by Karen Ranney
She glanced at him. The faint light revealed his irritated expression.
At times, it seemed as if he didn’t like her at all, and then there were occasions when they got on very well together. They often spoke in the evening, she confiding in him of her concerns about her new wealth and her daughters. In the past, he’d listened intently. Lately, however, they grated on each other’s nerves. Strangely enough, she missed the times of accord, having become accustomed to his companionship.
At the top of the hill, he halted before striding down to the granary. The lantern illuminated a scene she could not have imagined. Riona knelt beside James on the ground, using her shawl to stem the blood pouring from a gash on his head.
“What is going on here?” Susanna asked, somewhat impatiently. Fear, however, underscored her words.
“James was attacked,” Riona said curtly.
“Attacked? Who would dare?”
“A Drummond,” James said, standing. Handing back her shawl to Riona, he seemed oblivious to his injury. “A legendary enemy, I’m afraid.”
“Here?” Susanna asked. “What is he doing here?”
“Exactly what I would like to know,” James said.
They made their way back to the house, none of them speaking.
Riona wanted to press herself against James’s side, extend her hand around his waist, offering support. But he didn’t need her assistance, and her actions would only be seen as wrong rather than helpful.
Ned parted from them at the door, returning to his own cottage.
In the kitchen, Susanna lit a few of the lanterns until the room was as bright as day, before leaving to fetch the basket of medicines.
James sat on the bench beside the table. Riona went and stood at his side, gently tilting his head to the light. Among her failings, she counted the fact that she disliked the sight of blood. Yet now that flaw wasn’t as important as James’s injury.
“A little harder and we’d be fitting a shroud for you.”
“I think that was the intent,” James said dryly.
“Why was Drummond shooting at us?”
“He was shooting at me,” he said bluntly. “You were only in the way.”
“Why?” Susanna said, coming back into the room. In her arms she carried a basin, a basket, and several cloths that she placed on the table.
James turned and glanced at Susanna. “A feud that’s been carried further than it should have.”
Susanna frowned and opened the basket. Tucked inside the various glass bottles were remedies of every sort. Now she retrieved a bit of moss and a mixture that looked as green but smelled worse. She waved Riona aside.
At any other time she would have relinquished her position, but now Riona only stretched out her hand for the vials. Surprisingly, her mother didn’t argue, only gave her what was necessary and retired to the other side of the table, smiling slightly.
“Have you brought danger to my doorstep, James?” Susanna asked.
The two of them waited for his answer. “I don’t know. But it’s possible that I have. But I will ensure that it doesn’t touch you or those you love, Susanna.”
Riona busied herself preparing a poultice. Before applying it, she bathed the wounds on his face. Drummond had struck him at least three times, each blow harder than the last. After she applied a salve, she mixed a drink, a noxious potion that smelled heavily of onions. Her mother nodded in approval as she handed James the cup.
He eyed it dubiously.
“You’ll find that it will ease the pain,” Riona said.
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
“Yes,” Susanna agreed, “as soon as you drink it.”
Riona wanted to warn him that even a grown man was no match for her mother when she was determined, but he managed a faint smile then. A weapon of his own, one with the power to charm even Susanna.
“Leave it on your bedside table, then,” Riona said, taking pity on him. She remembered the drink from her childhood and had felt the same aversion to it. “At least I’ll have given it to you.”
“You should rest,” Susanna said, standing. She bustled around the table, gathering up the ingredients Riona had used. “Do you need some assistance, James?”
He stood, steadying himself on the edge of the table. Pride kept him upright, Riona thought. Or a strong constitution.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you for your ministrations.” He sent Riona only a cursory glance before he bid them both good night.
But she wasn’t content with that. “Sleep well, James.”
He looked at her, his gaze long and intent. “And you, Riona,” he said, in that deep, well-modulated tone of his.
Only her mother’s presence made her turn away.
The tower room Susanna had prepared for them, with its facing windows and high ceiling, revealed her hospitality as nothing else. On the bureau was a vase filled with fresh flowers. The bedside table held a small jug of cider, along with two crystal tumblers. Abigail had turned down his bed earlier, fluffing up the pillows. She’d prepared the desk for him also, the crystal inkwell and newly sharpened quills luring him to write.
James hoped that Rory was asleep. The wish was half fulfilled when the boy woke as he lit a candle. He sat up, leaning on one elbow and gaping at him.
“Was it a fight I missed?”
“It was,” James answered, placing the crystal shield around the candle and settling it on the desk.
“It’s rare to see a MacRae with a battered face,” Rory said admiringly, examining his wounds. “Especially you. Who did it to you, sir, and how?”
“Drummond,” he answered, finding it painful to talk. Relating what had happened in the briefest of terms, he pulled out the chair and sat at the desk. “I have the answer to who shot at us, at least.”
Rory sat up on the edge of his bed. “Are you going after him? If so, I want to join you.”
“No. It would be foolish to do so at night. Besides, I wounded him well enough,” he added, thinking of that moment when he felt the knife slide between the man’s ribs. “I’ll do some investigating in the morning, go into the village and see if there’s a stranger wandering around.”
“I hope you killed him.”
Looking back at his companion, James almost smiled. There was so much ferocity in the boy’s eyes, but it was born of loyalty. “It’s a better idea to discover why he hates me enough to try to kill me twice.”
“Because of his laird, of course,” Rory said easily.
“I’d believe that if one of Magnus Drummond’s men had shown any grief at his death,” James said. Picking up the quill he began to write. “I want you to be a messenger for me.” He’d give Rory a letter to Alisdair, impart the information about Drummond, and warn him to be on his guard.
“Am I to return?”
There was a hint of wistfulness in the question, no doubt because of the absence of young females at Gilmuir.
“Yes, Rory,” he said. “It would be a shame not to put those dancing lessons to good use.”
The young man’s face relaxed.
“You’re sending word about Drummond, then?”
James nodded. “And asking for information about anyone with a grudge. Even though I think it unlikely that we wouldn’t have been aware of some discord before now.”
“There be rats in the cleanest hold.”
“True enough, Rory,” he said, again concentrating on his letter to Alisdair.
Once he finished, James turned his attention to his journal. He had not written in the book for months, but prior to that he’d often made a nightly habit of recording his thoughts. Smiling at the impulse that had made him tuck the journal into his pack upon leaving Gilmuir, he opened it and began to write.
Magnus Drummond has haunted me overmuch. I have spoken of his death for the first time and feel a curious release.
He dipped the quill into the inkwell again, thinking of Riona’s earlier words. Did he blame himself? Yes, perhaps. Taking a man’s life cou
ld not be undone.
At least one mystery has been solved. Drummond has evidently followed us here. Why now, when there is peace between our clans?
He paused, disturbed by the fact he had no answers. Thank Providence that the man had been such a poor marks-man. Not once, but twice.
The moment of the shot seemed fixed and clear. His first thought had been of Riona, and relief that she’d been unhurt. Through it all, she’d remained composed, offering neither hysteria nor argument when he’d left her.
I would be foolish to state that my only interest in her is as a companion, although she is a pleasant one. She has a way of lifting her head when she asks a question. Or looking away when thinking of an answer. Both gestures fascinate me, and I find myself looking for them.
Neither am I a saint that I can ignore the way she walks or the smile she bestows on the object of her amusement. She has a way of pointing her finger into the air to accentuate her words that I find charming. I have not heard her laugh but I most definitely wish to, to see if her humor matches her as well as her solemnity.
There would be no more nightly walks, Drummond’s appearance making him more circumspect than his own wishes.
How intimate could friendship be? Did Riona know that she’d surmounted the barrier he’d erected around himself? Or that he wished to tell her even more of his life?
But she loves another. I find myself goaded to question her, yet I don’t want to know more about this paragon of hers. I cannot help but question the timing of my arrival. Why have I found her now, when it is too late?
Sleep would come late tonight, if at all, Riona thought, leaving her mother. She entered her bedroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it.
He would have killed the man. She knew that, just as she knew that he had killed before. In a way she wished he hadn’t told her, hadn’t divulged that secret. Doing so had changed him. He was no longer simply a handsome man, but a warrior who protected himself and those under his care.
In this part of Scotland, the world was civilized. Their social behavior, like it or not, was more patterned on life in England than on Scotland’s heritage. But in certain places old feuds were still remembered and a hundred years was only a moment in the mind. At Gilmuir.
She walked to the window seat and stared into the darkness. No candle lit the gloom, and the night seeped into her chamber. She heard the window open in the next room, wondered if Maureen also sat staring at the moonless night. Saying nothing, Riona remained where she was. She wanted no company, no sisterly confidences.
“Riona? Are you awake?”
She remained silent, wishing her sister to bed. Finally, Maureen moved away from the window, leaving Riona free to sit in the darkness.
A year ago she didn’t know this place, had been content enough to live in Cormech. But in one short year she’d come to love Tyemorn and Ayleshire, its inhabitants and customs. She’d learned the seasons and become enthralled with a life she’d never before known. Now she would have to leave it all again, going to live in Edinburgh with a man she barely knew. Even as she mourned the loss of a man she wanted to know only too well.
What a pity that her life had already been ordained before she met James MacRae.
Chapter 13
A bigail looked as if she were going to cry. Even Cook halted in her pot stirring to stare at him. Susanna stood, sat down heavily before standing once more. Only Ned didn’t look horrified. He grinned as he left the kitchen. No doubt in commiseration for what was to come, James thought later.
What faced him in the mirror was a daunting sight even for someone expecting it. One of Drummond’s blows had struck him above his left cheek; another had peeled the skin from his forehead. Between the two, his left eye was badly bruised and swelling, and his right was bright red.
He looked like some sort of variegated sea monster.
“You’ll sit and let me look at your head,” Susanna said. Her tone of voice was one his mother might have used. But he towered over his mother as he did Susanna. The time to coddle him had long since passed.
“I’ll be fine, Susanna.”
“You’ll sit right down, James MacRae.”
When a woman frowned so fiercely, it was wiser simply to obey her. Words his father might have said. Or even Alisdair this past year, as his quiet bride had turned demanding at times.
But he startled Susanna by leaning over and kissing her cheek in genuine appreciation for her worry. “I’ll be fine.”
She sputtered a little but didn’t attempt any further cosseting.
He waved Cook away when she would have served him breakfast. He had no appetite this morning.
“Will your attacker come again?” Susanna asked.
“I’m not entirely certain,” he said, giving her the truth. One thing about the Drummond clan: they were rarely convinced to give up their hatred. The fact that his sister-in-law, Iseabal, was a Drummond was a constant surprise to him.
“Did you deliver him a mortal blow?”
The question surprised him, but perhaps it shouldn’t have. Susanna had a bluntness that he recognized in Riona. In addition, both women, when asking a question, wanted a direct answer in return.
“I can’t tell you that, either.” He walked to the door, impatient to be about his task.
“You should rest today. The thefts will wait,” she added, following him as he left the kitchen and entered the yard.
“It would be best if I cleared up the matter as soon as possible,” he said, “and returned to Gilmuir.”
If nothing else, the events in the past day had proven that it was unwise for him to linger at Tyemorn Manor. Not only might he have unwittingly brought danger to the McKinseys, but a hazard also lurked there for him as well.
Riona.
He had to keep reminding himself that she was betrothed, that she was soon to be a wife. Each day it grew harder to remember.
Susanna watched James walk away, feeling terrible. Worse than terrible. Her conscience was grating at her so fiercely that she had barely slept the night before. She really should tell him the truth. But if she did, he’d leave, and all her plans would disintegrate into nothing.
But that was not, regretfully, the only reason that her better nature was up in arms.
She was worried about Mrs. Parker. The herbal tea had worked only too well. The poor woman had been dreadfully ill the day before, and it looked as if today would be no better.
What had she done?
“They are spending a goodly number of hours together,” Polly said, joining her and staring after James. “Is it what you intend?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Susanna said, her façade of calm abruptly disappearing. “On the one hand, I would much rather have my daughter aligned with Fergus’s family than that dolt from Edinburgh. But I haven’t the slightest notion of what to do about Harold McDougal.”
As if she’d summoned the sound, a bell rang from the upper floor as they returned to the kitchen.
“Nor can I keep Mrs. Parker ill forever.”
“Why not?” Polly asked.
She sent her housekeeper a censorious look.
The bell rang again, and not one person in the kitchen made a move to answer it.
“I was the last to wait on her,” Polly said, backing away.
Now was not the time to remind Polly of her position, Susanna thought. After all, her housekeeper had taken the brunt of Mrs. Parker’s temper for the past few days. And Abigail looked as if she would mutiny if asked to serve the woman again.
“Very well,” Susanna said, sighing. She picked up the tray. “I will take her breakfast.”
The other women in the room only nodded, as if she deserved such punishment.
“Good morning, Mrs. Parker,” she said in greeting as she entered the room. “I trust you are feeling well?”
“I’m feeling wretched,” the other woman complained, “just as you warned. But my health must suffer for a greater errand. I have a letter t
hat must reach Edinburgh.”
The woman was attired in her usual nightgown over which she wore a beribboned bed jacket. “Here,” she said, weakly waving a letter in the air. “You must promise me that it will go today.”
Carefully placing the tray down on the table at the end of the bed, Susanna nodded.
“You do have a post in the country, I trust,” the older woman said. “I must get word to my housekeeper that I’ve been taken ill and have been delayed. There are several social events where I must make my appearance.”
No doubt trolling for clients. Mrs. Parker did know a great many people in society. Had she not sent her daughters to the woman, it was doubtful that Maureen would have ever met Captain Hastings, let alone be on the verge of betrothal. Nor would Riona be marrying Harold McDougal, but she put that thought far from her.
“I will have it taken to the village this morning,” Susanna said, nodding and placing the letter in her apron pocket. “I am truly sorry you are not feeling well. Is there anything I can bring you?”
“You can ensure that it is quiet outside,” Mrs. Parker said crossly. “How you manage to get any sleep at all with all that bleating and neighing and mooing, I don’t know. Indeed, the streets of Edinburgh are less noisy than that barnyard of yours only feet from my window.”
The barn was located nearly half a mile away, and the air was fresher here than in the crowded streets of Old Town, but Susanna said nothing, only smiled determinedly.
Her years of experience handling boarders had taught her that people would complain if you allowed them, and certain people would grumble more than others. Mrs. Parker was most assuredly in the latter category, choosing complaints over any other topic of conversation. Which was just as well, Susanna thought, laying out the breakfast dishes. She didn’t want to talk to the woman anyway.
“You look terrible,” Riona said, staring at James in awe. She stood outside the milking shed, in the act of handing two filled pails to one of the milkmaids when the sight of him halted her. Beside her the milkmaid gaped. “Does it hurt as bad as it looks?”