Lessons in Loving a Laird (11 page)

“Looks convincing enough to me. Do you think the master will believe it?”

“I certainly hope so,” she said, fanning her foot to speed the drying. “Because if he marries into that snobby family with their estates all over England, ye can be sure he’ll have no more need of Ballencrieff.”

Mrs. Docherty bit her lip. “God forbid it. I canna afford to lose yet another position.”

“Aye. We’ll all be losing something important.”

The housekeeper placed an understanding hand on Shona’s shoulder.

Shona exhaled. “I just need more time with him. Seeing how well he looked after his dog, he’s bound to do as much for me. If I can just keep him here long enough, maybe I can get him to change his mind aboot Lady Violet.”

“Let’s hope this works,” said Mrs. Docherty. “By the by, ye do know that bruise will have to turn blue on the morrow, don’t ye?”

“Aye,” she said. “I’ve already got some indigo ink on the desk. It’ll turn my skin blue enough, don’t ye worry.”

A voice came from behind the closed door. “Shona, it’s me, Willow.”

Mrs. Docherty went to the door and let Willow in.

Shona held up her foot. “What do ye think?”

Willow’s eyes rounded as she set down the cotton bandages on the bed. “Looks ever so painful!”

Shona giggled. “Aye. It’ll buy me a few days out of the fields, at least.”

Another knock sounded on the door.

“I’ve returned with medicines,” said Conall behind the door. “May I come in now?”

The smile ran away from Shona’s face. “Just a minute!” she yelled at the door. “Here!” she shouted in a whisper. “Hide the book. And the feather! Quick!”

The two women snapped into action as Shona adjusted herself on the bed. When all was safely hidden from view, Mrs. Docherty opened the door.

“Thank goodness, sir. She’s in terrible pain.”

Conall’s brows knitted as he glowered at Shona. “You stood upon it, didn’t you?”

“I—I had to,” Shona replied.

“I knew you should have waited until I’ve properly bandaged it. Right, let’s have a look at it.”

He crouched down beside her bed as he peered at her foot. The three women held their breath.

“Hand me that candle on the table.”

Shona did so and waited. She watched as he puzzled over her heel, which was now stained dark pink. He compared it to her other foot, and shook his head.

Shona’s heart started hammering in her chest. She hadn’t even contemplated what she’d do if he discovered her deception.

“It’s quite an injury,” he said. “The ligament is either very strained or partially torn. But I can’t understand why there hasn’t been more swelling in the foot.”

He glanced at Shona. Shona glanced at Willow. Willow glanced at Mrs. Docherty.

Mrs. Docherty shrugged. “God only knows, sir. Must be the chill outside that’s kept it doon.”

He blinked. “Perhaps. Well, the warmth in here will not serve you as well. So let’s get your injury properly dressed, shall we?”

She watched him as he went to the washstand and poured a little water from the ewer into the basin. The sight of so large a man in a child’s room filled with dainty furniture was curiously fascinating. Then he opened his valise on Willow’s bed, and Shona peeked in. One side of the valise was lined with small wooden compartments, and the compartments were filled with bottles and jars of varying sizes. On the other side, strange-looking metal instruments were affixed to the inside of the valise. She hoped he wouldn’t have to use those torture devices on her.

He lifted a small brown bottle from one of the compartments and poured some into the basin of water. Completely unmindful of his elegant shirtsleeves, he dunked a cloth in the mixture and wrung out some of the water. He stood at the end of Shona’s bed and leaned over her foot with the wet towel.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, surprising him. “What the de’il is that?”

His hand froze in midair. “It’s perfectly harmless, I assure you. Just some water mixed with Goulard’s extract.”

Harmless to other people, perhaps, but a wet rag on her painted ankle would be disastrous. “What kind of piss-water is Goulard’s extract?”

He shook his head. “It’s an astringent. It’ll keep down the swelling.”

“I don’t have any swelling. You said so yerself.”

“True, but the tissues in your ankle will soon inflame. And the swelling will worsen the pain.”

“I don’t want any of that. It’s got a funny smell.”

“Don’t be such a child. It’ll do you good.”

“I don’t want it, I tell ye!”

“All right,” he said. “Would you prefer a wet compress of hot vinegar? It’s not as effective but a good astringent nonetheless.”

She’d not have a
wet
anything. “No. Just the bandages. It worked for Dexter. It’ll work for me.”

“Shona, if you’re going to be difficult, I shall have to tie you to the bed.”

Panic began to bubble up. “N-no. I’ll take the funny-smelling stuff in yer hand. Just let me apply it. I’m ticklish,” she added with a shrug.

He handed her the cloth. “Suit yourself. Make sure you get it all over your foot.”

Gingerly, she applied it onto her ankle, trying as best she could to give the
appearance
of moistening her foot. If any of her bruises began to erase before he bandaged her leg, it would be catastrophic—not just for her, but for Willow and Mrs. Docherty as well.

Then Conall took one of the strips of cotton and held it in place above her toes. He wound it around the ball of her foot and continued up her foot.

“Is this too tight?”

Shona shrugged. “It isna comfortable.”

“I mean, do your toes feel numb? I don’t want the bandage to occlude blood flow to the rest of your foot.”

“No.”

“Let’s make sure.” Conall brought the candle closer. He pressed his thumb into the flesh beside her toenail. Shona noticed how the skin blanched, but quickly turned pink again.

“It doesn’t appear too tight, but let me know if your skin begins to tingle.”

She watched as he wrapped a second strip in a figure eight around her ankle and under her foot, effectively immobilizing it.

Finally, a third strip went up her calf. She loved the feel of his hands on her bare flesh. She should have considered faking an injury to her hip instead.

“There,” he said as he tied off the end of the strip. “How does it feel?”

“Better,” she said. “Thank ye.”

He smiled. “As it’s you, I’ll waive my usual fee. Now, let’s tend to your other injuries.” He took one of her hands and turned it palm upward. Puzzled, he looked at her other hand. “That’s strange. There are no scrapes on your knees or your hands. How did you stop your fall?”

“Oh,” she said, her mind racing. “I fell on my arse. Plenty of cushioning there. Didn’t feel a thing.”

“I see,” he said with a smile. “Well, it’s very important you keep your foot elevated and at rest for the next seven days at the very least. Willow, please fetch some pillows for your sister, and place them under her foot. I’ll check on you in the morning.”

“Don’t go.” She gripped his hand, then tried to erase the desperation from her expression. “Won’t ye keep me company a wee while longer?”

He grinned benevolently. “Certainly.” He went to the desk and dragged the chair closer to her bedside.

“Mrs. Docherty,” began Shona, careful to convey her meaning clearly, “would ye mind terribly bringing me some supper? It’s a bother, I know, so ask Willow to help ye. We’ll look after the sleeping bairn in the meanwhile.”

Mrs. Docherty nodded knowingly, and closed the nursery room door behind her.

It was only after they were left alone that Shona seemed to struggle for words. There was so much she wanted to say that she didn’t know where to begin.

“I canna pretend to be happy that ye’re marrying Lady Violet. But I suppose a man such as yerself must choose a lady of quality for a wife—”

“Shona…”

“—and Lady Violet is very beautiful—”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“—and I’m glad after all that she’s a sweet-natured lass—”

“She’s in love with Stewart,” he blurted out.

Shona’s eyes widened. “Ye know?”

“Of course. She doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry her.”

Shona was aghast. “But … then why?”

“Her Grace wants her only daughter to marry a titled man.”

“But there are lots of titled men in England. Why ye?”

He heaved a profound sigh, and she could see how much this weighed upon him. “Lady Violet is carrying Stewart’s child. The randy fool deflowered the girl and got her with a belly. Consequently, the duchess can’t bear the sight of Stewart, and I can’t say I blame her. But such is the hatred she feels for him that she’d rather condemn her daughter to perpetual shame and ignominy by letting her give birth to a bastard than allow Stewart to inherit the dukedom of Basinghall.”

Now she knew why the poor girl’s stomach had been so unsettled. And her mother offered her no comfort! “Och! That woman is a heartless banshee.”

“Yes, she is. But she’s also a very powerful banshee. One with the ability and disposition to inflict great damage.”

His words were pregnant with meaning. Suddenly, she could sense the hidden suffering in his heart, just as easily as if it had been a full-throated shout. “The duchess threatened ye in the drawing room, didn’t she? What did she mean when she warned ye against pushing her too far?”

He placed his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. Immediately, she became alarmed. She had never seen him so conflicted.

She put a reassuring hand upon his head. The soft waves curled around her fingers.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with you when I told you my wife died of childbed fever. The truth is much more salacious. And something I’ve been forced to keep a secret.”

It was many moments before he spoke. Shona’s breath caught in her throat.

“My wife … was murdered.”

The word brought flash upon flash of images on her mind. Her family’s dead bodies strewn on the kitchen floor. The haunting screams—theirs and hers—echoed in her ears. “How?”

“She was poisoned. By her lover.”

Shona tried to wrap her mind around what he’d just said. Which was the more terrible—that Conall’s wife was murdered, or that she had betrayed him?

He looked up then, guilt etched upon his forehead. “I don’t know precisely how long their affair had been going on. I was away a great deal. The practice was thriving. My patients were numerous, and wealthy—very demanding upon my time. Christina … was a young woman, not much older than you are now. I suppose I neglected her needs. I left her alone too often, and … I imagine she determined that she was not going to be lonely all by herself.”

He rubbed his palms together, as if he were trying to erase some invisible spot on them. “One day, a patient I was treating made a swift recovery, and I came home a few days earlier than expected. I found them … in our bed … asleep in each other’s arms.” He closed his eyes against the visual memory.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but he shook his head against her offered consolation.

“It was bad enough that she had cuckolded me,” he continued. “But that blackguard actually refused to give her up. He told me in no uncertain terms that I was a disappointment as a husband and that I didn’t deserve her. That Christina had sworn her life to him, and he intended to run away with her. I don’t mind telling you it gave me a great deal of pleasure to beat that man to a pulp before he was able to run out of the house. Christina, however … she never apologized for taking a lover. In fact, she seemed relieved that her affair had finally come to light.

“I should have divorced her. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I did love her. A few weeks later, though, Christina told me she was pregnant. I didn’t know what to think. And she couldn’t make me any assurances about whose baby it was. But she wanted us to be a family, and … I wanted that, too. So she rededicated herself to me and promised to be faithful. For my part, I vowed to make her happier. And we consented to leave our marriage bed untouched while we began to rebuild the trust between us.

“But that man … he would not let her go. He pestered her whenever I was called away. Sometimes he sent her gifts, and sometimes he wrote angry, vitriolic letters. If she had only told me about it at the time, I would have been able to protect her. But she hid the truth from me.

“Four days after Eric was born, some teacakes and chocolates were delivered to her. The note was felicitous, but unsigned. She must have assumed it was from one of our friends, or from one of my well-wishing clients. Neither of us imagined it could have been from
him
. I found her in bed, her tongue—”

Conall’s face twisted into an expression of heartsickness. The breath backed up in his throat.

Shona raised herself to her knees and poured her body over Conall’s quaking shoulders. A futile gesture, perhaps, because what pained him came not from without, but within.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with this,” he said.

“Of course ye should.” She would give anything to protect Conall, and never had she felt the instinct to defend so keenly as now. Whatever it took to make his silent suffering go away, by God, she would do it. “We’re friends. Ye must tell me the grief. I’ll understand.”

“No,” he said, wiping his eye with the heel of his hand. “I feel a complete fool.”

She took his sodden face in her hands. “Listen to me, Conall MacEwan. The grief … it’s like broken glass. Ye must no’ keep it inside, or it’ll just keep making ye bleed all over again. Ye’ve got to let it out. Preferably to someone who knows what to do with all the pieces.”

His eyes shone from the tears that still pooled in his reddening eyes. “I tell my son that big boys don’t cry. And look at me now.”

“Tears are special things, Conall. They’re no’ a sign of weakness. No other creature can cry. Tears are a mark of yer humanity.”

He nodded a mute thanks, distrusting the emotion in his throat. Guiltily, he laid her back down on the bed, and adjusted a pillow under her bandaged ankle.

“Whatever happened to him?” she asked. “The man that poisoned yer wife?”