Owning Arabella (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

 

"The stables!" Lord Peregrine bellowed, and he looked for all the world like a raging barbarian, himself coming to battle down the estate walls. Lord Peregrine was bare-chested with his black hair in wild disarray. Chicery could only step backward, mutely nodding his head.

"Are there people inside?" Darth asked even as he began turning around hastily to gather his discarded shirt and boots.

Chicery finished his Lordship's fearful beginnings. "There was a meeting in progress, my Lord!"

"Damnation!" Darth cursed as he sprinted toward the door. "Send someone for the doctor, Chicery. Now!"

That was the last hurried exchange that Arabella heard as the two men disappeared out of her sight. She quickly grabbed the bed sheet around her as she ran to shut the door, still able to hear Darth's deep voice barking orders as he made his way out of the manor.

"They will need my help," she whispered. She knew a healer could be life saving at this moment, until a doctor arrived, and just the thought of people suffering put any notion she had of attempting to escape out of her mind. An escape she hardly wished for any longer, if not for her small brother's peril. She realized a moment's hesitation when she thought about what Darth might do when he realized she'd left his intended confines. Yet she had to be braver than her hesitations, people were suffering. She would deal with Darth and his reaction when the time came. With the decision made, her only problem was how to help without any clothes? There were people in desperate need and she certainly was not going to let one little predicament hinder her aid. Determined, she went to Darth's dressing chamber.

"There has to be something here I can manage with."

All of Darth's clothes were huge compared to her smaller frame. Still, she did not let this deter her. She found a pair of gray woolen trousers and pulled them on, having to roll up the pants legs half a dozen times, until the length finally came to her ankles. The rolled ends would not stay, so she found a pair of stockings and put these on, stuffing the roll ends of the trousers into the top of the short stocking. Gathering the billowing ends of the waistband, she went after a breech's tie. Then she retrieved one of Darth's blue linen shirts that did not appear new or expensive and put this on. There was no hope for shoes.

Arabella moved to leave the bedchamber while braiding her hair into one long rope hanging down her back. In the process of doing this, she passed Darth's desk and saw her leather satchel there. She did not take the time to wonder why or how it had appeared. She was just glad that destiny intervened, because now she could be truly effective in her attempt to help the injured.

Darth was manic until he was certain there were no more people in the burning Retainer's Hall. He had carried the last person out himself, a man who was his head grounds-keeper. The grounds- keeper had succumbed to the smoke after entering the building to rescue people one too many times. He was left coughing, but doing fine.

Chicery approached, as he asked, "The doctor?"

"No, my Lord, he has not arrived yet, but we have gotten a bit of heaven sent luck, Sir."

Darth's gaze swept the dozen or so bodies laid out, people in various degrees of injury. That was when he saw a small indistinct figure moving among the injured. Whoever the man was he seemed to have command of the situation, issuing instructions to two women by his side.

"Heaven sent," Darth mumbled absently, not really taking Chicery's meaning.

"It is the lady, my Lord. Miss Arabella, you said. She is a gift, and that is certain. Right to mending she has gone without a moment's thought. I hardly recognized her at first, but what does it matter what an Angel of Mercy is wearing, when faced with such a tragedy."

"Arabella?" Darth muttered, still not combining Chicery's words with the figure working among the wounded as he moved forward. Why had she not run? Why had Arabella not tried to escape his slavery?

"If we could keep Billy's arm submerged in cold water," Arabella explained to one of the women she had found trying to treat the wounded. "It would be better than this butter. A bucket would do. But it must be done quickly."

"I will bring it for you." Darth's deep voice came out of the darkness.

A voice Arabella would recognize anywhere now, as she fought her startled shiver, saying as firmly as she could. "Hurry, Darth." Then her attention returned to the boy with the severely burned left arm. His name, she'd been told, was Billy McFarden and he could be no more than Nicholas' age. Arabella lifted the boy's head to give him a drink of periwinkle tea mixed with ground willow bark, which would help alleviate the pain the boy had to be in. Even though he was putting up a brave front, she thought little Billy was in shock.

"All the way in," Arabella instructed Darth moments later, when he returned to her side with the bucket of cold water. She lifted Billy's arm carefully as Darth supported Billy's back with one hand and used his other hand to position the bucket.

"Miss? Miss? Peter the oxen keeper, over here, believes his arm is broken. Can you help? He's in an awful lot of pain, Miss?" Arabella swiped a hand across her brow and called out. "Yes, I will be right there."

Then she dared to look at Darth for the first time, who look as if he were Satan himself, with black soot covering his face and emphasizing his scarring. It was impossible to tell his temperament. "This water should be kept as cold as possible, Darth. Changing it every five minutes would not be out of order. Billy might get sleepily on you because I have given him something for the pain."

"I will see to it," Darth murmured, and with this reassurance Arabella rose fearlessly and went to see about the man named Peter with the broken arm. "Thank you, little dove." Darth's voice sounded out of the darkness behind her, and Arabella sighed in relief as she hurried forward. It appeared her dark master was not furious with her. She wondered fleetingly whether this could be a change in their unusual relationship. Perhaps soon she might be able to tell Darth about Nicholas?

"I could give you something for the pain," she suggested. "That would not be touching you."

"Well, I don't know, little split-tail, whiskey would do me fine . . . Ahhhh!" Peter suddenly wailed, because Darth had appeared at Peter's side, laying a hard grip to his injured arm.

"What did you call her?" Darth hissed as Peter turned white beneath Darth's glare and tightening grip.

"I-I!" Peter yelped.

"Apologize, to the lady," Darth hissed angrily. "Then thank her for even offering to help the likes of you."

"Darth, it is all right . . . ," Arabella began, only to be silenced by his glare. He truly did look like a black ghoulish avenger with all that soot, she thought.

"Please, me lady. Please be excusing me manners, er me words. It is the pain I'm thinking," Peter whined.

Darth dropped Peter's arm and stepped toward Arabella saying, "This man can suffer, until the doctor arrives."

Arabella considered that it was fine with her. She had not liked being called a split-tail, it sounded crude, however she was not really certain what the words meant. Yet the gleam in burly Peter's eyes on his last quote of it, was enough to warn her it was likely very inappropriate.

"Yer, Lordship, I truly regret . . . !" Peter stammered, behind them as Darth guided Arabella away ordering over his shoulder.

"Shut up!"

"Was it truly that bad, Darth, what he called me?" Arabella questioned, in all innocence.

"It was," Darth growled. His anger had not gone away, but merely been constrained by his will power. However with Arabella's query, her pure innocence struck him again and visions of how vulnerable that innocence made her blazed the way inside him forging fierce protectiveness. He would do well to remember that Arabella was not from the more jaded English culture. Being bought and sold as a bond's maid lent one to believe of more worldly knowledge on Arabella's part. But such was not the case. He had been privy to it enough now, in their short time together, to know Arabella's inexperience was true and a fact.

"I-I, should check the injured again, Darth," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "I hope the doctor comes soon. I am only a simple healer and some of these people need so much more."

"You have saved lives," Darth assured her as she turned and he followed discreetly behind her, ready to help her if need be.

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

Several hours later found Arabella still standing vigil beside the young Billy McFarden with the severely burned arm. It had proven to be the most serious injury of all the people injured that night and Darth stepped inside the cottage having just spoken to the boy's father outside. But for a moment he moved no further into the room, instead standing silent as he watched Arabella.

She sat speaking softly to the boy's mother, reassuring her, promising to come by tomorrow. The doctor had told Darth that Arabella's quick actions concerning the boy saved his arm. It would be scarred, but the blessing was the boy would live. Darth hated that sequence of words. "Would be scarred, but the blessing is to live." It was as if one should be grateful for the life. A natural assumption that anyone should be grateful to live no matter what the circumstances.

Not that he'd ever wished for his own death, except perhaps for seconds during the darkest ravings of pain. Nay, he was thankful to be alive. Life continually offered some type of hope. He simply questioned the quality of life such a statement threatened. It was, he'd decided many years ago, a rather pompous statement to come from anyone who was not actually the afflicted.

But within his morose thoughts, Darth recognized how tired he was. So he shook his thoughts away and brought his attention back to Arabella, who was looking at him while he had been unaware of the fact. He wondered how long she had been poised so? Not many people would engage in such a perusal of him. He could not think it was pleasant. Yet, Arabella did it, and she did it as if it were normal.

He noticed with pleasure her smile, more endearing for the smudges of soot across her pretty nose. Then without any outward show of hesitation, he held his hand out to her. His heartbeat lifted as she came forward to take hold of his hand. She did it as naturally as if they had been doing it for years. Then together they took their leave holding hands. It took him only a few moments to notice that she was walking strangely. Glancing down it became apparent why and without further thought to the matter, he swept her up into his arms to carry her to the manor. She squealed his name in surprise, grasping his shoulders, as he said simply. "You have no shoes on and what in the world is it that you are wearing?"

Arabella appeared flustered with sudden wariness in her flaxen eyes. "Darth, I. . . ," she began haltingly, and then she hid her gaze over his shoulder.

"It is very inventive, Arabella," he said quickly as he tightened his arms around her. "I am impressed."

She peeked at him, trying to judge his words and his actions, so he smiled, in truth because it felt good and he knew that Arabella needed it. Then she sighed and buried her face into his neck. "I am so glad you are not mad at me," she whispered.

Darth entered the hall and instead of going upstairs as Arabella had expected, he turned toward the kitchen. She thought fleetingly that he could have set her down now, but she was glad that he did not. Being carried in a man's arms was a memorable experience. She was not sure if she ever wanted to be anywhere else but hugged up against Darth's broad chest.

Darth entered the kitchen, taking Arabella over to the counter by the basin sink and pump. He was reluctant to let her go, but he had a purpose. So he set her on top of the counter, facing him. The height put them nearly at eye level as he stood in front of her. The honeyed colored warmth in Arabella's eyes stopped his words for a moment as her hands stayed on his shoulders and his hands pressed into the slimness of her waist. It did not escape him, the subtle changing in their relationship.

"You have hurt your feet," he stated, brushing aside his thoughts for more important concerns. Then he began to pull the sock gently off Arabella's foot, to examine the bottom. His concern grew into irritation at himself as he looked at the cuts and scrapes marring the soft flesh on the sole of her foot. If he would have allowed her decent clothing this would not have happened.

"It does not hurt very much. It cannot be that bad." she offered to his look of concern as he guided her foot over the edge of the basin. He took the other sock off as gently as the first, and then he worked the pumped, until a steady stream of water came out of the spout.

"It will be cold, little dove," Darth warned as he stuck Arabella's feet under the water and he began to carefully wash them. "Do you have any salve for cuts and scrapes in that treasure satchel of yours?"

Darth chuckled, his little dove was animated about these herbs and remedies she carried. She came into a full blossom as he listened attentively to her enlivened discourse. Her feet were washed and the salve rubbed into the scrapes, with the socks returned, the whole while he learned of herbs whose names he would never begin to remember. But he kept nodding his head as if he understood everything Arabella said, completely enjoying the sound of her rich voice.

Finally, he caught her taking a breath, and he quickly interjected. "Are you hungry, Arabella?"

She seemed to suddenly realize that she'd been rambling, caught up in her verse, and a blush lightly tinted her cheeks as her mouth clamped shut. Then she murmured rather demurely, "Yes, Darth, I am very hungry."

Darth snorted trying to hold back his laugh. "You are a treasure, my little dove," he pronounced.

Arabella ducked her head, seeming unsure, as if he might be laughing at her and he grasped her calves, swinging her around to face him as his hand caught her chin, lifting the daintiness of it upward. "I am very interested in your herbs and would listen at any time that you care to go on about them."

"Darth!" She shoved at his chest with a laugh of her own.

"Now truly, Arabella, besides my teasing I am interested in anything that interests you." The arch of Arabella's auburn eyebrow told him that she was unconvinced, as he stepped backward to pull his soot-stained buckskin shirt off. "We will have to wash up down here because we are not likely to get a bath out of Chicery till morning. Can you pump the water for me?"

Arabella's answer was to go directly to the task, and while she pumped the water, Darth bent over the basin dunking his entire head.

"Do you want some soap, Darth?" she questioned.

"I suppose that I had better, this soot is not coming off very easily." Darth's hand reached out and a cake of soap was placed into it. "I only have the jasmine here, Darth." Darth plied it to his hair vigorously. "I will enjoy smelling of jasmine, little dove, it reminds me of one of my favorite things."

Arabella was immersed in the pleasure of watching Darth washing his hair and never really heard his words. It seemed that all she could concentrate on were his broad shoulders, which were bunching and stretching in a sinewy way as his upper arms muscles ballooned outward with the motions he used to wash his hair. She felt an intense urge to run her hands over the muscular bulge of his upper arms, to feel them flex beneath her palms. He exuded power and strength throughout his tall frame and once again she found herself feeling thrilled at looking so intimately at his hard masculine body.

"Is the soap all out?"

"Now it is your turn to wash."

Darth's voice was low and smooth and all the memories of earlier came flooding back as a slow burn centered in between Arabella's thighs. The pulse at the base of her throat was throbbing as Darth took a wet cloth to her face, before she knew what he was about. She welcomed the cool wetness to her fevered cheeks.

His task was worked at carefully as he pressed his body forward, until she had no choice but to open her legs, which left his lean bare stomach planted firmly between her thighs. Then the wet cloth was beneath the open collar of her shirt, sliding wetly over the tops of her breasts as her hands finally did find the tight muscular brawn of Darth's upper arms. She held on for dear life as Darth's moved the cloth lower, to scrub over her sensitive nipples beneath the shirt.

"Darth," she gasped, feeling burning heat flame between her thighs. It was so much more powerful, now that she knew what could come, what he could do to her.

"His Lordship is still in the kitchen I believe, Master William.” Chicery's voice, coming from out in the hall, warned Darth of eminent discovery and he pulled away from Arabella turning around quickly. But he did not move forward, instead staying close in front of her as she moved her legs to the side of him. He heard her low moan as her soft cheek found his back and his hand reached around to grab one of her hands with a squeezing motion.