Gallant Waif (5 page)

Lady Cahill tottered unsteadily on her feet, looking utterly exhausted. Kate felt a sharp twinge of guilt. The old lady clearly wasn’t a good traveller, but Kate’s attempts to make her more comfortable had been shrugged aside with so little civility that, for most of the journey, Kate had ignored her.

Kate moved to help but the maidservant snapped, “Leave her be. I will take care of milady. I know just what needs to be done!” Scolding softly, she gently shepherded the old lady inside, the manservant assisting.

The chaise jerked as it moved off and Kate almost fell as she hastily scrambled out of it. She took a few wavering steps but, to her horror, her head began to swim and she swirled into blackness.

The man watching from the window observed her fall impassively and waited uninterestedly for her to scramble to her feet. No doubt this was another blasted maid of his grandmother’s. Jack took another drink.

Damned fool that he was
,
he’d clearly mishandled his sister, refusing to see her. He’d been heavily disguised at the time, of course.
Even drunker than he was now.
Good thing his grandmother hadn’t asked to see him tonight. He’d have refused her too. Jack continued staring sourly out of the window, then leaned forward, intent. The small, crumpled figure remained motionless on the hard cold gravel.

What was wrong with the girl? Had she hurt herself? It was damned cold out there. Any more time on the damp ground and she’d take more than just a chill. Swearing, he moved away from the window and limped downstairs. There was no sign of anyone about. He heard the sound of voices upstairs—his grandmother was being tended to by the only available help. Jack strode into the night and bent awkwardly over the small, still figure.

“Are you all right?” He laid his hand lightly on the cold cheek. She was unconscious. He had to get her out of the cold. Bending his stiff leg with difficulty, he scooped her against his chest. At least his arms still had their strength.

Good God! The girl weighed less than a bird. He cradled her more gently. Nothing but a bundle of bones!

Jack carried her into the sitting-room and laid her carefully on a settee. He lit a brace of candles and held them close to her face. She was pale and apparently lifeless. A faint, elusive fragrance hovered around her, clean and fresh. He laid a finger on her parted lips and waited. A soft flutter of warm breath caused his taut face to relax. His hands hovered over her, hesitating. What the deuce did you do with fainting females? His hands dropped. Ten to one she’d wake up and find him loosening her stays and set up some demented shrieking!

Jack went to the doorway. “Carlos!” No response. Dammit! He poured brandy into a glass and, slipping one arm around the girl, tipped a generous portion into her mouth. Instantly she came alive in his arms, coughing, hands flailing against him.

“Gently, gently,” he said, irritated.

“What—?” Kate spluttered as he forced another mouthful of fiery golden liquid into her. She gasped as it burnt its way down her throat and glared indignantly at him.

“It’s only brandy.”

“Brandy!” She fought for breath.

“You needed something to bring you around.”

“Bring me around?” Kate glanced round the strange room. She stared up at the shadowed face of the man who had an arm around her. Her pulse started to race. Blind panic gripped her and she tried to wrench herself away, to hit out against him. She was restrained by strong hands, gentle but implacable.

“You fainted outside.” He held her a moment until she calmed slightly, then released her and stood back. “Mind you, if I’d known you were such a little wildcat I’d have thought twice about rescuing you from the cold, wet driveway and giving you my best brandy.”

Kate stared blankly at him. Fainted?
Rescue?
Best brandy? She still felt decidedly peculiar. “In…I’m sorry … My nerves are a little jumpy these days . .
.and
I tend to overreact.”

Especially when I awake to find myself in strange company, not knowing what has come before it.
Her head was pounding. Had she fainted for just a few minutes, as he said, or would she find a gap in her memory of days or weeks, as she had once before? Her hand reached to touch the faint ridged scar at the base of her skull,
then
dropped to her lap. She glanced down and a wave of relief washed over her. She remembered putting on these clothes this
morning.
. .Lady Cahill…the long trip in the coach. It was all right. It wasn’t like before…

But who was the man looming over her? She was aware of a black frown, a long, aquiline nose, a strong chin, and blue, blue eyes glinting in the candlelight. She blinked, mesmerised.

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and moved abruptly beyond the candleglow, his face suddenly hidden in shadows again.

”
I.
. .I really do beg your pardon,” she said. “I
didn’t.
.
.I was confused.” She tried to gather herself together. “It’s just
— “

“Are you ill?” His voice was very deep.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s
just.
. .it must be because I haven’t eaten for several day—for several hours.”

Jack frowned. The slip of the tongue was not lost on him.

Kate tried to sit up. Another wave of dizziness washed over her. Jack grasped her arm and thrust her firmly but gently back against the cushions. “Don’t try to move,” he ordered. “Just stay there. I’ll return in a moment.” He left the room.

Kate sat on the settee, one hand to her head. She felt weak and shaky. Brandy on such an empty stomach. She shook her head ruefully,
then
clasped it, moaning. She closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning around her.

“Here, this will make you feel better.” The harsh deep voice jolted Kate out of her daze. She opened her eyes.
Before her was a plate with a clumsily cut slice of bread and cold meat on it.
It looked wonderful. She glanced quickly up at the man towering over her and smiled.

“Oh, thank you so much. It is very kind of you,” she said,
then
added, blushing, “I’m afraid that brandy made me quite dizzy.”

She applied herself carefully to her meal, forcing herself to eat with tiny bites, chewing slowly and delicately.

Jack watched her, still faintly dazzled by the sweetness of her smile. She was pretending uninterest in the food, he realised, even though she was starving. Well, who was he to quibble at pride? But she was certainly an enigma, with her pride and her shabby clothes.

“Who the devil are you?”

The sudden question jolted Kate out of the rapture of her first meal in days.

“My name is Kate Farleigh.” She returned to the food.

“And who is Kate Farleigh when she’s at home?”

Kate pondered as she chewed. Who was Kate Farleigh now? She was no longer the Reverend Mr Farleigh’s daughter, nor Jeremy and Benjamin Farleigh’s sister. She certainly wasn’t Harry Lansdowne’s betrothed any more. And she didn’t even have a home.

“I don’t suppose she’s anyone at all,” she replied in an attempt at lightness that failed dismally.

“Don’t play games.” The frown had returned to his face. “Who are you and what are you doing here? I know you came with my grandmother.”

His grandmother?
So this was the master of the house, Mr Jack Carstairs. His food was doing wonders for her spirits. She felt so much better. Kate almost smiled at his aggrieved tone. He obviously didn’t want her here. Well, she hadn’t asked to come.

“Oh, you mustn’t blame me for that.” She licked the last crumb delicately from her lips. “It wasn’t my choice to come, after all.”

“Why? What the deuce do you mean by that?” He scowled, watching the movement of the pink tongue. “What is your position in relation to my grandmother?”

What was her position?
Kidnappee?
Charity case?
Spurious great-goddaughter?
None of them would exactly delight a doting grandson. Besides, it would be very ungrateful of her to upset the man who’d fed her a delicious meal by calling his relative a kidnapper.
Although the idea was very tempting.

“I’m not at all sure I can answer that. You will have to ask Lady Cahill.” Kate got to her feet. “Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, sir. The meal was delicious and I was very hungry after my journey.”

She took two steps towards the door,
then
faltered, belatedly realising she had nowhere to go.
“Could you tell me, please, where I am to sleep?”

“How the deuce should I know?” he snapped. “I don’t even know who you are, so why should I concern myself where you sleep?”

Rudeness obviously ran in the family, decided Kate. It mattered little. With a full stomach, she felt quite in charity with the whole world. She would find herself a bed without his assistance—having found billets all over Spain and Portugal she would be lacking indeed if she could not find a bed in one, not terribly large English country house.

“Very well, then, sir, I will bid you goodnight. Thank you once again for your
hospit…”
She paused,
then
corrected herself wryly, “For the food.” She began to climb the stairs in a determined fashion. Halfway up, her knees buckled.

“Dammit!” Jack leapt stiffly towards the stairs and caught her against his chest as she fainted for the second time. He carried her into a nearby bedchamber and laid her gently on the bed. He stood looking down at her for a long moment. Who the devil was she?

In the soft light of a candle, he assessed her unconscious form. She was thin, far too thin. Clear delicate skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones, leaving deep hollows beneath them. His gaze lingered where the neck of her shabby, too loose dress had slipped, revealing a smooth shoulder, hunched childlike against the chill of the night. Had he not chanced to be watching when she fainted, she would still be lying unconscious on the front driveway. It was an icy night. Doubtless she would not have survived.

He’d get no answers tonight.
Best to tuck the girl up in bed and take himself off.
He bent and removed her shoes, then stopped in perplexity. He was sure he should loosen her stays, but how to go about that with propriety?
His mouth quirked.
Propriety! It was quite improper enough for him to be in this girl’s bedchamber. He shrugged and bent over the supine body, searching gingerly at her waist for stay laces. God, but the chit was thin! With relief he ascertained that she wore no stays, had no need of them,
probably
didn’t even own any.

Carefully he covered her with warm blankets. She shifted restlessly and flung an arm outside the bedding. He bent again to cover it and as he did so her eyes opened. She blinked for a moment, then smiled sleepily and caressed his face with a cool, tender touch. “Night, Jemmy.” Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Jack froze, his breath caught in his chest. Slowly he straightened. His hand crept up to his right cheek, to where she had touched him. As they had done a thousand times before, his fingers traced the path of the ugly scar.

He grimaced and left the room.

The thunder of galloping hooves woke Kate at dawn next morning. She stared around the strange room, gathering her thoughts. It was a large chamber. The once rich furnishings were faded, dusty and worn.

She sat up, surprised to find herself fully clad except for her shoes. How did she get here? She recalled some of the previous night, but some of it didn’t make sense. It was a frightening, familiar feeling.

Kate could have sworn she saw her brother Jemmy last night. She vaguely remembered his poor, ravaged face looking intently into hers. Only that could not be, for Jemmy lay cold and deep in a field in Spain. Not here in Lady Cahill’s grandson’s house. She got out of bed and walked to the window, shivering in the early morning chill.

The view was beautiful, bare and bleak. The ground glittered silver-gilt with sun-touched frost. Nothing moved, except for a few hardy birds twittering in the pale morning sunlight. Immediately below her window was a stretch of rough grass. A trail of hoof prints broke the silvery surface of the frost.

Her eyes followed the trail and widened as she saw a riderless horse galloping free, saddled, reins dangling around its neck. It seemed to be heading towards a small forest of oaks. It must have escaped its restraints. She could sympathise. She too would love to be out in that clear, crisp air, galloping towards the forest, free and wild in the chill of dawn. How she missed her little Spanish mare and her early morning
rides, that
feeling of absolute exhilaration as the wind streamed through her as if she were flying. Dawn was the only time she could ride as fast and as wildly as she liked. Her father was never an early riser.