Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (20 page)

His amusement changed to a look of
mild distaste. “Very well. Wait here, then.”

She was relieved when he let go of
her and continued down the dark hall. As the man tapped on Ned’s door, Vi
turned and fled down the steps. Going down the stairs, she could hear Ned’s
greeting.

“Come in, Mr. Platt. Ye’re early.”

Two maids were already scrubbing
the wax and ash from the table. Another was washing the floor. The housekeeper
had every window open and was waving the smoke out with her apron. Gibbs had
the two hangdog valets in the corner and was lashing into them like a
prosecutor at a murder trial.

 “Leave them be, Gibbs. The bloody
candle dropped on the table; that’s all. You are all making too much of a fuss
over nothing.” Lyon glared at the unsmiling woman who was scissoring through
the sleeve of his jacket and shirt. “You realize you’ve just committed a
capital offense in cutting my coat. And ruined a perfectly good one, at that.”

“A perfectly charred one. And you can afford another,” Millicent whispered absently, crouching beside him. She peeled back
the sleeve of the coat and laid his arm on the armrest of the chair.

Lyon leaned his head back and
stared in disbelief at the commotion around him. He had been going over the estate's
books in the library when he had inadvertently bumped the candelabra on the
table, tipping it over and setting the papers on the table on fire. Millicent
had left the room only seconds before, but Will had been in here and had pulled
Lyon’s chair away from the table before dousing the small fire. What he had
not realized immediately was that his master’s sleeve was on fire, too.

Lyon flinched at the sharp pain in
his arm. He looked down at the burned shirtsleeve. The cloth appeared to be
stuck to his flesh. She immediately stopped trying to pull it.

“Mrs. Page, have someone get
Ohenewaa for me. Mr. Gibbs, I want his lordship taken back to his room. It is
getting far too cold in here.” Millicent turned her gray eyes toward Lyon. “You moved your arm.”

It was not a question but a
statement.

“No, you’re mistaken.”

She gave him a look that he could
not comprehend, and then the chair was lifted by the valets. Whatever concern Lyon had a week ago about being paraded through the household with everyone around had been
cast to the wind. Every servant in the place was racing about, but no one
seemed to have a moment to stand and stare. Millicent stayed beside him all the
way upstairs.

Inside his bedchamber, Ohenewaa was
already waiting by the window.

“I didn’t do it intentionally,” he
barked at the black woman. 

The wrinkled eyelids were open only
a fraction. The dark stare told him she was not convinced.

“You two have met?” Millicent
asked, motioning for John and Will to move him to the bed.

“We’re old acquaintances.”

Lyon became suspicious when
Millicent and Ohenewaa started whispering together. When his wife started for
the door and the old woman came over to check on his arm, he voiced his
complaint immediately.

“Where are you going? Bloody hell. You really don’t intend to leave me alone with her now, do you? Millicent!”

Millicent hid her smile before
giving him an exasperated look over her shoulder. “I’m going nowhere.” She
stopped at the door and whispered some directions to a servant who was hovering
outside. 

Ohenewaa waved John and Will away
from the bed. The old woman then approached him and began checking the burn on
his arm. After looking at it for a few moments, she retrieved some sharp shears
from the table and cut most of the fabric away from around it. In the meantime,
the servant Millicent had sent away returned with a large bowl of white liquid.

“I am not drinking this,” he
groused when Millicent brought it to the bed. “Whatever it is.”  

“It is only milk.”

“All the same, I’ll not have it.”

“As you wish.”

Millicent sat on the edge of the
bed and, following Ohenewaa’s quiet direction, draped Lyon’s arm over the bowl.
Using a small towel, she poured the liquid over his arm again and again.

“Bloody hell!” he growled, gripping
the bed with his good hand.

After a few minutes of the
treatment, the aching pain started to subside. Ohenewaa directed her to lay the
soaked towel on the wound. After the second or third soaking, he saw the fabric
of his sleeve had loosened. Carefully, the two women peeled the cloth off,
exposing fully the ugly blisters and raw flesh.

A few minutes later, Gibbs came
into the room to check on him. Millicent assured him that everything would be
fine and sent the Highlander and the valets away.

With the burn cleaned, Lyon thought the ordeal was over, but Ohenewaa had other ideas. Using feather-light
touches, she started to examine his right arm and hand in the places that were
not burned. She felt and moved each finger, following the line of each bone through
the hand to his wrist. She gently felt the bones and muscles up to the elbow,
being especially careful around the burn, and then worked her way up beyond the
elbow until the material of the coat and shirt stopped her. 

“Remove his jacket and shirt.”

“The hell she will.”

“I shall be back in a few minutes.”

As Ohenewaa left the room,
Millicent picked up the shears, and Lyon turned sharply to her. “What is this
woman doing?”

“Ohenewaa is going to examine you,
as any physician would.”

“Why?” He caught Millicent’s hand.

“Because she knows medicine as well
as or better than the doctors you have been seeing. And because I asked her to
do this,” she said softly. “She won’t hurt you, Lyon. I will not move from your
side. Please allow her to tend to you.”

He couldn’t refuse her. “Very well,
then. But no more cutting. Help me out of these.” With her help he shrugged out
of the coat. “You don’t believe just because she healed a dog last week, she
can heal me, too.”

“She
liked
that dog, and you
clearly don’t believe she likes you.”

“The old hag told me so herself.”

“This is not the time to be so
disagreeable,” Millicent whispered. “Please, Lyon. I think she knows things
that those highly educated physicians you have been dealing with have been
blind to.”

“And what do you think she knows?”

“Perhaps she can make use of the
feelings and sensations that have been coming and going. The ones you ignore or
try to hide.” She met his gaze when he looked up startled at her. “I have seen
it. Last week, when the glass cut you, your hand moved. Three days ago, when
John was helping you out of bed, I think your foot was twisted, and I believe
you straightened it yourself. And then, last night you were having a nightmare,
and I saw the muscles in your leg move.”

There was no rhyme or reason to
what his body did, it seemed. Lyon had no control over what he was capable of
moving and when. But he didn’t want to say any of this to Millicent. He didn’t
want to raise any false hopes in her. Instead, he admired the loose ringlets
that had escaped their tight confines and were now framing her face. She looked
so soft. This was the way she had awakened him last night from his nightmare,
and Lyon remembered how much he’d wanted to draw her mouth down and kiss her.

He wanted to do the same thing now.

“The movements were involuntary.
They don’t mean a thing.”

Ohenewaa returned, carrying bottles
of different liquids that she proceeded to line up on the table.

Millicent leaned closer,
tantalizing him with her nearness. “I should like to grasp at every chance, no
matter how small. Many people here believe in her, Lyon. I am not saying that
she can heal you completely, but we would be fools not to give her a chance to
help as much as she can.” 

“Do as you please.” He let go of
her hand. “But I think you are wasting your time.”

*****

Beneath his long, dark hair, his
neck was strong and powerful. His shoulders were wide and his chest was muscular.
Lyon was thin, though, and his ribs showed through the skin, reflecting the
weeks of refusing food and nourishment.

Millicent’s throat was dry by the
time she finished removing his shirt. They had been married nearly a month. She
had spent her nights at his bedside. She had been present during the changing
of his clothes and even during sponge baths by his servants. But none of those moments had felt as intimate as removing his shirt herself.   

Ohenewaa came back to his bedside
with a bottle of ointment and a few clean cloths. “Spread this gently over the
burn on his arm and then wrap it loosely with this.”

She brought the jar to her nose.
“It smells familiar.”

“’Tis a decoction of the bark of
the elm tree. ‘Twill dry the pus that will soon be forming, and help the
healing process.”

Millicent was grateful for having
something to do, and she went to work while the healer started examining Lyon’s body.

“You are too tense. Relax,”
Ohenewaa said softly to him. The woman’s palm was pressed flat against the skin
of his chest, moving in slow circles. “Let your body talk to me.”

“You accused me of talking too
much,” Lyon retorted, moving his gaze momentarily from the ceiling. 

“Close your eyes. Let your mind
float away from here to a peaceful time in your life. Then your body will tell
me where there is pain.”

Millicent was surprised when he
didn’t protest or argue. She saw him close his eyes and give himself up to the
touch of the old woman. She went back to her own task of dressing his wound.
After she finished, Ohenewaa motioned to her to remain at the bedside.

It was soothing to watch her.
Following the movements of the wrinkled hands over his chest and shoulders and
arms, Millicent felt the calming effect of them on her as well. After a time
Ohenewaa paused.

“Now I need to check his legs. You
must remove his shoes, stockings, and breeches.”

Heat rushed into Millicent’s face.
“I shall go and get one of the valets.” She rose quickly to her feet.

“No.” Lyon’s eyes opened slightly.
“I don’t want any new rumors circulating in this house. You can manage it.”

She took a deep breath. She had
been sexually aroused simply taking the man’s shirt off. Now his breeches!

Ohenewaa walked back to her table
of medicines. Suddenly the room felt too hot. Lyon was lying on top of the
bedclothes. Millicent took a folded blanket from the bottom of the bed and
spread it across his middle. To make matters worse, he was watching her every
movement.

“In case you’re considering using
those shears,” he said in a low voice, “you can put that thought out of your
mind. My stockings and breeches don’t trust them…and the same thing goes for
any parts of my body that you might encounter.”

“Why don’t you close your eyes and
let your body talk to me?” she asked quietly, trying to inject some humor.

She moved to the foot of the bed
and removed his shoes and peeled off the stockings. Without thinking, she ran
her hands down one calf. Lack of exercise had shrunk the muscles somewhat. Her
fingers moved up to the buckles below the knee on his breeches. Millicent’s
hands shook as she started undoing them. The skin beneath her touch was so warm.

“Keep this up, and you’ll see very
soon that my body does indeed have something to tell you. That doesn’t trouble
you, does it?”

He was mocking her, teasing her. But his voice was beginning to sound a little strained. Steeling herself, Millicent held her
breath and moved up to stand beside the blanket that covered his middle. The
pulsing of her blood rang in her ears. She was thankful for the dimness of the
chamber, for she could feel her face and ears burning. Her gaze remained
focused on the weave of the blanket, and her hands brushed against his stomach
as she reached under the covering.

“Get Gibbs.”

At his curt direction, she leaped
back from the bed and ran for the door.

****

“The news from the Borders is quite disturbing, m’lady. The Earl of Dumfries has begun to clear the farms to the
west, raising the crofters’ rents to exorbitant rates. As of the writing of
this letter, it appears that some two hundred tenants have taken refuge at Baronsford since Michaelmas. My man says he’s been told that perhaps five hundred more went to Glasgow with the hope of moving on to the American colonies.” Sir Richard put down the
letter that he had received from the Borders. “The earl should be told.”

“No,” the dowager asserted
stubbornly. “He is not ready for this.”

“As you wish, m’lady, but his
lengthy absence is only adding more meat to the stew of rumor bubbling amongst
the tenants. Many fear that with the earl’s injury and the marriage to an
Englishwoman—along with the fact that he signed the lands over to Pierce—Baronsford’s farms will be next to go. They are already talking of him never coming back.”

The dowager closed the book on her
lap with a snap and glared at her old lawyer. “Under Millicent’s care, Lyon is making great improvement. Relaying any such news to him now would only add strain
and hinder any further progress.”

“You think she would not accompany
him to Baronsford if he were to decide to make the journey?”

“I don’t think it, Sir Richard. I
am certain of it. And I do not believe anything of value will be accomplished
if he were to go right now—for Lyon or for the people at Baronsford. Find some
other way to put the tenants at ease. Pass on the news of the earl’s progress.
Write to Walter and have him lower the rents. Move every sheep off the farms,
if that’ll calm them. Whatever needs to be done, get their minds off such
foolishness. Tell them I’m gasping for my last breaths, and they should begin
mourning for me.”

“That they shan’t do, m’lady. The
tenants at Baronsford are more wary of your tactics than your sons are. They
all believe you’ll outlive the entire family. But about the earl, you do
realize that we can delay passing on this news for only so long. ‘Tis his right
to know if he is improving. And knowing your son, he’ll be wanting to go back
to Baronsford before the planting season anyway. How can we not tell him what
he’ll find there?”