t see much possibility of anything developing.”

  Ian walked him to the staircase and watched the doctor descend to the great hall. On occasions like this, he wondered if Thornton was worth the aggravation he left in his wake. Perhaps it was time to find a replacement for him. He shook his head. He couldn’t. Not after what he’d heard tonight.

  His mother had returned from the rectory only minutes after he’d carried Phoebe back to the house. Thankfully, she’d gone straight to bed, unaware of the chaos that had taken place. Not long after, however, Ian had overheard bits and pieces of an argument in the great hall between Thornton and Alice.

  It had been nearly three years since Alice arrived from Maryland, but Ian realized tonight he barely knew the woman. He’d been completely blind to the romantic triangle which had developed right under his nose. Thornton’s angry words were louder than Alice’s, but it was clear that his cousin had developed an unrequited affection for the minister while the doctor had been pursuing her to no avail.

  Little wonder Thornton was more prickly and short-tempered than usual this evening.

  Shaking off thoughts of other people’s problems, he made his way toward Phoebe’s room. The doctor’s assurance meant nothing. Ian found her in the well, and he saw how fragile and helpless she was while clutching his neck. He needed to see her himself and make sure she’d recovered as swiftly as Thornton seemed to think.

  Millie appeared at the end of the hallway as he reached it. “Captain, I was coming to find you. My sister would very much like to speak with you, if you would.”

  He had so much he wanted to say to her too. Those hours when she was missing had wreaked havoc in his mind. With every tick of the clock, Ian had imagined worse and worse things befalling her. He gestured for Millie to lead the way, but the young woman hesitated.

  “I should like to visit your library and choose a book, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. Please help yourself.”

  “And after I find something to read,” she said, “I need to go down and ask Mrs. Hume to have a supper tray sent up for my sister.”

  Ian started to ask if he could send someone to the kitchens for her when she stopped him.

  “I know I’ve thanked you for saving my sister, but I cannot express to you the gratitude my family—”

  “Please,” he said. “There is no need. I’m just so relieved this has all turned out as it has.”

  Millie twisted a kerchief in her hands and disappeared in the direction of the library.

  A few moments alone with Phoebe. He would not compromise her honor, but propriety was all but meaningless right now, considering the circumstances. Ian went swiftly down the corridor and knocked once. Hearing her reply, he stepped in, leaving the door ajar behind him.

  Ian paused inside. Phoebe lay on the bed, propped up with pillows, blankets pulled up nearly to her chin. Waves of glorious dark hair spread out around her face. He silently cursed the doctor. Any fool could see from the pallid skin and bruised cheek, she’d been hurt.

  “I know I must look a fright, but I feel quite well,” she whispered, freeing a hand from under the bedclothes and stretching it toward him.

  Ian took one step, two . . . and then he couldn’t hold back, regardless of everything he’d ever been taught about gentlemanly behavior. He reached her side in an instant, and she sat up, opening her arms to him.

  “Hold me, please. I cannot warm up.”

  He was a lost man. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gathered her to his chest. Her left side had been bruised, and he was cautious of it. She pressed her face against his heart, and Ian caressed the silky softness of her hair. One hand moved down her back, and he rubbed the nightgown along her spine, trying to create warmth. She moved closer to him, and he felt her shivering.

  “You don’t appear well. I’m sending for another doctor. We can get someone here from Dunfermline by dawn.”

  “Hush,” she whispered, lifting her face before he could move. Her uninjured hand slipped around his neck, and she tugged at his hair. “You are what I need. No one else.”

  The warmth bloomed in her cheek. Their lips were a breath apart. Ian swam in the azure depths of her eyes, and her words dangled alluringly between them.

  She no longer looked unwell to him
. She looked alive. Very much alive.

  This moment, right now, he would have liked nothing better than to lift her onto his lap and hold her until the sun rose high in the sky. As thin as it was, that nightgown was a barrier, keeping him from the pale skin he wanted to warm with the touch of his hands and his lips. If he could, he would pull the string knot and kiss her throat, her shoulders, her breasts and those dark hard nipples showing through the material so enticingly.

  Ian wanted to make love to her. His blood was hot, he was growing hard, and this was the woman he wanted. But he was a scoundrel for even thinking it, considering everything she’d gone through today.

  He tried to pull back, but she stopped him.

  “No regrets,” she whispered, looking into his eyes.

  The meaning of the words she’d spoken earlier came to him. No regrets. No regrets about the two of them. During her direst moments in the well, Phoebe had been thinking about him. And while she was missing, he was going mad with the thought that she was lost to him forever.

  Ian could think no more. He lowered his head to taste her lips. Phoebe’s mouth parted, and her sigh of pleasure was his undoing. He deepened the kiss, her mouth battled back, giving and taking. Quickly their play of passion became a battle of wills. He captured the back of her head to hold her still and drank from her giving mouth. She was driving him to lose control, to live in the moment without thinking of anything but the heat building between them.

  She pushed back what remained of the bedclothes and move one leg over him. Instantly, she was straddling his lap, and Ian gave in to her eager mouth. He battled the urge to roll her back onto the sheets and tear away the damned nightgown. He wanted to run his tongue over every inch of her silky skin. He wanted to hear her cry out his name with pleasure. His hand slid along her shapely legs. He couldn’t tell if the sigh was hers or his when his palms possessed her heart-shaped bottom. He pressed her against his hardened cock, and the breath caught in her chest. She lifted her head. Stormy eyes looked into his, understanding his needs.

  “Phoebe,” he whispered. Words tumbled over each other in his frenzied brain. Words he wanted to say. He wanted her. Body. Soul. Heart. He wanted her for today. He wanted her forever.

  She laid a hand on his chest, burning a brand through his linen shirt clear to his heart.

  A noise outside the door startled them. He’d left the door partly open. Anyone could walk in on them at any moment. Ian shifted her off his lap and rolled her back onto the bed, covering her with the bedclothes. Her face was flushed, but she was not afraid of anything or anyone. He almost laughed and leaned close to her.

  “You’re jeopardizing my reputation, Lady Phoebe,” he whispered against her lips, pulling the blankets to her chin.

  Before he could step back, she caught his wrist. “Don’t go. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  * * *

  She’d asked Millie to get Ian for the purpose of telling him what happened in the Auld Grove. But once he came into the room, her body battled with her mind. After the traumatic shock of being nearly murdered today, all she wanted was to feel the dizzying whirl of passion in his embrace.

  Improper. Naughty. Indecorous. Wicked. Unladylike. Immoral. Phoebe knew how her fierce desire for him could be construed. But she almost died. Died. And when he entered, looking so concerned for her, all she wanted was to feel his hands on her skin. To feel his lips on her throat, on her breast.

  A blushing heat flamed all the way from the collar of the nightgown to the top of her scalp as she thought about how she’d attacked him, climbed onto his lap. Given another moment, she would have torn the clothes off both of them.

  He brought a chair close to the bed, but still at a respectable distance. He was giving them both some space. Carrying Phoebe back from the Auld Grove, he’d wrapped his coat around her, and the warm manly scent of him had enveloped her, comforted her.

  He’d changed out of his wet clothes, but he hadn’t dressed completely. He wore boots with the buckskin trousers that hugged his muscular legs, and the white linen shirt was immaculate beneath his deep brown waistcoat, though he’d not bothered to don either coat or cravat. As he sat down, she could not help but notice the pronounced bulge in his breeches. She’d felt it pressing against her a moment ago. She wanted to feel it again.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re afraid of me.”

  “Afraid for you is not the same as afraid of you.” He smiled and glanced at the door. “Another time, another place, under more appropriate circumstances, and I’ll show you who is afraid of whom.”

  She lay her hands flat on her belly, feeling the heat emanating from her body now. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Captain Bell.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  As much as she would have liked it, Phoebe couldn’t lie here and flirt with him all night. She’d asked Millie to give them a little time to talk privately. She had no doubt her sister would be back shortly.

  “I want to tell you what happened in the Auld Grove.” The ache in her shoulder had returned now that she wasn’t distracted by Ian’s closeness. Carefully, she pulled her bruised arm from beneath the blankets and rested it on top. “I didn’t want to speak of this to anyone but you. And I’d prefer that you don’t even mention it to my sister.”

  Immediately, his expression became serious. Ian leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and waited for her to say more.

  “I went there because that’s where Sarah and I used to escape to during my visits,” Phoebe told him. “I don’t believe anyone followed me from the house. At least, I didn’t see anyone. And once I was there, I saw no sign of any Romani or vagrants in the camp by the waterfall.”

  He raked a hand through his hair and his expression grew dark. “I should have covered that well long before now. It’s dangerous to have—”

  “I didn’t fall in, Ian.” She inched up on the pillows. “It wasn’t an accident. I saw the well. I was standing and looking into it when someone pushed me.”

  “Pushed?” His boots hit the floor and he was on his feet.

  Phoebe recalled the hand between her shoulders. “Yes. Someone pushed me in and then threw my hat in after me. He or she, whoever it was, wanted to make sure I’d never be found.”

  * * *

  A cat has nine lives, they say. For three, she plays. For three, she strays. And for three, she stays. But Phoebe Pennington was no cat. She would die.

  She’d started this feud between them that night in the Vaults. And since then, she’d become a worm in his flesh, a disease eating at his brain. She tormented him in his sleep. She was a distraction. Instead of focusing on what he’d been called to do, he was thinking of how to destroy her. She was feeding off of him. Tearing his thoughts from his true calling. Dividing him against himself.

  He stood in the darkness as the frothy fingers of the black firth reached toward the world of sleeping men. The voices were coming closer. The cold fingers were on his flesh.

  But oh, how this unnatural chit plagued him!

  The creature had escaped death twice, but that did not give her nine lives. She’d used up all she would ever have.

  Nine lives. It was all a lie. He’d seen cats go in the mill pond. They never returned.

  Chapter 13

  Phoebe awakened in the morning to find her sister dressed and preparing to go down to breakfast.

  As she swung her feet over the side of the bed, Phoebe realized she had more use of her arm than she expected. Her shoulder was stiff, but the ache in her left side seemed to center on the bruise. Looking in the mirror, she was happy to see the scratches on her face were not nearly as bad as the ones she’d come home with after the fight in the Vaults.

  There was no reason to see the horrible Dr. Thornton again, and Millie agreed. As far as Phoebe was concerned, it would be best to minimize any attention to her and to the incident until they left Bellhorne tomorrow.

  As a maid helped her dress, Phoebe felt the events of yesterd
ay quickly receding into a vague and dreamlike realm. The grove. The meadows filled with bluebells. The ancient, ruined huts. The drop through the darkness. The endless time in the frigid water. The feeling of imminent doom. And then Ian, like an angel, descending from above, coming to her rescue.

  She took a deep breath, recalling the moments of passion in his arms later. She hadn’t even noticed the injuries while his hands glided over her body, while desire set them both ablaze.

  And then she’d told him about the well.

  Immediately, he had been like a great hound unleashed. Angry and impatient to leave, he’d vowed to find whoever had attacked her. Later, from the maid who came up to take away her dinner tray, Phoebe learned that Captain Bell had taken a group of men back out to the Auld Grove. Equipped with lanterns and dogs, they went searching for something or someone.

  Phoebe tried to stay awake and succeeded for a while. With every noise, she sat bolt upright, wondering if he had returned. Finally, exhaustion claimed her, but she spent the night tossing and turning. During the few times when sleep came to her, Phoebe dreamed of running through crypts while skeletons and monsters clutched at her. Sarah appeared, wrapped in a shroud, and carried by an unseen power to the hilltop overlooking the firth. She dreamed of falling through darkness and landing not in the icy water of the well, but in the stone catacombs of the Vaults. Ian was trapped. She searched desperately for him, but every labyrinthine passage led nowhere. The dank smell of death oozed from arched niches. Walls of stone closed in on her. And no matter how hard she ran, she couldn’t find him.

  She woke up, soaked in sweat, relieved to see the sunlight.

  She was dressed when Millie came back from breakfast with news of Captain Bell and the search. They’d returned just after dawn, but they’d found nothing. He was absent at breakfast and was not accompanying his mother to church for the Sunday service.

  All of this, Ian’s worry and his quest to find whoever pushed her into the well, troubled her. Bellhorne was his home. A sanctuary for his mother, a safe haven. It could easily have been a vagrant passing through the Grove. Fearful of prosecution for trespassing, he’d responded badly.