Bridget felt Jillian’s forehead. “She’s burning with fever.”
“’Tis no wonder. Lyin’ out in the cold all night. She’s caught a chill.”
“More than that, I think,” Shane said as he lifted Jillian’s hand. “’Tis infected.”
“Aye.” Bridget agreed as she began bathing the dirt off Jillian’s face. “Shauna, go fetch Brodie’s whisky. We need to cleanse the wound.”
“Have the cook mash some garlic as well,” Shane added. “’Twill help with the infection.”
“I will do it,” Fiona said as she hurried off after Shauna.
“And we will thank ye to get yerself hence,” Mrs. Ferguson said to Shane, but she smiled to soften the words. “We need to remove the lady’s clothes.”
Once Shane had gone, the housekeeper made short work of removing the filthy clothing. “Och!” she exclaimed as she saw the bruises running along Jillian’s ribs. “’Tis a wonder if nothing is broken.”
“Do you think she will lose the bairn?” Bridget asked worriedly.
The housekeeper placed a hand on Jillian’s abdomen. “I canna feel any movement.”
Bridget bit back a reply as Jillian slowly opened her eyes. They were bright with fever, but the pupils weren’t dilated. She grimaced as she tried to speak.
“Shhh. Ye rest,” Mrs. Ferguson said and looked at Bridget who shook her head slightly. “Ye had a bad bump to yer head.”
“The bairn…is he all right?” Jillian asked.
Mrs. Ferguson looked at Bridget again. “’Tis too soon to tell, child. Ye need to rest.”
Jillian closed her eyes then opened them again. “Who found me?”
“Shane did,” Bridget answered. “He came home this morning.”
“Thank God. Tell Shane—”
“Do nae strain yerself talking,” Mrs. Ferguson said again.
“I have to tell Shane something. Brodie too.”
“It can wait,” Bridget said as Shauna and Fiona returned bringing the whisky and garlic. Bridget insisted Jillian take a healthy swig before she helped Mrs. Ferguson cleanse the festering wound with some of the liquor and pack it with garlic. She poured another dram and handed it to Jillian. “This will make ye sleep.”
“But I have to tell—”
“Not now,” Bridget said and turned to her sister. “Shauna. I want ye and Fiona to take turns sitting with Jillian. Keep dabbing her with a cool cloth. I must find Shane.”
The sisters both nodded as Mrs. Ferguson instructed the maids to tidy up. Bridget hurried off.
She found Shane in the dining hall with Duncan and Broc.
“How is she?” Shane asked.
“Time will tell,” Bridget answered. “I dinnae think she has a concussion, but the infection is bad, and I dinnae ken if the bairn lives.”
“I have already sent to Glenfinnan for the physician,” Shane said.
“Thank ye. Where did ye find her?”
“In a ravine near the cairn. I have nae idea why she would wander there.”
Duncan and Broc exchanged a look, but neither said anything.
“I dinnae either,” Bridget replied, “but she is sleeping now, so it will have to wait.”
The physician arrived just as Fiona came bounding down the stairs. “Come quick,” she said. “There is blood everywhere.”
The doctor ordered all of them out of the room, allowing only Mrs. Ferguson to remain. “Family gets in the way,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. Shane gave Bridget an inquiring look, but she shook her head slightly. There was no need to rile the doctor. Jillian needed tending.
They all waited nervously for what seemed an eternity. The sun was sinking low when the doctor finally came down to the library where they were gathered. Blood stained his shirt.
“Is she…?” Shauna asked softly.
“She lives. I managed to stop the bleeding.”
Bridget forced the next words. “And the bairn?”
“I dinnae ken. For now, she holds him inside. ’Tis the infection that worries me. The cut looks to be made from something sharp and probably rusty. It had a long time to fester.” The physician looked at the group. “Is the MacLeod about?”
“Nae. He is in England. Probably London by now.”
“He should be sent for,” the doctor said gravely. “I dinnae ken if the lady will survive.”
“Her sister should be here too,” Fiona said.
Shane stood. “I have a ship in Edinburgh getting ready to sail for Calais. I will sail her to London instead.”
“Would it not be quicker to ride?” Shauna asked.
“Nae with the storm coming,” Shane answered. “Even if I could get through before it arrives, the passes will be blocked on return. ’Tis quicker to sail the schooner.” He turned toward the door. “Call for the fastest horse to be saddled. I will leave as soon as I pack a bag.”
It wasn’t until much later, after Shane had gone and Bridget was sitting beside Jillian’s bed watching her fretful sleep, that she remembered Jillian had wanted to tell Shane something.
Well, it would have to wait.
Chapter Seventeen
Still smarting from Jamie’s insinuation yesterday about the chocolate being tainted, Mari forced a smile. “For once, I am giving the orders,” she said as she placed the half-empty bowl of broth on the small table beside Effie’s bed. The maid had slept for most of twenty-four hours since the episode in the gardens. She’d awoken a short while ago and was already fussing about lying about for so long.
“You will get some more rest,” Mari said.
“I’ve been resting long enough. It is not my job to sleep.”
“For now, it is,” Mari replied firmly and then smiled as she seated herself on the bed beside Effie. “I do not often get the chance to pay you back for all you do, so this once, let me be in charge.”
Effie grumbled something unintelligible as the door opened. Mari’s smile faded as Jamie and Ian entered and closed the door behind them.
“You should not be in here,” she said.
“Ye shouldna have disobeyed my orders,” Jamie answered.
“I do not have to obey—”
“Enough. Ye will both quit yer squabbling,” Ian said.
“I am not—”
“Silence.” Ian leveled a stern look at Mari that made even Effie cease muttering.
Jamie clamped his mouth shut while Mari felt hers drop. Ian MacLeod was even more insufferable than his brother. How Jillian ever thought otherwise…
“I want to know what happened during your outing with that Frenchman,” Ian said.
Mari set her mouth mulishly and said nothing.
“Speak, lass.”
“You told me not to.” She smiled sweetly. “Just now.”
Ian raked a hand through his dark hair and gave Jamie an exasperated look.
Jamie managed to suppress a grin. “The lass is nae verra biddable.”
Ian glowered, a look that was eerily similar to Jamie’s when he was put out with her. Well, let him. Mari was not going to take orders from two MacLeods. Biddable indeed. She lifted her chin and returned his look. It took all her courage to do so for Ian had a much fiercer look than Jamie, although Jillian had assured her he would never strike a woman. She hoped her sister was right.
“Fine,” he finally said. “I will be asking the maid then.” Ian turned to Effie. “Tell me what happened.”
Effie’s eyes went round. She looked from Ian to Jamie and then at Mari who shook her head. Silence ensued.
Jamie sat down on the bed next to Mari, his thigh pressed against hers. Startled, she moved, only to have one of his arms encircle her waist and hold her firmly in place.
“Let me go. What do you think you are doing?”
“Nothing yet.” Jamie looked at Effie. “My brother and I wish to ken what happened yesterday at the picnic. Ye can tell me or I can lie the lass down on the bed and tickle her until she talks.”
“You would not dare,” Mari
sputtered.
Jamie’s eyes turned molten gold. “Nae?”
She struggled to stand, but his arm felt like steel. “This is most improper.”
“Aye. ’Tis. It can get much more improper if ye dinnae talk.”
“Oooh.” Mari batted ineffectively at his muscled forearm only to have his hand trap hers. His thumb rubbed up and down her ribs softly, finding the vulnerable spot that made her twitch. Jamie grinned, his dimple showing. “Tickling ye might be verra fun.”
He was impossible. Yet his body heat and the clean scent of him were creating all those soft, mushy, tingly feelings in her insides again. She made an effort to preserve her dignity. “I do not see why my personal life—”
“’Tis nae just yer life we are discussin’,” Ian interrupted. “Maids dinnae get ill from eating chocolate truffles, nor do they sleep for a day and night after such. ’Twas something in them.”
“That is ridiculous. I ate them too. So did Nicholas.”
Ian looked skeptical, but turned to Effie. “Did the man single one of them out for you?”
“No,” Effie said, keeping an eye on where Jamie’s hands were. “I had my own box.”
“Yer own box?”
“Well, yes…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at Mari. “Do you suppose…?”
Mari squirmed against Jamie, drawing a strange sound from him that sounded like a growl or maybe a groan. “Why would Nicholas do something like that?”
“Mayhap he wanted to spend time alone with ye,” Ian said. “Did he compromise ye in any way, lass?”
Mari remembered the unasked-for kiss and felt her cheeks warm.
“Did he?” This time Jamie definitely growled. “I will kill the—”
“Nothing happened,” Mari said quickly. “We went for a stroll and sat by the pond. When we got back, Effie was asleep. Then we found out she was ill. That is all.”
She pushed at Jamie, and this time he released her. She stood quickly and picked up the soup bowl, hurrying toward the door. “I will just take this down to the kitchen.”
“A word of warning, lass,” Ian said before she could escape to the hall. Mari turned around reluctantly.
“I dinnae ken all of yer Society rules, but yer aunt told me she has already been asked why ye were out unescorted with the Frenchman.”
“But I was not. Effie was there.”
“Asleep under a tree and later, prone in the carriage where no one could see.”
“But—” Mari stopped, stricken. She had not thought how it would look to others. Those two ladies at the gardens…and how many people had they passed on their way home who were members of the ton? A good dozen at least. Dear Lord. Had she ruined herself? The card for the Almack’s ball had arrived, but would the patronesses withdraw her invitation?
“Ye need to have a care, lass. Jillian wishes for ye to have a proper Season,” Ian said, his voice and expression softening at mention of his wife. “Dinnae leave the house again without Jamie by yer side. He will protect ye.”
There was that protection thing again. Mari opened her mouth to retort and then shut it abruptly. What was the use in arguing?
It seemed she got herself in trouble no matter what she did.
“Ye see what I am up against?” Jamie asked Ian as he poured each of them a dram in the library later. “The lass is truly vexing.”
Ian grinned. “I didnae think ye are finding yer job protecting the lass vexing.”
“Nae? Mari leaves the house without my permission, she daesna obey me, she daesna follow my orders—”
Ian held up a hand. “’Tis possible she daesna like the way ye put it to her. Mayhap ye should ask her nicely.”
Jamie stared at his brother. “Have ye gone daft? Has marriage addled yer brains to that of a green lad?”
Ian’s eyes darkened for a moment and then he shook his head. “Marriage suits me just fine. Ye might start thinking along those lines yerself.”
“Nae for a verra long time—mayhap in a few years. There are oats I have to sow.”
Ian lifted an eyebrow. “And are ye busy keeping the English lasses happy?”
“I have nae had time. Mari keeps getting herself into trouble.”
“And ye have to rescue the lass.”
“Aye.”
“A job I dinnae think ye mind verra much.”
“I—” Jamie frowned. ’Twas true he had a bit of pleasure in tossing Mari over his shoulder—she had a very fine arse and shapely legs—and stealing the kiss when she fell from the horse—she had responded verra nicely to that—and, well, just now, threatening to tickle her had given him ideas that had nothing to do with getting the truth out of her—unless that truth was to discover what passion she was capable of in the bedchamber. Faugh! The woman was contradictory enough to muddle a monk’s brains. “I dinnae wish to discuss it further.”
“Just what I thought.”
Jamie’s frown deepened. “What do ye mean?”
Ian grinned again as he poured them another dram. “Oh, ye will find out in time. Ye will find out in time.”
“We are going to have ever so much fun this afternoon,” Mari said as she ushered Abigail into the sitting room where Maddie was already ensconced. “I am so glad you accepted my invitation to come over.”
Abigail pushed her spectacles up, pressed her copy of Pride and Prejudice against her chest and looked around the room somewhat nervously. “Will it just be us?”
“Of course. Jamie and Ian went to see the solicitor about some paperwork.” Mari gestured for her to have a seat next to Maddie on the sofa. “We will not be bothered with interruptions.”
“Oh, I did not mean to imply—”
“No explanation necessary,” Mari said. “Sometimes it is just fun for girls to get together.” After yesterday’s episode in Effie’s bedroom, she was glad Jamie and Ian had gone out. Taking orders—or rather, defying them—from one MacLeod was enough of a struggle. Two of them were impossible.
At least a truce had been declared today. Since Abigail had been extended the invitation several days ago to visit this afternoon, Mari had no plans to go out, although she was not overly pleased with the smug expression on Jamie’s face when she told him she would be staying in. He probably thought he had won their ongoing battle. Ha. She was simply regrouping.
“What did you think of the book?” Maddie asked, interrupting Mari’s train of thought.
“I absolutely loved it,” Abigail responded, her voice more animated than usual. “How can anyone not like Mr. Darcy?”
“I am not sure I did,” Mari answered. “I thought he was rather arrogant.” Like someone else I know…
Abigail nodded seriously. “At first Mr. Darcy is cool and aloof, and Miss Bennet feels insulted when he refuses to dance with her, but he changes his mind.”
“And do not forget he sticks his nose where it does not belong,” Mari added. “He meddles into his friend Bingley’s relationship with the other Miss Bennet.” Like someone else I know…
“Only because he felt the lady did not return Mr. Bingley’s love, and Mr. Darcy did not wish for his friend to be hurt,” Maddie interjected. “He is truly compassionate.”
Mari refrained from rolling her eyes. “Mr. Darcy asks Elizabeth to marry him and then tells her he is superior to her. Does he expect her to fall at his feet in worship?” Like someone else I know…
“But then, Mr. Darcy admits he was properly humbled by Miss Bennet,” Abigail said and laid the book down on the small table used to serve tea. “So it all ends well.”
“As every romance should,” Madded added. “I wish we knew who wrote the stories.”
“She probably keeps her identity secret to avoid embarrassment,” Mari said. “Can you imagine being at a soiree and having everyone know it was you who wrote such intimate details?”
“I agree,” Abigail answered. “I certainly would not want people knowing I look at pictures of naked men.”
Mari and Maddie both gaped at her
in silence.
Abigail’s face pinkened. “In art books. The Greek and Roman statues are great works of art.”
Mari remembered the book Abigail had dropped on the floor at Wittnower’s. Who would have thought—?
Maddie quickly picked up a copy of La Belle Assemblée from the table and changed the subject. “These are the latest fashions. We shall decide on the perfect gown for you for the Almack’s ball.”
“Yes.” Mari took the magazine and flicked some pages and then held a page up. “Maybe something like this.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “I do not think Papa would approve of such a low neckline.”
“Madam DuBois can modify it.”
“I do not think Papa would approve of red either. That was Mama’s favorite color.”
Mari felt her face turn the color of the dress in question. How stupid of her to pick that gown out. Abigail’s mother had questionable virtues at best, and rumor among the ton had spread like fire when Wesley Alton had found her dead at Newburn. Most of the gossips let it slip the Earl of Sherrington’s wife had been Wesley’s mistress, and they had had a lover’s quarrel. Still, she had been Abigail’s mother. “It does not have to be red,” Mari said quickly. “I think maybe a pale golden silk would set off the auburn in your hair.”
“Which, of course, you will wear down with lots of curls,” Maddie added.
“Papa prefers I wear it pulled back.”
Mari almost threw up her hands in frustration. She understood—sort of—that based on Abigail’s mother’s behavior, the earl probably did not want his daughter looking like a hoyden, but how did Abigail ever expect to attract a husband if she insisted on looking like a matron? The girl was already two-and-twenty and close to being a spinster. Mari held in that thought, remembering Jillian’s admonishment to temper her tongue and think before she spoke.
Too bad that never worked when Jamie was around. Mari recalled all too vividly telling Jamie yesterday he would not dare to tickle her. Goodness gracious. What if he actually had put her down on the bed… Her body heated, and she quickly turned her thoughts back to the present.
“Does your father not want you to find a husband?” she asked Abigail.
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