Amanda Scott (17 page)

“Don’t tempt me. Where is it?”

“Where you won’t get it unless you are even less of a gentleman than most Campbells,” she said. She had slipped it back into the pocket beneath her skirt, where she hoped it was not presently singeing a hole in the cloth. The barrel and firing pin tended to stay hot after one fired the thing.

Eyeing her with enough speculation to make her nerves jump, Calder said, “I do wish you would stop assuming that I am a villain just because of my surname.”

“Don’t you assume that I’m a rebel because of mine?”

“Aren’t you a rebel?”

She smiled. “I won’t answer that. If I say no, you will think me a liar, and I would have to be a fool to say yes. Do your arms hurt? There is a lot of blood.”

“They hurt like the devil, and so does my chest, but I think those are the worst of my injuries. It did not slash anything of great importance.”

“No, it seems to have missed both your eyes and your throat.”

“Those are not the important items I was thinking about,” he said with a noticeable twinkle in his eyes.”

“Men,” she muttered. “See here, can you get up?”

“Of course, I can.” But when he attempted to do so, he staggered and had to lean on her shoulder. “Good Lord, I’m as weak as a—” He broke off with a crooked grin. “I nearly said ‘weak as a cat,’ but at the moment …”

“Not the best choice of words,” she agreed, feeling weak herself and wondering at her reaction to that disarming grin. Asserting control over her wayward emotions, she went on matter-of-factly, “You got a shock, that’s all, but you must clean those scratches carefully.”

“They will be all right.”

“Look,” she said, annoyed, “that cat was one of the biggest I’ve ever seen around here, and some of those wounds look deep.”

“I don’t like fuss.”

“It isn’t fuss, my lord. Wildcats have got stuff in the pads of their feet that can cause terrible infection. The scent of it is so strong that one can smell it wherever they’ve clawed the trees. We should get help, I think. Someone ought to have heard—Ah, there’s someone coming now. James, over here!”

“We heard a shot,” James Stewart said, running up to them with two of his sons and his servant John Maccoll following behind. “What’s amiss?”

“A wildcat attacked his lordship,” she said. “He must have been all of thirty pounds or more. You remember James of the Glen, do you not, my lord?”

“I do, but are you sure that thing was only thirty pounds? It felt like a hundred and thirty to me.”

“No doubt, but we do not grow them that big. They are small but very fierce, sir, and dangerous when provoked.”

“I did not provoke him on purpose, mistress. I just stepped over a log.”

“Onto his tail, while he was eating,” she pointed out. “Very careless.”

“I’ll not argue that, or that his legs are like springs for him to have leapt at me like he did.” He sighed. “My own legs are sagging. May I sit on that rock?”

“Yes, but you cannot sit there long.” Turning to James, she said, “I want to get his lordship down to Maclean House, to Mary. Can you send one of your lads to Bardie for herbs. He’ll know the ones Mary will want.”

“Aye, and I’ll send the other for the blacksmith at Kentallen,” James said. “Your Mary knows a deal about remedies, right enough, but he’ll know if aught else should be done. Moreover, someone can send word from there to Balcardane to assure them that his lordship is in good hands.”

She had been about to object to sending for the smith, but like others of his ilk the man had a good reputation for healing, and in fact she did not know whether Mary would want him or not. Deciding that the decision was not hers to make, she held her tongue. When Calder attempted to stand again, she said, “We should do what we can to wash those scratches, sir. I know that is what Mary would say.”

“I’ve no objection,” he said. “Cold water might soothe them. At least that ridiculous dizziness has passed.”

Diana opened her mouth to tell him she had known grown men to die after being attacked by a wildcat, but she shut it again, seeing no good to gain by sharing that news with him. Glancing at James, she saw hesitation in his expression and knew he had been thinking the same thing.

“What is it?” Calder demanded, getting up and looking from one to the other.

“Nothing, sir,” Diana said. “If you are steady again now, I think it will be best if you go down by the water and wash your arms and chest. Let me help you take off your coat.” When she had, she saw with a shiver of distress that its thin wool sleeves had done little to protect his arms. She said as calmly as she could, “Your shirt is dreadfully tattered, so you might as well take it off, too. I just hope you don’t take a chill when we walk down the glen.”

“We’ll get the shirt off when we’ve soaked those wounds a bit,” James said, holding out an arm to help him down over the rocks to the turbulent water. “If Mistress Diana does not object to my taking my waistcoat off in her presence, my lord, you may have it to wear under your coat. My shirt would not fit you, but my waistcoat is long and very loose on me, so it ought to help keep you warm.”

Seeing Calder about to object, Diana said quickly, “Never mind my presence, James. That’s the very thing for him. And now, sir, don’t dawdle about. You don’t feel the cold yet, I expect, but you will soon enough, and I want to have you down out of this glen before then. I won’t be able to carry you if you faint, you know.”

As she spoke, he groped his way to a large flat boulder that jutted into a stretch of rapids tossing white froth into the air. Looking back over his shoulder at her, he smiled, and his deep voice carried easily over the sound of the river when he said with a touch of humor, “I won’t faint, lass.”

“’Tis best you don’t faint there,” she shouted back, clutching his coat to her bosom. “For goodness’ sake, pay heed to what you are doing!”

Broad pools trapped lingering late sunlight farther down, but she knew their peaceful look was deceptive. Strong currents swirled beneath the surface, and in some places narrow black gorges plunged deep between chiseled rock walls, where a victim of the river might be trapped beneath it and drowned. Despite telling him earlier that he ought to have cast himself into the water to rid himself of the wildcat, she knew that if he fell in now, it would be nearly impossible to save him. The river dropped away over a succession of granite steps that, over the centuries, rushing water had scoured and polished to icelike slipperiness.

Feeling like a bitch with one pup, she bit her tongue and twisted her hands in the coat she held to keep from warning him again. He was a grown man, after all. Not only had he said he disliked fuss but there was no good reason for her concern.

As she watched, trying to convince herself that one Campbell more or less would make little difference to anything or anyone, he straightened and turned. His right foot slipped, missing its purchase.

Diana clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. Only when James moved swiftly to put a steadying hand under Calder’s elbow did she breathe easily again, but the fear that one or the other might fall did not leave her until both men had moved away from the water toward the path again.

So intent was she on the river tableau that she did not realize John Maccoll had left them until he came bustling along the trail from the direction of James’s house, carrying a bundle of cloth. In Gaelic he said, “I brought towels, mistress.”

“Good,” she said, taking a large one from him and giving him Calder’s coat to hold. Stepping carefully from rock to rock toward the water, intending to soak the cloth, she met the other two men coming up and stepped aside to let them pass, her attention fixed on the rocks so she would not slip.

A firm hand caught her by one arm. “Let James do it, or his man,” Calder said. “Those wet rocks are slippery.”

She looked up at him with an impish smile. “Do you think I have never done this before, sir?”

“I think there is no cause for you to do it now,” he said.

Before she could reply, James said calmly, “John, put his lordship’s coat on the boulder beside you and soak a couple of those clouts in the water. While you do that, I’ll help him take off his shirt so he can wash the scratches on his chest.”

“Aye, master.”

“Thank you,” Calder said, still looking at Diana.

Standing there in his ragged shirtsleeves, he looked as big and powerful as ever, although she thought his face had lost some of its usual color. She was not sure if he was thanking James for intervening, John Maccoll for dampening the cloths, or her for scaring off the wildcat. At the moment, it did not matter much which it was. She kept forgetting that he was a damned Campbell.

She still held the cloth she had taken from John Maccoll, and she glanced at the burly man as he moved toward the water, intending to give it back to him.

As if he read her mind, Calder said, “Keep it. I will need one to dry myself afterward. I think I am going to be glad now that the water is like ice. Just the thought of touching these scratches with those towels makes me feel dizzy again.”

He was still watching her, and she had the notion that he was testing her reaction to his words. No doubt he would find it gratifying to know how her stomach churned at the thought of the pain he would endure, but she did not intend to reveal her feelings so easily. She did not understand them, and she had no wish to examine them herself, let alone allow him to do so.

He released her arm, and she stepped back carefully, certain that if she stumbled he would catch her again, and afraid that she wanted him to do just that.

Back on the rutted path, James helped him take off his wet, bloody shirt, and although Diana had intended to keep her eyes averted, she found herself glancing at the two men frequently.

Calder’s broad, well-muscled chest was a veritable lacework of oozing, bloody scratches. His gaze caught hers, and she looked quickly away. Then he gasped, and she looked back to see that James had begun to clean the blood away.

Diana wanted to do it, and when Calder winced, she nearly jumped forward to snatch the cloth from James. But, catching his lordship’s eye again, she kept still.

At last James said, “That will do for now, I’m thinking. I’ll send John Maccoll along to see you get safe to Maclean House, sir.”

“I’m grateful for your help, James Stewart,” Calder said, putting out his hand. “I’d say we’ve no need for Maccoll, but I’d make poor protection for Mistress Diana in this state, so I’ll accept your offer with thanks.”

“I can take care of myself,” Diana said, the words spilling from her tongue in her relief that he seemed all right.

“Your pistol is empty,” he murmured provocatively.

She saw James and John Maccoll exchange alarmed glances.

Swallowing, she said, “I’m still armed, my lord, and that weapon is legal.”

“Show me.”

Feeling betraying heat in her cheeks, she said, “I will not.”

“John Maccoll is going with us then.”

“Very well,” she said, adding with a direct look, “I daresay I shall be grateful for his protection.”

He chuckled. “That’s fact, and so will I, with greater cause.” Leaving her sputtering, he turned away to let John Maccoll help him put on James’s waistcoat and his own coat. Though the wool waistcoat was fashionably oversized on James, it was a snug fit for Calder, and Maccoll slipped it inside the coat so that he could don both as if they were but a single garment. Still, Calder winced as he put them on.

James moved close to Diana, saying in an undertone, “I thought it must have been his lordship’s pistol we heard, my bairn. Whatever were you about to let a Campbell know you carry a forbidden weapon?”

“He might take it away from me, James, but I do not think he will give me up to the authorities,” Diana said.

“But he
is—
”

“Shall we go?” Calder said. “Even with John Maccoll to protect us from each other, I’d as lief be out of this glen before dark.”

“You’ve an hour of good light yet,” James said. “Once dusk falls, it will last another thirty to forty minutes in the glen, longer in the open. You’ve time.”

They did not tarry, and it soon became clear that Calder had no intention of coddling himself. He set the pace, and if he was walking slower than usual, Diana could not tell. As for John Maccoll, all he was protecting them from now was an attack from the rear, for Calder had ordered him to follow Diana.

Not until they had passed through Inshaig to the shore road did Calder turn to say, “Come walk beside me. The path is wide enough, and I want to talk to you.”

Reluctantly she obeyed, but before he could begin, she said, “If you mean to demand that I give you my pistol, sir, I’ll tell you here and now that I won’t do it.”

“‘You’re leaping over the hedge before you come to the stile, lass.’ ”

“‘Fear is sharp-sighted, and can see things underground, and much more in the skies,’ ” she retorted.

“God save us, a wench who has read Cervantes!”

“‘Youngsters read it, grown men understand it, and old people applaud it.’ ”

He gave a shout of laughter. “Ah, the fair sex.”

She looked at him searchingly. “I don’t think that phrase originates from
Don Quixote
like the other ones, does it?”

“I don’t know if it originates there, but one can certainly find it there.”

“Well, I’ve thought of a much better one, anyway.” Shooting him an impish look, she said, “‘Those who play with cats must expect to be scratched.’ ”

He groaned. “Unkind, mistress. You may go whistle before I’ll give you another opening for your thrusts.”

She chuckled. “I think you altered that one a bit.”

“I frequently do alter them,” he admitted. “I find it astonishing how often something Cervantes wrote fits a modern situation. Still, I own that I’m surprised to meet a female who has memorized his work.”

“Well, I have hardly memorized it all, although I have committed a number of passages to memory,” she said. “I just hope you won’t ask where they come in the book, because very likely I have forgotten. I know many of Shakespeare’s sonnets, too, and I must tell you, I think Don Quixote was the wiser man. At least he did not insist that the only good woman is a married one.”