Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (6 page)

Mary
’s consoling words made Millicent nod in resignation. The
two of them started for the door.

 
B
eneath the vaulted ceiling of the
entry foyer, four servants stood by the open front door, obviously agitated. At
the sight of Millicent, the
doorman ran toward her. “In the courtyard,
m’lady. A carriage, two wagons, and a half-dozen serving men riding behind.
He’s here. His manservant said I should tell ye the Earl of Aytoun has
arrived.”  

 “Run,
Mrs. Page! Get a couple of your people to ready the rooms. Also, find Mr.
Draper. I need the two of you and everyone else in the yard to greet his
lordship.”

Receiving
a quick nod from her before the housekeeper scurried off, Millicent rushed past
the wide staircase toward the front door. Before she reached it, though, a
panicked voice from behind brought her to a sudden stop. Millicent whirled
toward the young maidservant hurrying toward her.

“What is
it, Violet?”

“She’s
dead, m’lady! Ohenewaa! She just went down where she was standing in the
kitchen. I don’t think she’s breathing.”

Without
hesitation, Millicent turned her steps toward the kitchen. She waved a hand at
the doorman. “Tell his lordship’s people I shall greet him in a mo—” 

“M’lady!”
a groom shouted as he ran in a doorway leading to the gardens.  “They’re
killin’ each other, for sure.”

“Who is
killing whom?”

“Mr.
Draper and Jonah, ma’am. Something the steward said. I saw old Moses headin’
that way. Now, you know there’s no stoppin’ him if he thinks someone is hurtin’
Jonah.”

“Oh, no!”
Millicent lifted the hem of her skirts and ran toward the door. “Go to the
courtyard and help with the Earl of Aytoun’s entourage.”

As she
went out, she prayed under her breath that the old woman was still alive and
that the earl would not be offended by her tardiness in greeting him. Most of
all, though, she prayed that Moses would not do anything that might cause
irreparable harm to himself or to anyone else. Not again.

****

The dawn mists hung between the
shadowy trees, the dew dripping from dark green leaves. The pistol, silver and
pearl, looked to be but an extension of Lyon’s hand. He glanced briefly in the
direction of the two men in the distance, their images blurred by the mist
enshrouding them. 

A somber voice called out, the
sound echoing and then dying away. Lyon listened to the far-off burbling of the
river, to the waking cry of a startled bird. He inhaled the damp, earthy smell
of the park as if this were the last he might have the privilege to breathe. 

As his foe raised his pistol,
pointing the muzzle at the steel-gray sky, Lyon did the same.
How many men
must die
, he thought. He watched the fop by the tree extend his hand. A
kerchief dangled from his lily-colored fingers…and then fluttered to the
ground.

Before Lyon could pull the trigger,
the mist cleared around the ghostlike face of his opponent.

Pierce stood facing him. David,
their youngest brother, stood as his second. And then the shot rang out.

Lyon awoke with a start, sweat
drenching his face.

Only another dream
, he told
himself.
Just another nightmare
. He struggled to shake himself free. He
had been sleeping for what felt like an eternity. They had given him one of
those damned drinks again before they had set out on the road this morning.

The carriage was not moving, he
realized. He looked about the confined space and found that his manservant,
Gibbs, was not there, either.

The curtain on the far window of
the carriage had been tied back. He stared out and all he could see were walls
of brick and a high iron gate. He could not rise above the confusion clouding
his mind. He could not think clearly. Then, though he fought to contain it,
panic began to gnaw at him.

Bedlam. They had told him they were
taking him to the woman’s house in the country, but they had lied. He was at Bedlam.

Anger swept away his panic as
quickly as a Highland storm sweeps away the sun.
One more bloody betrayal.
He tore the blanket off his lap with his good hand. He would not be a prisoner
in an institution. He was not insane.

Lyon shoved himself away from the
seat, away from the images of high iron gates. But even as he tried to escape,
his body collapsed under him in a heap of twisted bones and flesh. Jammed
painfully between the carriage seats, he stared out through a small opening
between the curtains covering the opposite window. All he could see were the
tall
chimneys of a house.

At that moment, where they had
taken him made no difference to Lyon. He was a lonely cripple, less than half a
man. His real life was over, and he wanted release. If they would but give him
a pistol, he would put a quick end to this accursed existence.

***

“You are
dismissed, Mr. Draper.”

Millicent’s
voice echoed against the garden walls that bordered the path leading down the
hill toward the Grove. She’d heard the steward’s shrill voice as soon as she
left the house, proclaiming both her incompetence and her corrupted nature in
bringing the infamous Scottish “Lord of Scandal” under her roof as husband.
Jonah had stepped forward to defend her, and now violence was clearly imminent.

“You are
fired. Dismissed.” She stood short steps from the two men. The steward’s
contemptuous gaze never moved from Jonah’s angry face. He didn’t appear to be
listening. “Now! You are to get your things and leave Melbury Hall
immediately.” 

“This
business has nothing to do with you, m’lady,” he said, still glaring at Jonah.
“This is between me and this insolent slave.”

“There
are no slaves at Melbury Hall, Mr. Draper. You are the insolent one here. I
heard what you said just now. Jonah, as my servant, has every right to defend
me against the disrespectful things you said about me.”

Millicent
glanced at old Moses and thanked the Lord that he had remained a bystander thus
far. B
eneath his hair of mottled gray, the man’s face showed the scars
of innumerable beatings by slavers and by owners like Wentworth. Millicent
knew, though, that despite his size and the fierce look born of his mutilated
features, Moses was one of the gentlest souls alive…so long as no one tried to
hurt Jonah. She turned back to Draper.

“Now I
tell you again, return to the house and pack your belongings this instant.”

“Not
until I am finished with him.” The steward took a step toward Jonah.  

Millicent
quickly put herself in the path of Moses as the large black man moved toward
the steward. She placed a hand on his arm and shook her head at him.

She shot a look toward the house,
hoping that some of the servants would be coming. She feared that Jonah would
not defend himself. After so many years of being beaten and abused as a slave,
he could not be expected to assert his rights as a free man. Bright and competent as he was, Jonah was still struggling with his new job as bailiff. The
freedman was extremely capable, but lacked confidence.

Someone was indeed coming down the path, though it took Millicent a moment to realize it was Gibbs, the earl’s personal servant, whom
she had met for the briefest of moments yesterday after the marriage service in
London. 

“The mistress told you to pack your
bag, Mr. Draper,” Jonah ordered.

“I’ll teach you to open your ugly
mouth to your betters.”

Millicent turned in time to see Jonah
being pushed backward off the path. 

“Stop. This instant,” she screamed
at the steward as her hands clung desperately to Moses’s arm to keep him from
advancing. If Draper struck Jonah, Moses would kill the man. Of that Millicent
was certain. She didn’t know if she could hold him much longer. “I ordered you
to leave these premises.”

As the steward lifted his fist,
Millicent was shocked to see Gibbs stride past her, grab the back of the
attacker’s coat, and throw him to the ground with no more effort than one might
expend plucking a bad apple off a tree.

“Ye have a wee bit of trouble
following the mistress’s directions, sir?” He put his silver-buckled shoe on
the back of Draper’s neck and shoved the man’s face hard against the frozen
ground.

The earl’s manservant was a tall,
barrel-chested Scotsman with thick black hair tied at the collar. In addition
to his menacing dark eyes and bushy eyebrows, it was impossible not to notice
the size of Gibbs’s huge fists. This was not a man to be trifled with, she realized.
Obviously Draper thought so too. It was stunning to see the fight knocked out
of the steward so quickly.

“I heard her ladyship tell ye to
leave, ye bloated cur.”

“I was about to. I am, sir. As soon
as you release me.”

Still not lessening the pressure of
his boot, Gibbs nodded politely to Millicent. “If your ladyship would like to
go in out of this cold, these men here can help me dispose of this ill-mannered
dog on the road to St. Albans.”   

“I believe Jonah and Moses would be
happy to assist you, Mr. Gibbs.” She turned her attention to the man on the
ground. “Your things will be sent to the Black Swan Inn at Knebworth Village.”

The look
on Draper’s face, beneath the shoe of the Scotsman, was not that of a happy
man.

Millicent glanced up toward the
house. “Has his lordship been brought in, Mr. Gibbs?”

“Nay, m’lady. Lord Aytoun was
sleeping, so I left him in the carriage. I thought ye might prefer to greet him
yourself before we moved him.”

“Of course,” she whispered, knowing
the importance of such protocol. But Vi’s earlier news about the collapse of
Ohenewaa in the kitchen preyed on her mind. Gibbs must have noticed her gaze in
the direction of the house.

“If ye please, m’lady. As I came
through the servants’ hall, your wee housekeeper asked me to relay a word to ye
about the African woman in the kitchen. The woman is fine and has come about.”

“Thank you.” Millicent was indeed
grateful for Gibbs’s intervention, and Jonah appeared much more at ease as
well. She saw him grab Draper by the scruff of his neck and yank him roughly to
his feet when the Scotsman removed his boot. “I think I shall go around the
house to the courtyard and greet his lordship.”

Not until she rounded the corner of
the manor house did she feel the cold wind penetrating her dress. She started
to shiver. For the first time since charging out, Millicent realized that she
had on no cloak or shawl.

At a respectful distance from the
carriage, a number of her servants had lined up in greeting. As she went past
them, she saw Mrs. Page rush out of the front door and—with a curtsy to
Millicent—take her place beside the assembled staff. 

The earl’s servants as well stood
waiting by their horses and wagons in the courtyard. Intensely aware of the
dozens of eyes on both sides watching her every move, Millicent tried her best
to hide her nervousness and approached the carriage with confident steps.  

From the outside, she could not see
in clearly through the curtains, but there appeared to be no one sitting in the
carriage. At her nod, the footman opened the door. 

He was twisted, helpless, wedged
between the seats in the most awkward position. She saw her new husband’s eyes
open as the light from behind her poured inside the carriage. Millicent
hurriedly stepped over his sprawled boots and climbed in, pulling the door
closed behind her. He didn’t have to say anything. She knew this was not the
way he would wish to be introduced to his new household.  

“I am so very sorry, m’lord. You
have fallen down from the seat.” Trying clumsily to find solid footing in the
cramped space, she tried to bend his knees and straighten his boots. “The roads
traveling up from London are not in the best condition, and nothing is worse
than enduring a long trip like that to a strange place and…”

Millicent knew she was jabbering,
but her embarrassment at not greeting him immediately was compounded by the
sharpness of the earl’s glare. She crouched down in the cramped space between
the seats and searched for his right arm. It was twisted behind him.

“If you would be kind enough to
place your other arm around my neck, perhaps I could lift you a little, and we
could free this arm.”

The earl did not respond, and she
glanced up at his bearded face. His expression was intimidating, but she
decided the tenseness she saw in his blue eyes had to be caused in some part by
pain. This made her all the more determined.

“Please, m’lord. If you could
just—”

“Gibbs. Get him.”   

Millicent was relieved to get some
response. “He is coming, but—”

“Get Gibbs,” he said louder.

“I have no intention of moving you
inside by myself. I just thought it would be more comfortable for you to be
sitting on the seat, instead of where you are.”

She stopped, feeling like a liar
for not speaking the whole truth. For a moment, she vividly recalled a time
when she herself had sat inside the carriage, battered by Wentworth, desperate
to hide her face from the prying eyes outside the door. Hiding the truth had
always been Millicent’s way of avoiding the embarrassment of her husband’s
horrible treatment. But the Earl of Aytoun’s condition was nothing like hers.

“I am sorry, m’lord. I was acting
without thinking.”

She drew back and sat on the edge
of the seat. “Your steward was kind enough to get involved with a problem I had
with one of my workers. He should be back momentarily.”