The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (80 page)

He closed his eyes and saw Joan dressed like a boy and she was smiling down at him. Unaccountable girl. She would be back, of that he had no doubts—that is, if she’d ever been here in the first place.

An hour later he received a shock when not only Joan returned, but her brother Douglas with her. He saw that she was still wearing boys’ clothes. Didn’t her brother discipline her? Wasn’t she given any guidance on how a young lady of quality was to behave?

Colin stared at the earl, who was staring back at him. He was unable to find a single word to say.

Douglas said calmly, “You’re coming back to Sherbrooke House. You’re ill, I can see that, and my sister doesn’t want to marry a man who’s nearly dead.”

“So you were really here,” he said to Sinjun.

“Yes, and now all will be well. I’ll take excellent care of you.”

“Dammit, I’m only tired, not ill. You’re making too much of this, and I just want to be left alone and—”

“Do be quiet,” Douglas said.

And Colin, because he felt worse than a half-starved mongrel, shut his mouth.

And that, he thought, too ill to care, was that.

“Sinjun, get out of here. The man’s naked and you aren’t to stay about and embarrass him. Send in Henry and Boggs to help me get him into clothing.”

“I can dress myself,” Colin said, and Douglas, seeing the fever burning bright and hot in his eyes, agreed.

He didn’t do it well, but he managed to dress himself quickly. However, the ride to the Sherbrooke town house was a nightmare Colin would just as soon not have lived through. He passed out when Henry and Boggs were helping him up the wide stairway.

It wasn’t until they were in the guest bedchamber that Douglas discovered the jagged four-inch-long knife wound at the top of Colin’s right thigh.

“Y
OU MUST GET
some rest, Sinjun. It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning.”

Sinjun didn’t wish to look away from his still face, but she forced herself to glance up at her sister-in-law. “I’m resting, Alex. It’s just that I must be here if he wakes up. He’s always so thirsty, you know.”

Alex said calmly, “He’s a strong man. He won’t die. I’m not worried about him now. I don’t want you to lose your health.”

“Do you promise, Alex?”

“Yes, I promise. His breathing is a bit easier, I can hear it. The doctor said he would survive this. He will.”

“I still don’t want to leave him. He’s had horrible nightmares.”

Alex handed Sinjun a cup of tea and sat beside her.

“What sort of nightmares?”

“I’m not sure. He’s frightened and he’s confused. Whether it’s real or just the fever, I don’t know.”

Colin heard her voice. It was pitched low and it was calm, but the underlying worry was there, thick and deep. He wanted to open his eyes and look at her, but he couldn’t. It was that simple. He was deep within himself, and he was afraid; she’d been right about that. He’d seen Fiona again,
and she was lying there at the base of the cliff, quite dead, her body sprawled on the jagged rocks. He was standing there looking down at her. Fear welled up in him and he wanted to get away from it, but it pursued him, overwhelmed him, and he was dying of the fear and the terror of what he couldn’t or wouldn’t remember, and the god-awful uncertainty. Had he killed her? No, dammit, he hadn’t killed his wife, he hadn’t. Even this nightmare couldn’t make him believe that he had. Someone had brought him here, perhaps Fiona herself, and she’d fallen, but he hadn’t killed her. He knew it deep down. He’d backed away from the cliff edge very slowly, one step, then another. He felt dizzy and strangely detached from himself. He’d led men back there, to where he’d found her, and no one had asked him what had happened, how it was that Fiona was lying there thirty feet below, her neck broken.

Ah, but there was talk, endless talk, and that talk was more devastating than an outright accusation, for it swirled around him, always out of his reach, those damned whispers and innuendos; and it ate at him because he knew he could shout his innocence, but how could he explain how he’d come to be there on the cliff edge himself? That he didn’t know, didn’t remember. He’d just come to himself and he’d been there. There was no reasoning he could grasp, nothing. The only person he’d told everything he remembered had been Fiona’s father, the laird of the MacPherson clan, and he’d believed him. But it wasn’t enough, never enough, for he couldn’t remember and it preyed on him, brought him down when he slept, when he was at his weakest, this guilt that wasn’t really guilt. But he still felt the nightmares to be a penance he was obligated to pay.

He was thrashing now, moaning deep in his throat. The knife wound in his thigh burned and gnawed at him. Sinjun was on her feet in an instant, gently holding him still, her hands on his shoulders. “Hush, Colin. It’s all right. They’re just nightmares, nothing more than nightmares. Just phantoms to plague you. Nothing more. That’s right, listen to me. I won’t lie to you. Come closer, yes, here’s some water, it will make you feel better.”

She tipped the water glass slightly and he swallowed. She held the glass until he turned his head away. She dabbed the water from his chin, saying quietly to her sister-in-law, “I put some laudanum in the water. It should help him into a deeper sleep, away from the nightmares.”

Alex said nothing. She knew no one could pull her away from Douglas were he ill. Thus, she just patted Sinjun’s arm and left the bedchamber.

Douglas was awake. He pulled Alex against him and held her close. “How is he?”

“Very ill. He’s having nightmares. It’s awful, Douglas.”

“Couldn’t you get Sinjun to leave him to Finkle for the rest of the night?”

“No. Finkle would fall asleep and probably wake poor Colin up with his snoring. You told me about the times when you were campaigning that Finkle would wake you up with his noises even after you’d been in battle for twelve hours and exhausted. No, let Finkle see to Colin during the day. Sinjun is young and strong. She needs to be with him. Let her.”

Douglas sighed. “Life is bloody unexpected. I forbade him to enter the house, knowing deep in my brain that the two of them would naturally see each other. Damnation, he could have died if Sinjun hadn’t taken matters into her own hands and gone
to his lodgings. It’s my bloody fault. She doesn’t know about the knifing, does she?”

“No. Now, if you continue to blame yourself, Douglas, for something that could never be remotely your fault, I shall write to Ryder and urge him to come here immediately and bash you into the ground.”

“Ha! Ryder wouldn’t do that. Besides, I’m bigger than he is. I’d thrash him into a lump.”

“Ah, but then you’d have to deal with Sophie.”

“A terrifying thought.”

“I hope you don’t mind that she and Ryder can’t come to London just now. With two of the children hurt in that fall from the hayloft, they wouldn’t much enjoy it; they’d be too worried. Also, the twins are quite happy there with their cousin and all the other children.”

“I miss the little heathens,” Douglas said fondly.

“All twelve of the children plus our two and Ryder and Sophie’s one?”

“Two at a time is preferable. I like the notion of trading children around. They never quite have time enough to roll you up so you’ll do whatever they want.”

“You’re right about that. Ah, but my dear, with Colin so ill and the wedding to be seen to, it is better, I suppose, that we leave the boys with their aunt and uncle.”

“I think Sinjun will want to marry Colin just as soon as possible. If that’s so, then Ryder and Sophie won’t be here.”

“I’m too tired to think more on the situation. Let’s get some sleep.”

Douglas felt a soft hand stroke down his chest and smiled into the darkness. “Ah, I thought you were tired. You have regained your vigor? Am I to be rewarded?”

“If you promise not to shout too loudly and awaken your mother again.” Alex shuddered, remembering the one night she and Douglas had enjoyed themselves immoderately, and his mother had burst into the room, thinking Alex had killed her beloved son. The memory still made her stiff with mortification.

“I’ll stuff a handkerchief in my mouth.”

He was whole-witted at last, but so weak he couldn’t seem to raise himself so he could use the chamber pot. It was damnable. At least the fever was gone and the pain in his leg was tolerable. He’d been a fool not to see a doctor when it had happened, but he simply wasn’t used to having some quack dose him, for God’s sake, for whatever reason. Never had he seen Dr. Childress, the Kinross physician for over thirty years, for anything more than childhood illnesses. He was young and strong and healthy as a stoat. A simple little knife cut and here he was flat on his back, sick with fever and out of his head.

He watched with half-closed eyes as Joan came into the room. He was testy and hungry. He didn’t want her there. He needed a man to help him.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Sinjun said, giving him a smile that lit up the bedchamber. “How do you feel?”

He grunted.

“Should you like me to shave you? I shaved Tysen’s head once while Ryder held him down. Not more than ten years ago. I could try, and I would be very careful.”

“No.”

“The strangest thing, Colin, there’s a man downstairs who claims he’s your cousin.”

That brought him bolt upright in the bed. The covers fell to his belly and he could but stare at
her. Which cousin? None of his cousins knew he was here, did they? Ah, MacDuff did.

“That’s not possible,” he said, and fell back to the pillows. Sinjun was looking at the line the covers made below his waist. She swallowed. He was so beautiful, all hard and long, black hair covering his chest, ah, but it narrowed to a soft black trail and disappeared beneath the covers. He was too thin, she could see his ribs, but that would change.

“You must stay warm,” she said, and pulled the covers up to his shoulders, even though she wanted to pull them to his feet and look at him for six hours at least.

“Joan, you’re not jesting? MacDuff is here?”

She blinked. “MacDuff? He didn’t give me his name, just said he was your favorite cousin. MacDuff, as in Shakespeare’s MacDuff?”

“Yes. As boys, we all called him MacCud—”

“As in a Scottish cow?”

He grinned. “That’s it. His real name is Francis Little, absurd for someone of his height, breadth, and width, so we chose MacDuff for him when we were boys. As I recall, he threatened to smash us in the dirt if we didn’t stop calling him MacCud and change it to MacDuff.”

“It fits him better than Francis Little, which isn’t at all right for a man with a chest the width of a tree trunk. MacDuff! That’s very clever, Colin. I imagine you devised that name. You know, he’s got the reddest hair and no freckles. His eyes are as blue as a summer sky—”

“His eyes are just the same shade as yours. Stop your rhapsodizing about my bloody giant of a cousin. Bring him up.”

“No,” Sinjun said. “Not until you’ve eaten your breakfast. Ah, here’s Finkle right now. He’ll assist you with other matters as well. I will be back in a
few minutes and help you eat.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Certainly not, but you will enjoy my company, won’t you?”

He just looked at her. She smiled at him, kissed his closed mouth lightly, and nearly danced from the room.

She turned at the doorway. “Should you like to marry me tomorrow?”

He gave her a look that held irritation rather than shock, and said, “You would have a memorable wedding night. I would be lying dead to the world at your side and that would be it.”

“I shouldn’t mind. We have the rest of our lives together.”

“I refuse to wed you until I can bed you properly.” It was a stupid thing for him to say, he realized. He needed to wed her in the next hour, if it were possible. Time was growing short. He desperately needed her money.

Sinjun sat back, watching the two cousins talk. They were speaking quietly, so she couldn’t understand them, nor did she really want to eavesdrop, something at which she was really quite accomplished. With three older brothers, she’d learned at a very young age that most information kept from her, wicked or otherwise, was best discovered through a keyhole. She looked out the window down into the enclosed garden. It was a cool day, but the sky was clear and blue and the flowers and plants in the garden were in full bloom. She heard Colin laugh and looked up, smiling. MacDuff—surely that nickname was stranger than her own nickname, Sinjun—seemed a pleasant man, and more important, very fond of Colin. Even sitting by the bed he looked huge, not fat, no, not at all, just huge
like a giant. His laugh was huge, too, shaking his entire body. She liked him. She had no qualms about MacDuff because she’d told him that if he tired Colin, she would personally boot him out.

He’d looked down at her from his vast elevation and grinned. “You’re no coward, I see, just a bit stupid to take this mongrel into your home. Nay, I’ll close my trap when the time comes so as not to tire out the poor lad.”

In perfect accord, she’d taken him in to see Colin.

Even now he was rising and saying to Colin, “It’s time you rested, old man. No, no arguments. I have promised Sinjun and I have a mighty fear of her.”

“Her name is Joan. She isn’t a man.”

MacDuff raised a violent red eyebrow. “A bit irritable, are we? A bit of a green color about the gills? I will see you in the morning, Ash. Do what Sinjun tells you to do. She’s invited me to the wedding, you know.”

And MacDuff the tree trunk was gone.

“He has no Scottish accent, just as you don’t.”

“MacDuff, despite his nickname, prefers the English side of his family. My father and his mother were brother and sister. His mother married an Englishman from York, a very wealthy ironmonger. Both of us were educated in England, but he went more deeply into it than I did. I used to think he would cut all ties with Scotland if he weren’t tied to it so closely, at least that’s what he always said. But now I believe he’s changed his mind, because during the past few years he’s lived most of the time in Edinburgh.”

“You’re tired, Colin. I want to hear all about this, but later, my dear.”

“You’re a nag.”

He sounded sour, which pleased her. He was mending.

“No, not a nag. One rides a nag,” she said, patting the covers at his shoulders.

He stared at her. “Your sexual innuendos aren’t at all the thing for a virgin.”

He realized she had no idea what he was talking about and snorted at her. “Just go away, Joan.”

“All right. Forgive me, Colin. You’re tired and must rest.”

She turned at the door. “Would you like to marry me the day after tomorrow?”

“Perhaps if I can walk tomorrow I shall be able to ride the day after tomorrow.”

She cocked her head to one side in question, and when he just continued to look sour, she smiled and left him.

Colin lay back and closed his eyes. He was worried, very worried, and so angry he wanted to spit. MacDuff had come to tell him that the MacPhersons were moving on Kinross lands. They’d heard about his financial ruin, knew he was out of Scotland, and had thus taken advantage. They were, according to MacDuff, freely raiding Kinross land and sheep. They were vultures, normally incompetent and content to whine about all their misfortunes—all brought on by themselves. They’d even killed several crofters who’d tried to save their homes from pillage. His people were doing what they could, but there was no leader there for them. Colin had never felt more helpless in his entire life. Here he was, lying in this lovely damned bed in this beautiful house, weak as a day-old foal, and useless to himself and to his family and his people.