Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (13 page)

“Aye, that’s true, but now that
you’ve said you love me--”

“To be sure, lass. But ‘tis not a good thing, my wee Violet, making me wait more than a week before coming to see
me.”

He spread her legs with his knee
and pushed his shaft deep into her. She was still sore from his rough handling
of her when she’d first come to him tonight, but she bit her lip and didn’t
complain. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him tightly and hoped this time
he would go slower.

“A man needs good reason ‘fore
meeting family, vixen.”

“More reason than this?” she asked
in a small voice.

“Aye. Much, much more,” he said,
beginning to slide within her. “But ye’re a smart one. Ye’re learnin’ all the
time.”

An hour later, Violet felt somewhat
queasy as she ran back to Melbury Hall. He had done it to her again, and she’d let
him. That was not the truth. She had gone to his bed willingly, only to walk
away unhappy with the way he treated her. What was worse—and she hardly wanted
to admit it, even to herself—she was already starting to doubt his words. He
had said he loved her, but he was not interested in meeting her family. He told
her how pretty she looked, but in the next breath he was asking the news of
Melbury Hall. Why did he care about the place anyway? It was not like he worked
there or even knew anyone there but her.

Violet was relieved that she had
not said much about the place to him. Not that there was much to say these days
that was any secret. But there were some things that no one could ever know.
Secrets about the day that Squire Wentworth had died.

Violet saw Moses carrying a lantern
at the end of a pole with his dog beside him when she broke out of the woods
onto the curved drive. The watchman raised a hand and waved to her as the dog
turned and wagged her tail. Two of a kind, Violet thought. As gentle as lambs.
She turned her steps toward him.

“Your clothes are not dirty. You
are not sad.”    

“No, I’m not sad.” She smiled,
leaning down and patting the dog on the head.

“No moon now, Violet. The nights
are dark. You want someone to walk with at night?”

She shook her head and smiled up at
the man. “I am fine, Moses. Thank you, but you have an important job here. You
and your dog need to keep Melbury Hall safe.”

He nodded slowly, then looked
toward the stables. “I made a basket for you.”

“Did you?”

He looked back at her. “I can go
get it, if you wait. I soaked rushes I had from last summer and used a leather
strap for a handle. Maybe you can wrap some of your pretty ribbons around it
and use it when you go to the village, Violet. Wait until I get it?”

She nodded at him, feeling better.
“I’ll wait right here. I’ll even hold the lantern until you get back.”

Watching the old man go off to the
stables, his dog on his heels, Violet took a deep breath of the night air. She
would never reveal the secrets of Melbury Hall. Most of all, she thought, no
one must ever know that Moses had been the one who really killed Squire
Wentworth.

She felt more like a soldier leaving
a battlefield than a woman leaving her ailing husband’s bedroom. When Gibbs
arrived not long after dawn, Millicent gestured for him to follow her out into
the corridor.

“Please help his lordship bathe and
change once he is awake,” she said in a weary voice. “Offer him breakfast, but
give him no medicine until you fetch me. I shall have some sweet cider and some
water sent up if he wants something to drink. Give him no spirits.” She looked
in past the partially closed door. “Oh. The bedding needs to be changed. And also a few spills on the rug need to be cleaned. I shall speak to Mrs. Page about that. And there might be a few pieces of broken dishes under and around the bed.”

“Sounds like ye had quite a night,
m’lady.”

“Aye, Mr. Gibbs. Quite a night.
Have you eaten anything this morning?”

“Aye, mum. Thank ye for asking.”

“Very well,” she said, turning to
go.

“I hope ye are not already
discouraged, mum.”

The tall man’s softly spoken words
made Millicent pause. She turned to him. “No, Mr. Gibbs. I was asking a great
deal of him for one night. I deserved what I received.”

“No one deserves that trouble.” He
glanced over his shoulder. “But I want ye to know that his lordship was not
always
like this.”

“I shouldn’t think so.” She spoke
honestly, though there had been moments last night when she might have
seriously doubted it. “You have been with him a long time.”

“I have, m’lady. And that’s why I’ve not given up hope like the rest of them. His lordship has had his share of
bad luck these past few years. But the way I see it, with him being here at
Melbury Hall and with you looking after him, his luck might just be turning
again…and for the better.”

Millicent nodded, appreciating the
man’s confidence. “Please call me if you need me, Mr. Gibbs.”

“Aye, m’lady.”

As she moved off, her legs wobbled
slightly, but Millicent paid no attention. She considered her own luck. Perhaps
hers would change now as well, with Lord Aytoun as her husband. But first she had to learn to handle his temperament.

After what felt like a mile of
walking, she made it to her own room. Inside, she eyed the bed, which looked
like some heavenly cloud. Without removing her clothes, she simply stretched
out on it.

Last night had truly been a test of
her strength. Whatever assistance the dowager had offered her for marrying her
son, there had been moments when Millicent had wished she had asked for double
or triple the amount.
Lyon Pennington was absolutely the most arrogant,
difficult, and stubborn person she had ever crossed paths with in her life. And not having the use of his legs or his arm didn’t hinder his virulent behavior in the
slightest. On more than a few occasions during the night, she had wished he’d
lost the use of his venomous tongue along the way as well.
But then she remembered what Gibbs had said in the corridor. He had not always been like this.
Perhaps there was hope.

Millicent pulled the covers on top
of her and closed her eyes, hoping for a few hours of rest. Lyon had fallen
asleep for the first time only moments before she had left the room. She was
certain that he had to be even more exhausted than she.

When the knock on the door came, it
took Millicent a few moments to realize where she was and to rouse herself.
Glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantel, she realized she had been
sleeping for only half an hour. Will’s voice was hesitant, but his message was
clear: Mr. Gibbs wanted her ladyship to know that his lordship was fully awake
and in as foul a mood as could be.

And he wanted his medicine now.

*****

Ohenewaa sat quietly on a bench in
the corner of the kitchen, listening to the worried conversation between the
two servants. One was Violet, Millicent’s personal maid, the other a young
black servant named Bess. The two were about the same age, barely more than
girls. They sat side by side on the settle close to the fire. She did not
move—her eyes mere slits and her hands resting on the skirts of blue muslin
Amina had given her. If anyone were to look at her, she knew, they would think
she was an old woman sleeping contentedly. 

“They say he’s like a madman,
cursing and shouting when he’s awake, and fretting and feverish when he’s asleep.”
The black woman’s voice dropped low. “But she’s still holding her ground about
not giving him any of the medicine. Stubborn as can be.”

“’Tis not stubbornness but common
sense, if you ask me,” Violet answered. I saw him same as you the first day
that they brought him into the house. He didn’t know who he was or where he
was. This morning when I took a tray of food upstairs, his lordship was as mean
as a starving dog, but he had no trouble recognizing anybody.”

“I’ve been lucky not to be called
up there myself, but I heard Mrs. Page say the mistress don’t look too good.” 

“That’s true,” Violet agreed. “The
mistress is starting to look more poorly than Lord Aytoun himself. And who’d blame her? She’s spent nearly two nights and days now at his bedside with not a moment
away.”

The two women continued to talk,
but Ohenewaa rose to her feet and moved away. The household was already
accustomed to her quiet presence, to her silent comings and goings, and these
two barely gave her a second glance as she got up to go. In the servants’ hall
she found Amina.

“Come to my room at the noon hour.
I will have a tea ready for the angry man upstairs.”

“He is not drinking tea, Ohenewaa.
He is not taking any food. If ‘twas not for the mistress forcing him to drink
water drawn straight from the spring, I don’t know how he could have survived
this long.”

“Very well. Then we will mix it
with his drinking water. It has very little taste.”

“’Tis good that you have decided to
help her.” Amina nodded gratefully. “How much should I tell the mistress to
give him?”

“You will take what he needs the
first day. After that we will watch to see how he does and then give him less
and less each day. In a week or two, he’ll be needing no more of it.”

Doubt clouded Amina’s features.
“What happens if someone else or the mistress by mistake drinks some of it
herself?”

The old woman nearly smiled.
“She’ll have a couple of hours of peaceful rest.”

“Her ladyship is very distrustful
of medicine, even English medicine.”

Ohenewaa nodded reassuringly. “I
understand her distrust. She will accept this from me.
She might even be
expecting it.”

****

The edge of the feather bed sank
beneath her weight. Millicent used a small towel to wipe the beads of sweat
from Lyon’s forehead. He had fallen asleep about one o’clock, but here it was
not even an hour later, and he was caught in some type of nightmare.

She pulled the towel away as he
jerked his head from side to side on the pillow. The words he mumbled in his
sleep were gibberish. More glistening beads of sweat ran down his face and
disappeared into his dark beard. He called something aloud that resembled a
shout of warning.

Millicent pressed a hand to the
side of his neck, checking for fever. As she started to draw back, he reached
up with his left hand and trapped her arm against his chest.

She sat motionless on the edge of
the bed, considering the battles this man constantly waged, even in his sleep.
Her fingers were splayed on his chest, and the feel of his heart pounding
within overwhelmed her.

“No!” His hand clutched tight,
squeezing her arm painfully. “
No
! You cannot!” 

“It is only a dream, m’lord.” She
leaned over him, caressing his face with her free hand, pushing the strands of
wet hair off his brow, and talking to him reassuringly.

“Do not ever--!”

“Wake up, Lyon. You’re having a
dream.”

“Emma…do not…no…!”

Millicent drew her hand away as if
burned.
Emma
. On his face, tears were mixed with sweat. She pushed away
from the bed and found Will standing in the doorway.

“Stay with his lordship,” she
whispered to the valet. “Please come and get me when he awakens.”

Leaving the bedroom and heading
downstairs, Millicent tried to push Emma’s name out of her mind. The woman had
been Aytoun’s wife—perhaps the most important person of his life. She could not
allow the name to become a nightmare to her.

Instead, Millicent thought of
Ohenewaa’s medicine. The drink had worked. In less than an hour after giving it
to him, her husband was sleeping, albeit restlessly. She had to watch this
closely, make certain how his mood was when he was awake.

Downstairs, a servant hurried to
her, carrying a letter. A messenger had just brought it from Jasper Hyde.
Millicent felt every nerve in her body go taut as she tore into the letter. Again
it concerned Ohenewaa.

“Please ask Ohenewaa to come to me
in the library,” she told the servant.

Sitting by a window in the library,
Millicent read the contents of it again. It angered her that Hyde was not
giving up. There were no more liens, no promissory notes, nothing to give him
any control over her, but he continued to persist. She could not understand the
man’s obsession about getting hold of the old woman.

When Ohenewaa walked in few minutes
later, Millicent decided to not let her own feelings affect the healer’s
decision. 

“Mr. Jasper Hyde has written to me,
requesting a meeting with you. He states that he writes with no dishonorable
intentions. He would prefer a London location, but if that is not satisfactory,
he would even consider coming down to Hertfordshire.” 

As Millicent put the letter down on
her desk, Ohenewaa stared at it with contempt. 

“This is a most unusual request,”
Millicent continued. “My first reaction was to answer it with an abrupt no. But then I realized that it is not completely my decision, since the correspondence concerns
you.”

The young woman’s tired face and
gray eyes were disturbed when they looked up. “Before you give me your reply,
though, I also want you to know that Mr. Hyde’s lawyer has been in contact with
Sir Oliver Birch half a dozen times in the past fortnight. Each time his offers
and discussions have had something to do with you.”

Though Millicent didn’t voice it,
the unspoken question hung in the room:
Why does he want you?

Ohenewaa walked to the window and
stared out at the dreary day and the gray, hunchbacked Chiltern Hills.  She had
been on one of the slave ships with Dombey when the rebellion erupted on Jamaica in 1760. It had been bloody, though, that she knew. The slaves of several
plantations, fed up with the brutality of the masters and fooled by some old
men into believing certain spells could make them invulnerable, had risen up
and killed anyone who got in their way.