Bride of Dunloch (Highland Loyalties) (8 page)

“You say that as if the mere fact of it is an explanation,” she noted, confused herself by what point he was trying to make.

He closed his eyes. “Around here it is, love.”

The Scot was silent for a long moment, and Jane thought he may have fallen asleep again, but then he spoke.

“May I ask yer name?”

“Jane,” she answered simply, offering no more. “And yours, sir?”

“I’m Robbie,” he returned. “I thank ye, Jane. I dinna deserve yer kindness, but I am grateful all the same.”

The strange fluttering intensified in her belly as he opened his green eyes again and fixed them on her. She swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Well ... do not thank me yet. We must still change your salve, and I assure you, you shall not thank me for the pain—now that you’re awake.”

“I’ll do my best to keep my mouth shut,” he answered with a faint grin.

With great care, Jane untied the knot in the bandage. It turned out to be an advantage to them both that she’d only managed to wrap it once—now that she had to remove it. When she lifted the salve to clean the wound, the man winced as the honey, stickier now that it had begun to dry, pulled at the flesh around the gash. His stomach muscles contracted against the unpleasant sensation, and Jane felt a blush stain her cheeks at the intimacy of his unguarded reaction.

“Is it bad?” he enquired through clenched teeth.

“Yes, it is,” she answered truthfully. “I shall need to clean it again.”

The man closed his eyes, preparing for the pain as Jane filled the bowl she’d brought with the warming water from the cooking pot. She took a clean strip of linen, dabbed it in the water, and pressed it to the angry, red wound. The man hissed sharply with indrawn breath, and instinctively his hand clamped down on her free hand. She grasped it back, squeezing in sympathy.

“I’m sorry, sir, I know it hurts,” she said.

“Will ye do something for me?” he panted as she dabbed.

“If I can, sir,” she responded.

“Will ye no’ call me ‘sir’? I’ve told ye, my name’s Robbie.”

Even through his obvious discomfort, there was a hint of a grin on his shapely mouth, and Jane found herself grinning back.

“Robbie,” she repeated.

She worked fast, removing the crusted honey and fresh blood from the infected gash. Only when she’d finished did she realize she’d been holding Robbie’s hand the entire time. Suddenly shy, she let go, and rinsed the linen in the bowl with both hands. She then turned to her neatly laid row of supplies. Selecting a fresh strip of linen, she folded it into a square, and poured a fresh dollop of honey onto it.

“What is that?” he inquired.

“Honey,” she answered. “It will draw the infection from your wound.”

“I havena heard of that. Where’d ye learn such a thing?”

She shrugged indifferently as she placed the fresh salve on his wound. “My grandmother taught me healing.”

“Is that why ye’ve been forcing that wretched drink down my neck all night?”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “The thyme brings on the sweats to cool your body. Now that you are more aware and will need help to sleep through the night, I shall add willow bark to the infusion to dull the ache.”

“And the chamber pot?” he added. “What might ye be using that for?”

Jane paused and bit back a sheepish smile. “Two pots missing from the kitchen would have been missed ... it has been thoroughly washed, I promise you.”

“Right,” he answered, grimacing.

“Just be grateful I’m trying to help at all,” she returned, a touch defensive. “At least I’m not asking you to
drink
anything that’s been in here.”

She tried to hold a stern expression, but the quiver of laughter on his lips diminished her incense.

“I
am
grateful ... for
all
ye’ve done.”

“It’s nothing,” she said modestly. “Now help me to lift you up so that I can wrap your bandage properly this time.”

Jane bent over Robbie and wedged her hand beneath his bare back and the dirt floor; his powerful arm reached across himself and gripped her shoulder. With a grunt, she helped him to pull himself into a sitting position. The strain was evident on his face as he held himself up by leaning back on his free hand.

She worked quickly, securing the bandage snugly around his stomach. Then, with just as much effort as it took to raise him, she helped to lower him again. All the while she was keenly aware of the proximity of his face to her own. His mouth was so close to her throat that she could feel his hot breath on her skin as he panted with exhaustion. Her hands encircled him, gripping his bare, feverish flesh. How different he was from Lord Reginald, she thought. His skin was so much smoother, sculpted over well-defined muscles, and there was not a hint of a paunch at his stomach, unlike the baron.

She flushed, angry with herself for having even entertained the idea at such an inappropriate time; at having entertained it
at all
, in fact. With renewed focus, she let him go and ladled the heated water into the cup of crushed needles. The exercise had taken a toll on him—his eyes drooped with fatigue.

“You must drink some more of the infusion before you sleep,” she said.

“If ye insist,” he answered, closing his eyelids.

When the infusion had steeped enough, Jane picked up the cup. Raising his head and cradling it in the crook of her arm, she helped him to drink. Weak and feverish though he was, it was far less of a challenge to get him to drink the liquid in its entirety than it had been the night before.

“Before you sleep, sir,” Jane began.

“Robbie,” he interjected softly.

“I am sorry. Before you sleep,
Robbie
, may I ask you something?”

He tipped his chin once, on the brink of sleep.

She took a breath, nervous. “You ... knew the men in the valley, did you not?”

Robbie said nothing for a long moment. When he answered, the tone of his voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Nonetheless there was a quality to it, a sadness that prompted a hollow ache in her chest.

“I did, aye.”

“The young man, the one lying on his side closest to the trees with the fair hair ... I cannot rid my thoughts of his face. Who was he?”

“He were my cousin,” he answered after another sad pause. “Connall. Twenty-three years he were, wi’ a loving wife—a bonnie lass by the name of Margaret—a young son, and a wee babe on the way.”

He said no more, though she wished he would. But at that point she thought it best to let him sleep. Not only did he need the rest, he also needed the
release
—a reprieve from the reality of what had happened, what he’d lost so very recently. The sadness which had weighted his voice affected her, and her heart went out to him. It was a strange sensation—feeling sympathy for a man whom she knew to be an enemy to her husband.

Though she no longer considered him a savage Scot as she had when she first encountered him. Perhaps she had been wrong to be frightened by all of the stories she’d been fed by the ladies in Sussex. And if she had been wrong about that ...

To bend, you must open your eyes and see the whole truth. For there is much about Scotland and its people that you do not know ...

Jane collected the soiled linens and, taking up her cake of soap, she ladled water into the chamber pot to wash them. She scrubbed with fervour, determined to still the thoughts that tumbled in her head. There had been nothing like this in her world in Sussex, no conflicts, no warring obligations—nothing to spoil her simple life of privilege. Things had been so peaceful in England.

Lady D’Aubrey’s words taunted her, echoing fiercely in her mind as if to mock her naivety.

Open your eyes ...

Chapter 6

The dowager baroness’ words haunted Jane all afternoon, and she found herself dwelling on them as Ruth bathed her that evening after supper.

“I daresay, mistress, I have not seen you so distracted in a long while. Even before your wedding day you were not this distant, so I know something must be bothering you. Pray, tell me. What is it?”

Jane chewed her lip, contemplating. “Do you ever feel as though the course of your life has suddenly been altered?” she mused. “Like it has been travelling along one path as it should, but then
 
... oh, I don’t know ... then of a sudden the fates have stepped in to redirect it?”

“Can’t say as I have, my Lady. I’ve always known my life would be spent in service.”

“But you started service in Sussex, and now you’re in Scotland. Does that not seem like an alteration to you?”

“It makes no difference where I spend my life; it’s all the same service to me. And I still have you, so nothing has changed for me really. Nothing important, anyway. But you obviously feel as though
your
life has changed, and I am interested to know what it is in particular you’re thinking.”

“It is nothing,” Jane insisted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Take no notice of me, my Ruth. I am blathering.”

Ruth eyed her doubtfully. Self-conscious under her silent scrutiny, Jane sank farther under the water, submerging herself to the top of her lip. She wanted so much to tell Ruth her secret, but she dared not. It was not some special hiding place she’d found, or some trinket. It was a wounded enemy Scot. Jane
was
naive—she was only beginning to get a sense of just how naive she truly was. But she was not so thick she didn’t know full well that were Robbie discovered, he would be hanged for treason. Perhaps she, too, would face justice for her part in helping him, for keeping him concealed. He was an enemy to the Crown, after all, not just to Lord Reginald D’Aubrey.

She could not think of such things. Not now, at any rate. At Ruth’s silent urging, she sat up again and let her maid wash her hair. She closed her eyes, revelling in the comforting sensation of Ruth’s strong hands stroking her wet locks. Down the length of her back they caressed as she poured a cascade of water from a pitcher to rinse the soap. It was a sensation in which Jane had taken comfort all her life; she held onto it especially hard now—now that she was so far from her home, her family, everything she’d ever known.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her chamber door as it was thrust wide and banged against the wall. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her bare breasts and drew her knees up to hide her nakedness. Ruth’s hands pulled away from Jane’s hair, as surprised as her mistress by the intrusion.

Lord Reginald stood at the door, wavering back and forth slightly as he squinted not
at
Jane, but in her general direction.

“Don’t bother to cover up, girl,” he slurred with a teasing grin. “I’ve seen all there is to see.”

“What is it, my Lord?” Jane asked pleasantly despite the unease that fluttered about in her stomach.

Lord Reginald eyed Ruth. “Away with you, woman. I’ve a need of my wife at the moment.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” Ruth answered with a squeeze of Jane’s shoulder. “Only, I have not finished my mistress’ bath. I beg you should return in an hour.”

He laughed, his voice low and throaty. “No need. I’ll only dirty her up again.”

Ruth paused, searching for a way to prolong her presence for Jane’s sake without being insubordinate.

“It is alright, my Ruth,” Jane allowed, suppressing her panic as best she could. “I pray you go.”

“My Lady,” Ruth acknowledged with a curtsey. She glanced sidelong at Jane as she stepped around Lord Reginald. Jane heard the unspoken sympathy in her glance, the apology and the encouragement.

When she’d gone, Lord Reginald stepped close to the tub.

“Stand up for me,” he commanded playfully.

Jane swallowed the fury that began to bubble in her chest and her throat, and did as her husband bade.

“Mmm,” he murmured, and reached forwards to massage her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Walter was right—you do have a fine figure.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she mumbled, lowering her chin so that he would not notice the scowl she could not contain.

“You were well worth the trouble to negotiate for,” he added.

Lord Reginald reached forwards abruptly and gripped her under the arms. His intention was clearly to lift her out of the tub as if she were a mere child, however, in his drunken state he lost his balance the moment he tried to raise her. Alarmed, Jane instinctively stepped back to keep herself from falling over him, but the lip of the tub prevented her, and she fell backwards, bouncing painfully onto the stone floor. She gasped as her ankle slammed off the lip of the tub—a sharp ache reverberated up her leg.

“Oh, s-sorry ‘bout that,” Lord Reginald offered, hiccupping.

“It is fine, my Lord,” Jane answered, fighting to stay calm against the throbbing in her leg. Her panic rose as she recalled Ruth’s words about what the drink did to men.

“Ah, you’re alright, aren’t you,” he grinned.

He pulled her awkwardly off the floor and ushered her to the bed. She knew he didn’t mean to be rough, only to assist her, but in his inebriated state Jane wound up being half-dragged across the room. She hobbled against the pain in her leg before Lord Reginald tossed her, still dripping wet, onto the sheets. She landed on her stomach, and her right thigh collided with the bed frame, sending another wave of pain through her leg.