by Paula Quinn
She hadn’t seen Patrick or Duff before she pretended to ready for bed. She hoped neither of them was lying hurt in the fields. Or worse, awake and aware off her absence.
But she’d had to get to the pub. For this moment. The small hamlets just off South Ayrshire’s coastline didn’t see many visitors and especially not many true physicians. It had taken dedication and perfect timing to ensure that she had this opportunity to meet Dr. Lindsay. If there were any new medicines available to treat her sister’s condition, Charlie would get them. “I’ve tried many things, but nothing has helped. I am desperate.”
He eyed her with dark, piercing eyes beneath his gray brow.
Charlie beseeched the heavens again, praying that she wouldn’t have to prove her words by killing him.
“I have something that will help.”
“Oh?” she lifted a skeptical brow. “What is it?”
“An elixir made from certain herbs that will induce vomiting.”
Charlie’s heart sank. Vomiting? Over the past two years she’d heard of and had tried every treatment from honey to tobacco, the latter taking her half a year to obtain. She’d tried different types of oils soaked in tree bark and rubbed on Elsie’s chest, along with various meats and herbs. She’d passed her sister under the belly of a horse, and smeared deer grease on the soles of Elsie’s feet. How was vomiting going to help her breathe? Had this all been for nothing?
Still, he hadn’t suggested that Elsie was possessed by demons, as the previous charlatan had diagnosed.
For that, she would listen to his explanation.
“How would vomiting help her?”
His reply sounded convincing and intelligent. Something was indeed blocking her sister’s “airways.” What did she have to lose?
“I will take it.”
“It is in my bag. Abovestairs in my room.”
Judging from the hungry glint in his gaze, this exchange wasn’t going to go smoothly.
“Go get it,” she warned impatiently. She couldn’t linger here tonight.
His mouth cocked into the smirk of a man who’d never been told what to do before this moment. He crossed one leg, encased in fine wool trousers, over the other and let his gaze rove over her with unabashed desire. “What of payment?”
She lifted her arms over her head and reached to the back of her neck. She unclasped the stone necklace her mother had given her and held it up to him. She didn’t want to part with the gift, but her mother would have understood and been happy with her decision.
“Is that all your sister’s good health is worth to you, my dear?”
Damn it all. She reached for her skirts under the table and found the opening and the small dagger she had secured to her thigh. “What else did you have in mind, Doctor?”
His smile deepened along with his voice. “A kiss. Perhaps a little more?”
She gave him an icy smile. “I’m afraid not. This will have to suffice.”
“It doesn’t.”
She’d waited to meet him for days, hoping he would be the one who could help Elsie. She’d risked much coming here. Should she leave before she was forced to hurt him? But what if he did have something in his bag that would help her sister? When would another physician come along? It could be months, a year. Charlie didn’t want to wait that long.
Before she paused to consider what she was doing, she drew her dagger and reached across the table to hold the tip to his throat.
“I’ll pay you by letting you leave here alive. Do we have a bargain?”
He whimpered when she poked him a little, pricking his skin. The world was a hard, merciless place. She could be hard and merciless too. “I want that elixir. Do you under—”
She was interrupted by a man—or two men—exiting the shadows and then a powerfully built body whisking Dr. Lindsay out of his chair.
She leaped to her feet and watched Patrick fling the doctor into the wall.
What was he doing here? Her first thought was that he’d come to visit Bethany again, but the fire in her veins cooled when she saw Duff.
“What the hell are you both doing here?” She turned her glare on Patrick. “And why did you knock out Dr. Lindsay?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders and stepped away from the physician’s limp body and came closer to her. “It appeared ye were finished with him.”
Why did the low pitch of his voice send fissures down her spine? Or was it his close proximity that caused her to temporarily lose her mind? Patrick was the one she should be stabbing, not the doctor. Patrick was the one who tempted her to give up everything.
“I wasn’t finished with him,” she told him. She didn’t want a protector in her life. She wanted her sister to be well and free of the confines of her breaths—or lack of them. “He has something I need.”
“Does he carry whatever it is on his person?” Duff asked. Duff! She turned her glare on him next.
“Most physicians who travel bring medicine with them. Now tell me what you are doing here.” She pointed at Patrick. “Did he bring you?” Oh, if he had, she would shoot him with an arrow first chance she got. Why here, on this night of all nights?
“I brought him,” Duff admitted. “I knew you were coming and I didn’t feel like sitting here alone again.”
What did he mean, again? “Do you mean you followed me here on purpose and this isn’t the first time?”
This time, she didn’t think she’d be able to control her temper. What would he do if she picked up Dr. Lindsay’s cup and flung it at his head? If, once started, she couldn’t finish until she cursed him for his part in Kendrick’s death?
“Charlie,” her brother began and sat in the previous occupant’s chair. “Do you truly think I’d forget my promise to our mother to watch over you—the same promise you made her for Elsie?”
He held out his arm, offering her back her seat. She accepted it, glancing at Patrick while she sat. Naturally, he smiled.
Had Duff been following her all this time? Waiting alone, unseen by her at least, and then making certain she arrived safely home? She’d been frequenting pubs for more than a year trying to find cures. How long had he known? How long had he let her believe he knew nothing? Did he also know about her visits to their father’s tenants? Or that she’d robbed him? What did she think of all of it? It didn’t change anything.
Aye, promises had been made, but didn’t Duff understand that he’d already broken his promise when he followed their father’s orders and killed Kendrick?
“What are you trying to gain from this man?” her brother asked her, his eyes gleaming like polished steel beneath the slash of his black brows.
When she didn’t answer him, he answered for her.
“Medicine for Elsie.”
Astoundingly, he didn’t sound angry. There wasn’t going to be a fight. Her temper would remain leashed another day. She was relieved, but still angry with him for not telling her.
“If you already know, why are you asking me?”
“I was curious about your answer,” he replied mildly.
She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. She could feel Patrick’s eyes on her. Amused, glittering green eyes that found humor in everything she said and did—even when she woke from fainting at the Wallaces’. She was tempted to look his way, but her conversation with Duff took precedence. “What do you think you’re going to do about it?”
He stretched out his arms on either side of him. “Same as I’ve been doing. What?” he asked when her expression darkened. “Is following you to make certain you’re safe so terrible?”
“Where else have you followed me?”
He sat up straight in his chair and eyed her. “Where else have you gone?”
She almost sighed with relief. “To The Red Rooster tavern in Pinwherry.” It wasn’t an untruth.
He smiled and nodded. She knew he cared about her. That had never changed, though he’d grown harder, along with their lives. But the Duff she’d once loved had died with
Kendrick. After Kendrick had gone missing and before the Fergussons killed her mother, Duff had become quiet and more detached. He’d grown worse over the years, snapping at her often and breaking Hendry’s nose twice. Morose even after years had passed, Duff rarely smiled.
Last winter, in a busy pub in Colmonell called Hecker’s Muse, Charlie had finally found out why.
The folks of that town knew chieftain Cameron Fergusson well. They had known his son, and according to many, they had seen Kendrick riding off with her brothers—never to be seen again.
Up until then, she’d always wondered why the Fergussons had accused her family of the vile deed. Finding out the truth had turned her heart cold toward the men in her family. The men who were truly responsible for her mother’s death.
“How long have you known what I’ve been doing?” she asked, refusing to be moved by his concern. “And why did you keep your knowledge from me?”
“For about a year and a half and there was no reason to tell you. Once I discovered what you were after I knew you wouldn’t stop until you found it. It was simply more peaceful this way.”
He had that right. Trying to stop her would have been useless and taxing for them both.
“How did you find out?” It didn’t matter, but she was curious just the same. Had she been careless and let him see her leave the house? She’d have to be more careful.
“Elsie told me. She said you go out every sixth night. She was concerned because she loves you.”
Damn it! Elsie! She should have known her sister would worry over her. But at least Elsie hadn’t told him that she goes out far more often than every sixth night.
She was still deciding how angry she should be with her brother when Patrick touched her shoulder.
She hadn’t forgotten he was there. His presence demanded attention though he hadn’t spoken a word. It had been difficult trying to give Duff her full attention with Patrick standing over the table the entire time.
“What ails Elsie?” he asked gazing down at her.
His eyes, changing from green to deep amber in the firelight, captivated her. Or perhaps it was the curiosity and concern making his eyes gleam behind his spray of long lashes that made her stare at him like a fool, unable to form a logical thought.
“Does it have to do with the way she breathes?”
Charlie blinked out of her brief reverie. Was he simply observant or had Elsie’s sickness become so obvious to an untrained eye? Had it worsened without Charlie’s notice because she saw her sister all the time and missed any small changes?
“What way does she breathe?” Charlie asked him so she could know if what he saw was the same as what she saw. Or worse.
“She lifts her shoulders to pull in shallow breaths.”
She nodded. “You’re observant.”
He shook his head. “No’ observant enough or I would have known the seriousness of her condition and could have helped sooner.”
Helped? Did she hear him right? He could help? Was this another ruse to win her? It seemed too providential that Patrick Campbell would be the man to save Elsie…to save them both.
“How do you know about this illness enough to help Elsie?” she asked doubtfully. He was no physician, after all.
“Its symptoms appear similar to an ailment from which m’ mother suffers. Thankfully, she is all but cured, but winters in the mountains can be hard.”
Charlie could no longer remain in her seat. She sprang up and searched his gaze for the truth. “Did you say, she is cured? From asthma? You said the winters were hard. Does your mother’s condition worsen in colder months causing her to wheeze?”
“Aye.”
Could he truly help or was she dreaming? Was it the same condition? Perhaps his mother’s condition wasn’t as serious as Elsie’s. “Has your mother ever labored until you feared she was going to turn to ash before your eyes?”
His gaze on her went warm and soft, like a gentle caress. “I heard tales of m’ faither almost losing her, but ’twas many years ago. Now, she breathes with no trouble fer three full seasons of the year. The last time she was set abed from it I was ten and two.”
Charlie wanted to fling her arms around his neck. She wanted to laugh and weep at the same time. There was hope! Real hope for Elsie’s good health! She’d vowed to find a cure, but it had become difficult to believe there was one with all the failed remedies they’d tried. But if Patrick’s mother suffered the same illness…and was well now…
“What is the cure?”
Her heart thumped so wildly she felt a bit light-headed. She’d searched for so long. Was she truly about to get the right answer?
“There are several ways to ease her breathin’,” he told her, lifting his fingers to her face as a tear fell. “But the main source of relief is her tea.”
“Tea?” Her heart sank a little. What kind of tea could cure asthma?
“Aye, butterbur tea,” he replied as simply as if he were telling her the weather and not answering her prayers. “’Tis a plant that grows in certain regions between Ayrshire and Dumfries. One such region is no’ far from here.”
That was it? Tea from a single plant? Not a concoction of powders and elixirs with a high price attached? Was it truly that simple? Had Patrick Campbell just given her what she’d been praying to find her whole life? She smiled, and then she did what she wanted to do and threw herself into his arms.
Chapter Eighteen
His arms closed around her and she nearly sighed out loud with the pleasure of it. There was no seduction in his embrace, only comfort, making it all the more sensual, captivating and capturing her in a whirl of emotions she’d never felt for anyone else, not even Kendrick.
But now wasn’t the time to be afraid, not with him.
“What region close by carries this butterbur?” Duff, whom she’d completely forgotten, interrupted.
Patrick’s arms fell away as she opened her eyes to her brother. She stabbed him with a sharp look before returning her gaze to Patrick. It was because she was studying every nuance of his roguish beauty that she noted hesitancy shadowing his eyes. What did he resist telling them?
“Where does it grow?” she asked, needing him to tell her, holding nothing back for payment.
“The closest is in Colmonell.” He stopped again and looked away for the briefest of moments before settling his apprehensive gaze back on her. “’Twould be best if I travel alone to gather the plant. ’Twill be too dangerous fer either of ye to go.”
“Not for me,” Duff assured him immediately with a subtle flick of his shoulders squaring.
Charlie wanted to declare the same, but best if her brother didn’t know all her secrets.
“Nae,” Patrick insisted. “I’ll go alone.”
“Why?” Duff pressed, rising to stand. “Where is it that ’tis so dangerous?”
Patrick met his gaze straight on, looking determined to defy that edge of trepidation still darkening his features. “Just west of Tarrick Hall.”
“The Fergussons’ land?” Duff asked, sounding as stunned as he appeared.
“Aye.”
“How do you know of it?” Duff asked, sounding much like her father when he questioned her. “What else do you know about the Fergussons?”
“No’ much besides that ye’re warrin’ with them. Would ye care to tell me why?”
“No,” Duff grumbled and began to turn away. “But you’re correct. ’Twould be dangerous to go. I would likely kill them all.”
Charlie stared at her brother. She knew Duff hated the Fergussons as much as her father did. But to kill them all? And what if their kin, the MacGregors, rode down from the hills to exact vengeance?
Wasn’t that what her family had always tried to avoid, ever since the first MacGregor, Tristan, as named in the tales she’d heard as a child, had threatened her father’s brothers with retaliation after her uncles had raided a Fergusson holding?
Was Duff truly so foolish?
All traces of his usual eas
y nature faded from Patrick’s expression at Duff’s declaration. He did nothing to conceal it this time as he laid his hand to Duff’s shoulder, stopping her brother from rising from his chair.
“And be hanged fer murder?” he asked. “How would ye protect yer sister from the dangers outside Cunningham House and in it after that? Ye didna strike me as the kind of man who rushes headlong into a battle he canna win.”
Charlie breathed a sigh of relief that finally Duff had a man of some sense to speak with.
Her brother laughed but looked as miserable as ever. Did he regret what he’d done to Kendrick? Was his regret and shame the punishment he’d been living with for five years? Did it make any difference? What kind of man, young or old, could take the life of a boy barely into his sixteenth year?
“Ah, but I do think first, Campbell,” Duff said. “That is why the Fergussons still breathe.” He called out for another tankard of whisky before settling back into his chair.
“Tell me,” Patrick said, pulling up a chair and sitting between herself and Duff. “What have they done to—”
“You have bollocks to return here, Highlander!”
Damnation, it was Hamish, escorted by two of his friends.
Charlie shook her head at him. Bringing friends to a fight proved that he wasn’t confident in a victory without aid. “You’re without courage, Hamish,” she charged while Patrick rose from his chair. She could feel his eyes on her like hot brands, but her gaze remained fixed on Hamish and his friends.
“Stay out of it, Charlie,” Hamish growled at her. “Unless you’re here with him in the hopes of being his next conquest. Mayhap,” he said, his gaze moving to Duff, “you’re hoping for both of them.”
Patrick moved in a blur of speed. One moment he was standing near her and the next, he was snapping a leg off the nearest chair with his boot heel, and then moving toward Hamish with it.
He didn’t hesitate or pause to say a word. He walked with a purpose, and when he reached the giant, he swung the wooden leg with such power, Charlie wasn’t sure if it was the wood or Hamish’s ribs that cracked. She realized it was the latter when the giant grasped his side and fell forward to his knees.