The Wicked Viscount (The Campbells)

by Heather McCollum

  Cat reached the edge, her fingers numb as she grabbed the thick yellow bandage on the girl’s hand. With shallow breaths, she pulled her legs up under her to get better leverage, her fingers clutching Mouse, working her grasp up the girl’s arm. Large brown eyes locked onto hers. “I’ve got ye,” Cat said. Churning wildly with her legs, not ready to die, Mouse propelled herself up toward Cat. Cat grabbed her around the middle. “Pull the bloody rope,” she yelled, her arms wrapping Mouse’s waist, the icy water soaking through her stomacher, stays, and smock.

  The rope tugged about her waist with such force that she flipped backward away from the hole, the girl still in her arms. A spike of pain shot through Cat’s head, as if a dagger had skewered her brain.

  “Cat! No!”

  The cracking of ice cut through Nathaniel’s words. Freezing water soaked through her layers as the sound of the crowd grew dim. Sard it all. She’d hit her head again. The thought spiraled inward until all that was left was ice and black swirling water.

  …

  “Pull!” Nathaniel yelled, throwing the end of rope that he held to a cluster of gentlemen he knew from court. Lord Wallace Danby, a tall man with some muscle, grabbed the end and quickly organized the onlookers to pull as the ladies stood aside, handkerchiefs to mouths. Esther Stanton stood with Francis and Lucy.

  The wet girl lay with her head on Cat’s chest. She seemed dazed, trembling against her savior. The men pulled, with Wallace Danby yelling out the command, and little by little Cat’s body was dragged across the ice, a faint trail of blood smeared as she slid over it.

  “Someone yank that dirty girl off Lady Campbell,” Francis Whitley called. “’Twas her folly that brought the lady to this.”

  “No,” Nathaniel said, anger mixing with worry within him. “The girl needs to be warmed too.” He watched Cat draw closer, her beautiful amber curls caught upon the rough surface of the Thames. Her pale face lay open to the sky as if she stargazed, the sweet freckles starker in contrast. He reached out, catching under her arms to slide her close to him, the small girl on top. A groan and crack came from the ice.

  “Let her go,” Wallace yelled. “I will pull her separate. Holding her to you is too much weight.”

  Damn it all, he wanted to hold her, cradle her frosted figure. Gently he let her go, sliding away from her in reverse as Wallace’s group dragged Cat closer to the thin ice sign. Several feet farther back, Nathaniel rose gingerly and hurried toward the group of men, his boots clacking on the ice as he ran precariously. Someone had retrieved her cloak and shoved it into his hands as he reached Cat’s side where Wallace was lifting her from the ice. His constant companion, Lord Matthew Hunt, picked up the nearly-drowned girl.

  “I have got her,” Nathaniel said, pushing through the press. “Wrap up the child, too. And bring her.” He took Cat’s wet, frigid body into his chest. “Blast,” he murmured. She was freezing.

  Wallace wiped a hand over her face. “Take her to the tents where there is a fire.”

  “This way,” Nathaniel said and looked out at the staring people who had just witnessed Cat’s heroic rescue. “Move aside.” He strode across the smooth surface, leaving the onlookers behind and cradling her to him, the dripping mass of petticoats slapping against his legs. He veered onto the path between the tents, dodging fairgoers and the curious.

  He knew exactly where to take her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cold.

  Like an itch that wouldn’t be quelled, the cold ached within Cat’s body. It wasn’t the ache from the fire Nathaniel tendered in her. Nay, it was a deep-in-your-bones sickly ache.

  “She is shaking. ’Tis a good sign that her body is fighting for life.”

  Cat recognized the voice but couldn’t place it. She inhaled and sought to stretch, but her head throbbed.

  “We need to warm them both.” Nathaniel’s voice was heavy with worry. About her? The thought infused her.

  The freezing sting on her cheeks was replaced by warm palms, and she opened her eyes. Nathaniel stared down into them as he cupped her face in his hands. “Good God, Cat. Are you well?” he whispered.

  She blinked. “I foking hit my head again, didn’t I?”

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment and exhaled as if relieved. “Yes. Yes, you did.”

  His hand slid down her wet hair. “Damnation. You are ice.” His warm lips came to her forehead, kissing it, and then he leaned down to meet her gaze. “I thought…I thought I might lose you beneath the water, under the layer of ice.” His hand stroked her cheek.

  “I had to save her,” she whispered.

  “I know.” His fingers stroked the wet hair back from her face. “Thank God you knew how to tie the noose to slip around yourself.” His brows lowered. “How is it you know how to tie a noose exactly?”

  “Craig, the blacksmith in Killin, taught me,” she said.

  He nodded as if that explained everything when it likely just gave him more questions, questions she wasn’t ready to answer. Nathaniel wrapped another blanket over her head and down her shoulders, her body heat beginning to warm the musty river water that clung to her. She shivered, and Nathaniel cupped her cheeks again, trying to warm her. “God, Cat. I need to get you back to Finlarig where you can be safe.”

  “Soon,” she whispered. “But there is something going on at Whitehall. I can feel it.”

  “There is always something going on at Whitehall,” he said, his whisper hard with conviction. “Your life is worth more.”

  She smiled gently, his words a balm more so than the blankets. “Why Lord Worthington. Ye give me hope that ye fancy me,” she teased.

  He hovered over her, a deep furrow across his brow.

  “I have no dry clothes here,” the woman said, and she saw the herb seller’s well-lined face over his shoulder.

  Nathaniel slid his hands from her but continued to keep her gaze. “We can take her skirts off. She is wearing trousers beneath.”

  Cat bent her knees under the water weight of her sodden skirts while he tugged on them. Mouse lay bundled under blankets on the other table. “I will get them both a tincture against fever and a poultice for that cut and bump on your lady’s head,” the woman said.

  A gasp came from the tent flap. “What are you doing?” Esther Stanton charged inside, her voice a terse snap.

  “I am removing her sodden skirts,” Nathaniel answered.

  “She will be nearly naked, her smock soaked through,” Lucy Kellington said, ducking in behind Esther.

  “There are trousers underneath for warmth,” he answered, and Cat felt him drag the skirts down over her legs. She pushed up onto one elbow, ignoring the ache in her head, as the herbalist brought her a warm drink, heavily scented with chamomile.

  Esther stood with her two friends just inside the low tent. “How manly,” she said. “Though I would not expect anything less from a woman stupid enough to risk her life and yours, Nathaniel, to save a pickpocket.” Stupid? Cat swallowed, narrowing her gaze at the haughty woman. Where were her blades?

  “A child, Lady Stanton,” Nathaniel said, correcting her. “Lady Campbell risked her life to save an innocent child.”

  “Innocent? Doubtful, living on the streets,” Esther continued.

  “A child left orphaned and without food or shelter,” Cat said, her words becoming a little stronger.

  The healer came up with cloth laden with mashed herbs. “I have a poultice of comfrey and lemon balm to help the bump on yer head go down and the cut to heal without taint.”

  “Is the girl well?” Cat asked.

  Francis Whitley poked her head around Nathaniel’s broad shoulder. “Heavens, the child is likely to die of illness or pox or its own poverty,” she said as if being poor was the girl’s choice. “Foolish to risk your life and Lord Worthington’s to save it.”

  “The girl is a she,” Cat said, her gaze narrowing on the privileged lady of the court. “Not an it.”

  The differences between aristocracy and t
he common man was summed up in that little word. It. Francis Wickley didn’t see Mouse as a living human being, just an object to be scorned and pushed aside until she disappeared.

  Cat looked back to Nathaniel. He’d been raised on the gilt side of this ugly line between wealthy and poor, yet he was different from them on so many levels. Kind, compassionate, truthful. Like no man she had ever met before. “We will care for the girl,” she said.

  Nathaniel nodded, his legs braced as if he stood in battle, ready to draw his sword. Could he sense the hierarchical war churning around them within the tent?

  The herbal lady held an arm under Mouse’s back to help her drink something warm. The girl drank and stared at Cat, her eyes large and unsure. Likely she would run if she weren’t so beaten down by the ordeal. “There is lots of room at the Highland Roses School,” Cat said. “Ye can return with me.”

  “Good Lord,” Esther said, looking heavenward. “You certainly do collect strays. Be careful, Lord Worthington, or she will be scooping up the cats in the barns to carry back to Scotland.”

  “In fact,” Cat said, leveling an icy look on Esther. “I do have a stray cat waiting at Hollings to return with me. A gift from Nathaniel.”

  Esther’s mouth puckered as if she’d bitten a lemon tart without any sugar.

  Nathaniel pulled some coin from his leather bag and set it in Lucy Kellington’s gloved hand. “Please find a dry petticoat or long cape for Lady Campbell to wear back to Whitehall. And a warm cloak for the child. Gloves and hat, too.”

  “Certainly,” Lucy said, turning to link arms with Francis.

  Esther stepped to the tent flap with them, whispering in Francis’s ear. A drumming on the back of Cat’s hand caught her attention. The herbal woman’s gnarled finger tapped lightly there, but she stared at Esther in the doorway. Then she glanced downward, and back up at Esther, and back down again several times. Her finger slid off of Cat’s hand to land on a jar sitting on the partially hidden shelf under the table where her dangerous herbs were kept. Without a sound, she tapped gently on one jar. Wolfsbane. She recognized the pale-yellow dried flowers of the toxic plant. Given in food or drink, it could cause vomiting, weakness, paralysis, sweating, breathing problems, heart failure, and death.

  Cat turned her gaze to the noblewoman chatting with Nathaniel just inside and then looked at the herbal seller. The old woman gave one long nod, her face grim. So, Lady Esther Stanton had bought Wolfsbane from the herbalist. Was this why Esther didn’t want her to go to the Frost Fair and why she’d followed them into the tent after her near-drowning? To make certain the herbalist didn’t reveal anything to them?

  Cat closed her eyes while lying flat once again. Her Gaelic words came in a whisper for the ears of the old woman. “London is a dangerous place. Ye should probably journey home to Scotland soon.”

  …

  Nathaniel bowed his head to the African lady, Ekua, as they stood outside Catherine de Braganza’s chambers. “You have been quite faithful to the duchess since the king’s death. Thank you.” The woman inclined her chin, the blue silk of her head wrap sliding forward across her shoulder.

  Ekua glanced down at her gloved hands, clasped before her. “I am at the constant disposal of the duchess, though I do not wish it.” She looked back to Nathaniel. “What has become of my brother, Titus?” she asked in her exotic accent. Ekua had come to England with her brother, Titus, to represent their people inhabiting the west coast of Afrika. Catherine de Braganza was from Portugal, their government continually trying to expand into the African country by force. But before the queen could maneuver through the political battle to help Ekua’s people, King Charles had died.

  “He is healing from the gunshot wound he suffered defending the duchess,” he said. “We left him in competent hands, and he was doing well. When he is fit, he can return to London for you. Titus was extremely concerned for your welfare and helped the assassins in exchange for keeping you safe.”

  “Tell Titus to return home without coming through London else he be caught here, too.” She lifted her arms to indicate the rich garments that she wore. “A sorrowful bird in a golden cage. I remain here as a prize, dressed in silk to be looked at and to entertain the English nobles.”

  He frowned. Many of the nobles felt compelled to remain at Whitehall as virtual servants for the monarch, but they were English men and women. There were cruel ship captains at the docks who traded humans as merchandise, but he hadn’t thought that the lady had also been stripped of her freedom. “Are you not treated well?” he asked.

  “I am clothed in riches and sleep in noble chambers,” she said, though her voice was sad. “But a well-fed bird, applauded for its song, still longs to fly.”

  “I have sway within the old parliament and within the military ranks as a past Lieutenant in Charles’s army. I will make inquiries on your behalf,” he said. “And I will send Titus home to your country through a different route, though I doubt he will leave you behind. He was willing to abduct a queen to keep you safe.”

  “Tell him…tell him I order him to return without me.” She drew herself up tall, a powerful expression reminding Nathaniel of a commander. “As second born after our brother, King Osei Tutu. Tell him that, Lord Nathaniel.”

  The woman was royal, in lineage and in character. Yet no one at court had alerted him to her station. Nathaniel bowed his head. “I will, your highness.”

  Princess Ekua kept her head held high and turned, her skirts flaring out about her as she walked down the gallery toward the quarters assigned to the widowed queen Catherine. Blast. The English monarchy tried to control everyone and anyone. So far, James did not seem to be any different, except that he was even more Catholic than his brother, which was distasteful to his people.

  Nathaniel pivoted, striding along the gallery, which housed Charles II’s vast collection of paintings. He’d left Cat and the child sleeping, with Jane watching over them, when Catherine had called him to her to question him about the disaster that befell Cat. The entire court was whispering, and in some cases laughing, over the spectacle of Cat being dragged unconscious across the ice with a sopping child clinging to her.

  Nathaniel’s hands fisted at his sides as he strode. Even his friend from the army, Wallace Danby, had questioned why Cat would risk her life for the orphan. Had the people surrounding him at court always been so shallow, so unfeeling about human life? Had he been too wrapped up in creating a career, first in the military and then in politics, to pay attention to the cruel attitudes of the elite? Had his father’s prejudices passed to him?

  His hand rose to rake fingers through his hair before he could stop himself. Bloody damnation. The sight of Cat’s pale face and blue-tinged lips haunted him. What if the river current had sucked her under the ice? The thought of the cold enveloping her, surging down into her lungs, twisted inside him. The world was full of color and interest with her in it. Without Cat Campbell, he realized, the landscape of his world would be nothing but a dull, colorless ordeal.

  The unicorn painting stood opposite the door to her room. “Lord Worthington.” Jane hurried forward from the opposite direction, carrying a tray laden with food. “I stepped out to obtain some broth, tea, and bread for the lady. I have taken the child up to my chambers. She has eaten and is sleeping soundly.”

  Nathaniel clasped the sides of the tray. “I will take it to Lady Campbell,” he said. For several seconds, they stood opposite one another holding the same tray. Jane Pitney had helped to raise him when he was a lad and his mother was too busy fussing after her daughters. Jane had always impressed upon him the need to act with decorum as befitting a Viscount. Even though he was an adult and the head of the Worthington family, she still held tightly to the tray, her lips pursed in a thin line.

  “I would be happy to accompany you into the lady’s bedroom,” Jane said, her words soft but her gaze firm.

  Nathaniel let his face harden into the look he’d learned from his intimidating father. “No harm will c
ome to the lady, Mistress Jane.”

  “She is unwed and—”

  “Able to slice me stem to stern if I were to take unwanted liberties,” he finished, tugging on the tray until the china teacup rattled in its saucer.

  “Pish,” she said, finally relinquishing the tray. “I know you would not take unwanted liberties. But misguided offerings are another issue completely.”

  He almost smiled. “You fear for my virtue?”

  She planted hands on her hips, leaning forward. “She is a passionate lady, and the way she looks at you…” She pointed one finger into his face, like she used to do when he was a naughty lad. “She plays as if her heart is made of ice, but I tell you, she is vulnerable here away from her home.”

  His brows lowered. “You fear for her heart then?”

  Jane crossed her arms over her bosom. “A hurting heart is easily trodden.”

  With a small shake of her graying head, she turned to stride away, leaving him in the hall with the tray. He watched her until she disappeared and turned to the door. A hurting heart? He wasn’t the only one to see that Cat covered pain with anger.

  He pushed into the room and paused, letting the door shut softly behind him as he stared at the large bed. Cat was asleep, and Lord help him, his heart beat quickened at the sight of her hair sprawled across the pillow like the morning after he’d loved her there.

  A vulnerable heart? The boulder of guilt in his gut rose into his chest. When had things with her become so complicated? He should walk away from her before he won more than nights of unspeakable passion from her. They’d shared each other’s bodies, but what of her heart? Would it be torn apart when he admitted the sins of the past? He would demand an audience today with James on the matter of his previous oaths to the crown.

  “Nathaniel?” Cat murmured as he set the tray down on the table next to the bed. She pushed up onto her elbows, the covers slipping back to show a simple smock with a satin ribbon tied at the neck. Cat’s hair had dried in wild curls after her bath to wash the filth of the Thames from her. He sat on the edge of the bed. Color had returned to her cheeks, but he longed to take her back out into the sun, so her freckles could spring forward again with health. Sun and fresh Highland air fed Cat.