by Jane Charles
“Ye sent them on their way to be with their families,” Dougal reminded him. ”Ye told them there was no reason to be here if ye werena, and it was goin’ to be Christmas soon.”
He had forgotten. He wanted to be with his family and assumed his servants did as well. “Who is left in the house?”
“Mrs. MacGinnis, yerself and me.”
“Mrs. Plight?” She was the housekeeper and came with the manor when he inherited it, along with most of the other servants. That woman was always here, except on Sundays.
“She has family in the village.”
They had planned on closing Brachton Manor until he returned in the spring and there was no reason that it needed to remain fully staffed the entire time. Mrs. Plight, the butler and a handful of staff were going to return after the New Year. The stable master and other stable hands also had local families and would check on the animal stock in his absence. Mrs. McGinnis was going to travel with them to Scotland. “No other females?” He turned to look at Dougal who only shook his head. “Send Mrs. MacGinnis up.”
“What is she goin’ to do?”
“Undress the lass. I certainly canna do so.”
“Mrs. MacGinnis is heatin’ all that water, which I will probably have to haul up these bloody stairs as she is a mite herself. She canna undress the lass.”
Dougal was right. Mrs. MacGinnis was a wee thing and young. Widowed at the age of twenty-three with no children, he had hired her as his cook the last time he was home so that he could have good Scottish fare for his meals.
“She is unconscious and will never know,” Dougal insisted.
“She will when she wakes and demands to ken who took off her clothing.”
Dougal sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye saved her life. Ye want her to die from the cold because ye want to protect her modesty.”
He did have a point. Besides, he was freezing himself and the sooner he got the lass settled in the warm bed, the quicker he could take a hot bath himself.
He rolled her to the side, but his fingers were still numb and he was shivering so much he couldn’t grasp hold of the buttons.
Dougal produced a knife and handed it to him. Thank goodness Dougal was never without his trusted blade because Lachlan had needed it twice now in less than half an hour.
“I could undress her while ye get warm,” Dougal offered, a sly grin on his face.
The thought of Dougal undressing the lass didn’t set well with Lachlan, but he didn’t know why. “I will do it myself.” He took the knife and slit the back of the dress open before he let her roll onto her back. Lachlan pulled at the front and slipped the sleeves down her arms.
Beneath the green woolen dress was nothing but a shift. At least she wasn’t wearing a corset. He hated the stiffness they caused. A man couldn’t feel the softness of a woman’s form through one of those things.
The wet shift plastered against her body and revealed far more than he should be seeing given he was a stranger. “Toss me a blanket.”
“Shouldna ye get her out of the rest of her wet clothing?” Dougal asked.
The linen was soaked and it wouldn’t do good to leave it against the lass’ skin for the entire night. “Turn yer back.”
“Why?”
“It is bad enough that I am seein’ this much of her.” Besides, if she turned out to be a lady with an influential family, he would be legshackled to her before the snow melted given the liberties he had already taken, regardless of the fact he was trying to save her life. And because of that, Dougal was not going to see any potential future wife of his without her clothing.
Dougal harrumphed and turned around.
Lachlan covered her with a blanket so as not to see any more than he already had and worked to remove the shift from her body. He never had difficulty undressing a wench in bed or out, but those women were cooperative. This one was unconscious and he was trying to preserve her modesty best he could. Instead of trying to save the shift, he ripped the material at the neck and tore it off of her body without ever removing the blanket that covered her. However, his fingers skimmed over areas that no man should touch except a husband, but that couldn’t be helped. Lastly, he slipped his hands up each leg and rolled each stocking down until he pulled them from her feet.
“Get my nightshirt.”
Dougal laughed. “Since when do ye sleep in anythin’ other than what ye were born with?”
“My mother always packs them. I doona tell her I doona use them.”
“Where are they?”
“Bottom drawer,” Lachlan nodded to the dresser on the back wall.
Dougal removed a shirt and tossed it to him. Lachlan shook it out and then looked down at the girl. How was he going to get it on her without revealing any of her body?
With a sigh, he knelt on the floor and bunched the material and dragged it over her head, stopping at her neck. He then pulled one arm out from beneath the blanket and slid it into the sleeve before he did the same with the other arm. Next he pulled the blanket higher and over the nightshirt before he slipped his hands beneath, grabbed the material and pulled it down her body. He was rather proud of himself at being able to undress and dress her without glimpsing any part of her body he shouldn’t be looking at.
The bed had already been turned down, so he scooped her up in his arms, tossed the damp blanket aside, and carried her across the room and gently laid her onto the sheets before he pulled even more blankets over her.
“Ye need to get out of those clothes before ye become ill.”
Lachlan simply nodded his head and began pulling the wet clothing from his body. Soon, he stood naked. He dearly hoped she was not of society or his fate had just been sealed, especially if she happened to wake up at this moment. He grabbed the Spens plaid folded neatly on the chair and draped it around his body as he had been taught as a child and wandered to the fire to warm him. He couldn’t stop shivering despite the warmth in the room.
“Let’s get that hot water up here before my bullocks disappear for good.”
“Ye arena getting’ a bath.”
“What?” Lachlan turned on him. “Ye said Mrs. MacGinnis was heatin’ water.”
“For me.”
“Ye?” he shouted. “Ye arena the one who just took a dip in a frozen lake.”
“Shush, ye’ll wake the lass.” Dougal stepped closer. “Mrs. MacGinnis said ye canna have a hot bath after swimming in icy water because it will shock yer body to death.”
Lachlan eyed him. A memory tickled at the back of his mind. A healer back home had recited something when his younger brother had fallen into an icy stream. “The quicker the cold, the slower to warm.”
Dougal nodded. “Never made sense to me. Ye would think that if you fall into cold water you get into hot water to even it out.”
“Old Munroe ignored her.” The memories were coming back to him of the spring thaws, the streams swelling and overflowing with frigid water from the mountains. Munroe had fallen from his boat and Ian had gone in after him. Munroe had insisted on a hot bath but Lachlan’s mother did what the healer told her. Munroe died. It could have been a coincidence but Lachlan wasn’t going to take that chance.
“At least bring up the whisky.”
Dougal grinned. “That I can do.” He glanced back at the bed. The young woman was still shaking. “The healer always said the best way to warm a body is with another.”
“I’m sure the blankets will suffice.” There was no way he was crawling into that bed. “Get the whisky.”
Madeline couldn’t stop shivering. She wasn’t nearly as cold as before but her body continued to shake. And she was so tired she didn’t have the will to open her eyes. For a short time she heard male voices but couldn’t make them out. They were probably Matt and Jordan. They wouldn’t be happy that she went out in this storm and fell into a lake.
It had been silent for a short time but her body still shook. If only it would stop then she would be able to sleep. At least the
bed was comfortable and the linen sheets were soft against her skin. She just needed to get a little warmer and then she would stop shaking.
The bed dipped and the covers moved before a body was next her hers. “What is yer name, lass?”
Madeline licked her lips, trying to make sense of this. Why was there a strange man in her bed? She should object, but he was warm and she wanted to curl herself around him.
“Yer name?” he questioned again.
“Mad. . . Madi. . .” she sighed. It took too much effort to speak. She would tell him tomorrow, after she had slept.
The tremors in her body were diminishing. He rolled her onto her side and came up from behind and wrapped an arm around her middle before he pulled her back against him. The heat of him seeped into her frozen bones and Madeline gave up the will to question who he was or where she was. She could ask all that tomorrow. Right now, she just wanted to surrender to oblivion in the warm cocoon of this bed.
Madeline opened her eyes and glanced around the room. It was as hot as Hades in here.
Where was she? Nothing was familiar. Not the deep red blanket over her or the large fireplace across the room.
Her eyes opened further. Was that a man in a kilt?
Had she died and gone to Scotland?
No. She closed her eyes. This was a dream. That was all. Though it was a rather vivid one and she wasn’t one usually given to fanciful thoughts. Not like some of the girls she had attended school with.
She slowly opened her eyes again. There was a Scotsman standing in front of the fire. Or, at least she assumed he was a Scotsman given the plaid he had draped over his shoulder and about his waist. The light from the flames danced across his smooth, muscled chest. Goodness, it was getting warmer in here with each moment that passed.
She pulled her eyes away from his muscular stomach and back to his face though she could only view his profile because he was looking into the fire. His blond hair was mussed as if he had not brushed it from sleeping. His face appeared almost chiseled with high cheek bones above shadowed skin. His cheeks and sculpted jawline needed a shave. He blew out a breath between his firm lips and Madeline wondered what he was thinking.
“Ye havena put any clothin’ on yet?” a man asked as he came into the room. At least this one was fully dressed, in proper attire.
The Scot, which Madeline decided he was, looked down at his clothing. “I am dressed.”
“Not for England,” the other man grumbled. “At least put a shirt on. Even in Scotland ye wore one with the plaid.”
“I will dress as I like in my own home.”
At least she was still in England, but where?
“What has ye out of sorts?” the other gentleman asked as he placed a tray on a table close to the fire.
“Have ye looked at the snow, Dougal?” the Scot barked.
At least she now knew the name of one of them.
“Shush, ye’ll wake the lass.”
Lass, what lass?
Oh, they must mean her.
“It is still comin’ down. I will never get out of here.”
“You will make it to Edinburgh before Christmas,” the other man seemed to assure him.
“I had better. Have ye forgotten I plan on gettin' a bride for Christmas?” The Scot poured tea into a cup and lifted it close to his mouth. “I canna stomach facin’ another Season filled with delicate English ladies and their mamas wantin’ to marry them off to a marquess.”
So, the Scot was a lord. But which lord?
“Ye may not have a choice,” the other man whispered. They started to turn in her direction and Madeline quickly closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready for them to know she was awake yet. Not until she determined how she came to be here.
“We doona even ken who she is,” the Scot argued. “Other than her name is Maddie.”
Maddie? Nobody had ever called her by that name. How had the Scot come to know her but she didn’t know him?
“She is a fine lady, we do know that. And how do ye ken her name?”
“She told me,” the Scot answered. “Last night.”
“Ye dinna tell me she woke up.”
“Ye never asked,” the Scot reminded the other man.
“What else did she say?”
“Nothin’. She fell right back asleep.”
There was a moment of silence but Madeline didn’t dare open her eyes.
“The bed is rumpled, Lachlan. More so than it would be had the lass slept alone.”
Her pulse raced. There had been a man in her bed last night. He had warmed her, held her, and asked for her name. Why did she tell him it was Maddie?
“Ye are the one that said the best way to warm a body is with another one,” the Scot argued. “She wouldna stop shiverin’. What was I to do?” the Scot grumbled.
He had been the one in the bed with her.
“What makes ye so certain she’s a lady?” the Scot demanded.
“The fine fabric of her cloak, dress and stockings,” the other answered.
Stockings? How did they know anything about her stockings? What had she done?
“Well, we will know as soon as she wakes. Then we will take her back to whomever she belongs to.” It sounded as if the Scot wanted her gone as soon as possible by the irritation in his voice.
“And if her family takes issue because she was here all night?”
Oh dear! Madeline’s heart raced with panic. Her family must be worried sick and where was she?
“Surely, her family willna make me marry the lass given she was unconscious or slept the entire time.”
“Ye slept in her bed,” the man argued.
Goodness, this was even worse. Madeline wasn’t sure she wanted to know more.
“My bed,” the Scot retorted.”
“That doesna make it better.”
“She bleedin’ fell into my lake!”
The events were slowly coming back to Madeline and that terrible sound of the ice breaking beneath her right before she plunged into the frigid water. She didn’t remember anything after that moment.
“Given the circumstances, they may just be happy to have her back and alive.”
“They better be because I am not marryin’ an English lady. I will have me a Scottish bride and that is it.”
The Scot must have left the room because the door slammed, causing her to jerk. She opened her eyes to find the other man looking at her. “I apologize, he woke ye, lass.” He walked to the side of the bed. “How are ye feelin’?”
“Warm.” Madeline moved to push the covers away. “Where am I?”
“Brachton Manor.” The man smiled then moved to the table where he poured her a cup of tea. He had warm brown eyes and a kind smile.
She wasn’t exactly sure where that was but she knew Brachton lived close to Matt so she couldn’t have wandered too far.
“Where did ye come from?” He was kind and had the same Scottish accent as the other man.
“That is what I would like to ken as well.”
Madeline looked up to find the Scot standing in the door. He had donned a shirt but still wore his tartan. Hands were fisted on his hips and his deep brown eyes looked as if they could shoot daggers through her.
“I only wanted to take a short walk.”
“In the middle of a snow storm?” the man demanded. “Are ye daft?”
“I most certainly am not daft,” Madeline argued and began to sit up.
The blanket shifted, uncovering her shoulder. The nightshirt she was wearing was awfully large and if she wasn’t careful it would fall from her body.
The Scot’s eyebrow shot up and the corner of his mouth quirked. With a huff she lay back down and pulled the covers up to her chin.
“Ye arena from around here. Where did you come from?”
Madeline had half a mind not to tell him because he was being so disagreeable. “I am from Kent.”
“How did ye get here?” He barked.
“In a carriage,” she bit out.
The other man walked past the Scot and mumbled. “This is a fragile English lady?”
The Scot narrowed his eyes at his friend but said nothing.
The man turned to her. “I’ll send Mrs. MacGinnis up to help ye dress.”
“Thank you.”
“Was anyone in this carriage with you, or were you traveling alone?”
She wanted to remind him that ladies didn’t travel by themselves but bit back the retort. Let him think of her as he would. “I wasn’t alone.”
The Scot breathed in as if losing his patience with her. Good! That was her intention. Why she was rankled, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was because he was so unpleasant and what was wrong with marrying an English lady? Not that she wanted to marry him of course, but why was a Scottish woman better?
“Does your companion have a name, and should I be out searching in the snow for them?”
Madeline snorted. “I am sure Jordan is warm by the fire, wondering what has become of me, if he even noticed I was gone.”
The man straightened. “Jordan?”
Could he know her brother? Jordan had been in society a number of years and the two looked to be around the same age. “Yes, Jordan Trent. Do you know him?”
The man smiled broadly. “I’ve kent Jordan since school. Well, his loss is my good fortune.”
His loss? Surely the man didn’t think . . . Oh dear, she was well aware of Jordan’s reputation. Perhaps she should mention she was his sister.
No, the Scot worried about being forced into a marriage. Though Jordan would not do something so ludicrous, Matt however may. And, if Clayton got wind of this situation there would be no help for it. It was better to let the man think what he would, because soon she would be back at Matt’s and the Scot would be on his way north to find a bride.
Lachlan took his place at the head of the breakfast table, and Dougal settled into a chair to his right. Mrs. MacGinnis had prepared porridge, black pudding, potato scones, eggs and oatcakes and left it on the table before she went upstairs to help Maddie dress.
He was starving and piled enough food on his plate to almost overflowing before filling a cup with hot coffee. Just moments ago he had no appetite, wondering if that lass in his bed was his future wife. He shouldn’t have gotten into bed with her, but she continued to shiver. It couldn’t be healthy to be cold for so long and why did she take longer to warm than he?