Alone with Simon, she stared sadly into his face. Dark circles lay under his eyes and when he opened them from time to time he saw nothing. Yet his blue eyes were bright with fever. His face had become pinched and his skin hot to touch. Picking up his hand, she held it in her own cool ones. When he groaned she released it and, wringing out a cloth that had been soaking in cool water, sponged off his face and neck, hoping it would bring his fever down.
‘What can we do?’ she asked her uncle despairingly when he came to relieve her. ‘The fever shows no sign of abating.’
‘I believe it is in God’s hands,’ Matthew replied quietly.
‘Yes, I believe you are right.’
Henrietta continued to watch over him, tortured as she watched him wrestle with his unseen demons. Time passed her by. In this, his most crucial hour, she wanted her full attention focused on him. She was willing him to live, to fight the fever, for his eyes to open and look at her, and for his beautiful mouth to smile. She prayed, she talked to him, occasionally weeping over him, and when exhaustion took over, she fell asleep still sitting beside him.
Chapter Eight
Simon lay still for a moment. A small sound from somewhere close by convinced him he was awake. Slowly he opened his eyes and his amazement was complete as he took in the place he was in. It was some kind of small cave, lit by a lamp, and from the comfort of the mattress beneath him and the clean sheet over him, he guessed that he was in a bed. There was a dull, throbbing pain in his chest, but when his finger touched it, he found it snugly wrapped in a neat bandage.
The slender form of a woman moved in the cave, and though he had no idea who she was, when she looked towards the bed, he’d have known that pert profile anywhere. He tried to wet his dry, parched lips with the tip of his tongue and called out to her.
‘Henrietta?’ His best effort was a hoarse croak.
Henrietta came quickly to his bedside, her eyes questioning as they searched his face in anxious concern. Touching his brow, she was relieved that his temperature was normal and his cheeks were no longer ashen. With his eyelids opened she found herself drowning in his vivid blue stare.
‘Welcome back to the land of consciousness,’ she said. ‘You gave us quite a scare. How do you feel?’
‘Can you get me a drink?’ His voice was little more that a rasping whisper.
She moved away from the bed, then returned. He opened his eyes to find her watching him closely. Accepting her assistance, he rose slightly and drank deeply to satisfy his burning thirst. The fever was gone, but every muscle in his body was on fire and there seemed to be no ease from the pain that ebbed and flowed through his chest.
Henrietta’s face mirrored his grimace. ‘Does it hurt very much?’
Simon lightly kneaded the bandage over the wound. ‘Like hell.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. His stare was so tender that her heart contracted. ‘I had forgotten how beautiful you are, Henrietta,’ he managed to say, finding it easier to speak. ‘Where am I?’
‘In a cave close to the house. You’re quite safe, but you’ll have to stay here if you want to remain so. English soldiers are looking for those they rousted from Culloden Field. You must not be found in the house if they come.’
‘I apologise if I put you in danger. It was not my intention.’
‘You would have died had you not come here. You were shot—you do remember that, don’t you, Simon?’
He nodded, his eyes suddenly bleak as memories of the battle came flooding back. ‘I was not the only one wounded that day. How long has it been?’
‘Three days.’
‘And now? What time of day is it?’
‘Early evening.’
Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back onto the pillow. ‘Those who fled the field will not get far, weakened as they were by cold, hunger and fatigue. It was a slaughter. As far as I am aware all the men under my command from Barradine were wiped out. Cumberland authorised the immediate execution of any man found to have engaged in the rebellion. His troops will ravage the Highlands in their thirst for revenge.’
‘Charles Stuart is a fugitive,’ Henrietta told him quietly. ‘You are also a fugitive. For now your cause is lost. You have to save yourself, Simon.’
‘I will—when I am recovered. I will make my way to the Western Isles. From there I will try to take ship for France. It will not be easy.’
‘It is best to wait until the furore has died down. You are still very weak. Don’t speak any more. You lost a great deal of blood.’
A spasm of pain clouded his eyes. He closed them for a moment while it passed. When he opened them again they focused on her face bent to his. Raising his arm, he attempted to touch her hair, which curled about her cheeks and almost to her shoulders, but the effort proved too much.
‘What is it?’ she queried softly.
‘Your hair...’
‘What about my hair?’
‘It’s grown in the time we’ve been apart.’
‘Yes.’
‘You look...’
‘Yes?’
‘Very feminine and very lovely, Henrietta.’
He smiled and his eyes at last fluttered closed. She sat with him and watched him sleep.
* * *
The hammering on the door was urgent. With a glance at her uncle, Henrietta put down her sewing and went to open it. A tall man stood there. His boots were muddy and his clothes wet with rain.
‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘I beg your pardon, miss, but I am Captain Garnet of His Royal Highness’s Dragoons.’
‘Dragoons!’ Henrietta said, feigning surprise. Fortunately her uncle had seen the Redcoats on the moor and had had time to warn Simon. They’d left him in darkness and gone to the house to wait.
‘Yes, miss,’ the captain said politely.
‘Whatever do you want? Are there others with you?’ she asked.
‘Yes. My men are waiting.’
‘Waiting?’
‘We’re looking for escaping Jacobites—those who left the field after Culloden. We believe some have come this way.’
‘Jacobites!’ she exclaimed.
‘There are no Jacobites in this house,’ Matthew said, coming to stand beside his niece. ‘I am Matthew Brody, Captain, a loyal subject of King George, and this young lady is my niece. We have seen the odd rebel on the moor, but I assure you there is none in this house.’
The captain nodded. It was not unknown to him that Matthew Brody was a Glaswegian—a learned man and something of an eccentric with a strong dislike of all Jacobites. In the main he had been left alone, but many crofters with Jacobite sympathies were not so lucky. Their homes had been burned in the search of the rebels.
‘That may be, sir, but we are ordered to search all households where we believe a rebel might hide. I must therefore demand that my men be allowed to enter and search this house.’
Henrietta’s mind raced. If they refused, the captain would be suspicious. Worse, they could force their way in and destroy her uncle’s home as they searched. For a moment she panicked, thinking that the Dragoons might suspect something, might know that they were harbouring a rebel. But had they not prepared for this very situation? They had no choice. The ruse would have to be tested.
‘Very well, Captain. Tell your men to come in.’ She stepped back. ‘But please have them wipe their feet first.’
‘Yes, miss.’ The man smiled at her and touched his hand to the brim of his black hat. She looked at her uncle, who nodded encouragingly. They waited for the captain’s troops to enter.
Henrietta stood aside, outwardly calm as the men came through the door. The cottage was small so it did not take them long to search the few downstairs rooms. As they mounted the narrow stairs to her small chamber, it seemed to Henrietta that she had stop
ped breathing. Even though she knew there was nothing to be found, the tightness increased in her chest.
When the troops came down, shaking their heads, the captain looked at Matthew. ‘Are there any other rooms here?’
‘No, Captain. There is a stable and storehouse attached to the house—a couple of mounts, that is all.’
‘We’ll take a look before we leave.’ Once he was satisfied that no rebels hid in the outside buildings, he returned to the house. ‘I do not think we need tarry any longer, sir. Just a word of advice before we go. Keep an eye on those horses. They might attract unwanted attention from scavenging rebels. I am sorry we have inconvenienced you.’
‘Not at all, Captain. You are doing what you have to do.’
Matthew went out to see them on their way.
* * *
To make quite sure they were not under surveillance, it was another hour before Henrietta returned to the cave to change Simon’s dressing.
‘They’ve gone,’ she told him as she lit the lamp. ‘They didn’t suspect a thing. Hopefully they won’t come back. I’ll change your bandages and then you can eat. You must be hungry.’
He was propped up against the pillows, a worried frown on his brow. A week had gone by since he’d arrived at the cottage and, though his wound still pained him and his body was weak, he was a little improved—although it would be some time before he was strong enough to embark on the long and perilous trek west.
After seeing to his dressing, Henrietta sat and began spooning the nourishing broth into his mouth. He could probably feed himself, but his hands still trembled and he was likely to spill more than he ate. He studied her as she fed him. She was so lovely. With such a soft, kissable mouth. He remembered that night in Edinburgh—so long ago now, it seemed, and for the first time since he’d been injured he felt the stirrings of passion.
His eyes glowed with warmth as he gazed at her. ‘You spoil me, Henrietta.’
Her lips curved upwards in a gentle smile. ‘Is it not gratifying to be spoiled once in a while?’
‘Your very presence spoils me to distraction,’ he replied with sudden candour. His eyes swept boldly down the line of her bosom, respectably concealed by a plain blue woollen dress. As if she sensed his less-than-pious thoughts, her hand jerked, spilling the liquid on to him.
‘Please forgive me,’ she said, distress showing on her face as she dabbed at the stain. ‘I hope I have not burned you.’
‘It was nothing,’ he replied, unable to keep his eyes from her face.
‘I am sorry—’ she began.
‘Henrietta,’ he said, setting the bowl aside and taking her hand in his. Her eyes, so large and startled, widened. ‘Please. It is nothing. I assure you.’
‘Very well.’ For a moment she did nothing, then she looked deliberately at his hand. Gently his fingers relaxed and she withdrew hers.
His meal was completed in silence. She rose to leave.
‘Don’t go,’ Simon said in a soft voice. ‘Could you not stay and talk to me? My world,’ he said, gesturing the cave with one hand, ‘is severely limited.’ He watched as several emotions warred on her lovely face.
‘I apologise for neglecting you as I have.’ She looked at him then, an honest and pained expression in her green eyes.
Simon could find nothing to say to this pronouncement, so he continued watching her. He wondered why she seemed so cool to him, so reserved. What had he done? It was as though they had never shared moments of intimacy. He felt an intruder—an intruder into what? Her life? Her heart? There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he could not find the words to express his feelings properly.
‘I want to say thank you for taking me in and saving my life in the face of so much danger to yourself. It is a great risk you and your uncle take letting me remain.’
For a moment he sensed a softening in her attitude and then the mask was back in place once more.
‘You are most welcome, Simon.’
At length, he said in a low voice, ‘I have missed you.’
‘Have you?’ she asked, her tone a little aloof.
‘I thought you enjoyed my company—if what happened between us in Edinburgh and again on the moor is to be remembered.’
‘That is past,’ she murmured, lowering her gaze.
‘And you are sure about that, are you, Henrietta? What is it?’ he asked gently.
She started at his question as if it burned. Silence deepened between them—then she looked at him, meeting his eyes watching her intently. ‘I thought you had been killed at Culloden.’ She paused. ‘I did not expect to see you again.’
He ached to hold her, to reassure her. But how could he, when he did not know what tomorrow would bring? ‘I am sorry if I’ve caused you pain. Do you believe me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your eyes are red. Have you been crying, Henrietta? Why?’
‘I cried for us,’ she answered simply. ‘For what could have been, but will never be.’
Simon felt a constriction in his throat.
She rose to her feet, picking up the empty bowl. ‘I shall come to you later—perhaps you would like me to read to you.’
‘I want...’ he began to say, then stopped.
‘Yes?’
He wanted to say that he desired her to stay longer. She seemed so different, so formal now, not the woman he had loved in Edinburgh. What had happened to her since then? Did she now hate him? He had known many reluctant virgins, who grew quite heated with the flaming of their passions and then chilled afterwards, as if they had almost forgotten their appetites. But Henrietta wasn’t one of these women. This was no unwilling maiden, who had kissed and given herself to him with such fervour, with such abandonment.
Reluctantly he agreed that she was right to keep him at arm’s length. Soon he would have to leave her. The longer he stayed, the harder it was going to be when the time came. It was not going to be easy making his way to the Western Isles, but keeping Henrietta and her uncle free from suspicion was worth the added risk. Any further searches by the Dragoons might not prove so lucky the next time.
‘We’ve been parted a long time, Henrietta. Did you ever think of me?’ he asked on a change of subject.
‘Yes, of course I did. Sometimes.’
He lifted a brow. ‘Only sometimes?’ His voice was marked with humour.
‘Every week.’
‘That’s brutally honest, but not very flattering. Only once a week?’
The intensity of his gaze ploughed through her composure. ‘Did I say only once a week?’ She could not resist teasing, relieved to feel the tension easing between them.
‘Twice a week?’
‘Maybe, but I’ll not pander to your ego. It’s already overinflated.’
He grinned, satisfied. ‘Still the same old Henrietta, giving nothing away.’
She smiled back at him. ‘I can’t afford to—not where you are concerned, my lord.’
When she turned to leave he reached out and caught her hand. ‘Come back if you have the time.’
‘I will. I promise.’
* * *
Having discovered a sensuality within herself that she had been ignorant of before Simon had awakened it, Henrietta found it difficult to keep her thoughts well aligned to that which a virtuous young woman might ponder. Her sudden propensity for wayward thoughts became even more apparent when she was with him. His very presence evoked an unfamiliar tumult within her, making her fearful of what he might discern if he looked into her flushed face or took note of her trembling fingers as she tended his wound.
Even though she focused all her concentration on her task, her eyes were wont to covertly caress the manly torso, and it shocked her unduly when she found herself closely eyeing the sheets that settled softly over his loins. The tor
pid fullness led her mind swiftly astray to visions of his long, nude body glistening with droplets of sweat after he had made love to her in Edinburgh. The kindling warmth that swept through her in ever-strengthening surges affected her until she became a bit ambiguous about her own reserve.
Glancing at him now, the trace of an amused smile on his lips told her he was obviously much better than on the previous day, and there was a hunger in his eyes that had nothing to do with putting food in his stomach. It triggered a quickness in her heartbeat, one she strived hard to hide with a scolding.
‘If you wish me to attend you, Simon, I insist that you exercise a finer degree of self-control.’
Unmoved by her gentle chiding, he plucked at the bandage. ‘I am surprised you have a stomach for this.’
Henrietta seated herself on the edge of the bed, facing him. ‘I’m not squeamish, if that’s what you think. Besides, the wound is looking much healthier.’ A rueful smile brought up the corners of her lips. ‘However, I should warn you to hold yourself still, or I might be tempted to remove some portion of your hide as recompense.’
‘I am yours to command.’ He spread his arms, completely surrendering himself to her ministering, and let his hand fall casually upon her knee as she leaned forward and began to snip at the bandage that criss-crossed his shoulder and chest. She paused and purposefully lifted his hand by the wrist, moving it to where it could rest harmlessly on the covers.
‘I will not stand your tomfoolery either, Simon,’ she admonished.
A slow, seductive smile curved his lips. ‘You’re being terribly formal, my love. Have you grown averse to me all of a sudden?’
‘I wish to change your dressing as quickly as possible and I have no wish to encourage you in your blatant disregard of my status as an unmarried woman, that is all,’ she explained pertly.
‘Do you think denying what is between us will stop me from wanting you?’ he asked as his eyes caressed her. ‘You know very little about me if you think mere words can quench what I feel for you. It is no simple lust that torments me, Henrietta, but a desire to have you with me every moment, to feel your softness close to me and to claim you as my own.’
Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and UnrepentantReturn of the Prodigal GilvryA Traitor's Touch Page 62