The Lord’s Highland Temptation

Niven chimed in. ‘What was wrong with him?’

What was wrong was that he was a stranger—an Englishman—who would now be a guest in their house for at least ten days.

She pushed past them. ‘I need to speak with Cook. He needs food and water.’

They followed her to the kitchen.

‘At least answer us!’ Davina cried.

Mairi held up a finger to warn them to give her a moment.

Cook was busy stirring something in a pot over the fire.

‘Mrs MacNeal, our patient is hungry. What might I bring him?’

Mrs MacNeal’s wrinkles creased into a sympathetic look. ‘Oh, the poor lad. I take it he is feeling better?’ Cook had kept her supplied with broth and tea for him the last three days.

‘He is much better,’ she replied. ‘His fever has broken.’

Cook winced as she tottered over to a shelf where the servants’ dishes were stacked. The poor woman’s arthritis must be paining her. She ought to be given a nice pension and a little cottage on the estate, not running the kitchen with only one kitchen maid to help.

‘Let me help you,’ Mairi said, hurrying to her side.

‘Thank you, Miss Mairi.’ The old woman pointed to a high shelf. ‘One of those bowls and a plate will do. The soup is ready. I’m keeping it warm for dinner. And there is fresh bread.’

‘I’ll cut some bread,’ Davina offered. She skipped over to the bread box and took out a loaf.

‘He’ll want some ale, I expect,’ Niven added. ‘Shall I get him some?’

Mairi nodded.

‘I’ll slice some cheese for him, as well,’ Davina said. She carried some cheese to the worktable.

Cook, Davina and Niven arranged a very generous tray for the Englishman.

‘Now tell us about him,’ Davina demanded. ‘Who is he? What did the doctor say?’

Of course they would be curious about the man she’d rescued.

Mairi replied, ‘His name is John Lucas.’

‘But what is his regiment?’ Niven asked. ‘I thought he was a soldier.’

‘I did not ask him about being a soldier. He has only this morning been out of danger.’ Mairi glanced from Niven to Davina. ‘Mr Grassie believes he is much improved, but he must rest. And he still may be contagious, so you must stay away from his room.’

‘I do not mind helping,’ Davina said.

Mairi frowned. ‘Better it be Niven. It would not be proper for you to be in his room.’

Davina’s chin lifted. ‘Then it is not proper for you either, Mairi. But you were in his room day and night, were you not?’

Mairi could see that Cook listened to their every word. ‘Only because he had the fever and we had to limit how many were exposed to it. In any event, now that the fever is gone, it should be Niven who attends him.’

‘But I won’t be here!’ Niven protested. ‘Not tomorrow. I am off to Crawfurd’s tomorrow.’

William Crawfurd was Niven’s childhood friend, about to embark on a Grand Tour abroad—something out of the question for Niven since both his tutor and Davina’s governess had left for positions that would actually pay them.

‘Well, attend him today.’ Mairi would worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

She followed Niven down the hallway, knocked on the butler’s door and opened it, stepping inside long enough to see Mr Lucas rise.

‘Miss Wallace.’ He nodded.

Again she felt that pull towards him.

She stepped aside so Niven could enter. ‘My brother. Niven.’

The Englishman’s eyes left hers only briefly to acknowledge Niven.

‘He brought you food,’ she said unnecessarily.

Before the man could say another word, she left the room.

* * *

The youth carrying the food tray grinned at Lucas. ‘You’ll have to forgive Mairi. She has a bee in her bonnet about something, I’ll give you that.’

‘I understand she tended to me these last three days,’ Lucas responded. ‘She must be quite fatigued.’

‘Well, I helped some,’ the boy said. He lifted the tray slightly. ‘I’ve brought you some food. Shall I set the tray on the table or would you like to eat on the bed?’

‘The table.’ After the doctor had left, Lucas had forced himself not to crawl back under the bedcovers, but he’d not progressed beyond sitting on the bed’s edge.

He rose, holding on to the bedpost until he knew his legs would support him. He marshalled enough energy to walk the few steps to the chair by the table. He nearly collapsed into it.

‘Mairi said your name is Lucas.’ Niven set the tray in front of him.

He ought to have introduced himself. ‘That is so.’

The boy flopped down on a second wooden chair at the table. ‘Mr Grassie said you were in the army, because of the scars on your chest. Is that so?’

They’d seen his scars? Of course they had. He’d been nearly naked.

‘Not any more,’ he replied, wishing the boy would probe no further. He tore off a piece of bread and swallowed a small bite. ‘Tell me what you know of how I came to be here,’ he said instead. ‘Your sister said very little of it.’

The boy was eager to answer. ‘Davina and I found you. Davina is my other sister. You saw her before when we came in.’

He told the story in great detail with emphasis on the speed of his running to seek help from his older sister and again to send for the wagon that had carried Lucas back from one of the hills on their property, a hill that possessed a stone circle. Flashes of memory returned. The rain. Staggering to a stone that kept the cold wind from his back. Voices—Niven’s and Davina’s voices, he now surmised.