The Lord’s Highland Temptation

‘We cannot care for a sick man,’ Mrs Cross protested. ‘We are barely able to do the work that needs to be done as it is. What if he makes us all sick?’ She sounded at the end of her tether.

‘You and the maids will not have to go near him,’ Davina piped up. ‘We will take care of him.’

Mairi swung to her. ‘Not you, Davina. You must not.’

‘Why not?’ her sister huffed.

Because he could be dangerous, she wanted to say.

‘Because you are too young,’ she said instead. ‘And it isn’t proper.’

Mairi would have to take charge of him. Her insides turned to stone at the thought.

* * *

That night at dinner, Mairi told her parents about the sick man in their butler’s room.

Davina piped up, ‘We were being Good Samaritans, were we not, Mama?’

Their mother smiled indulgently. ‘Very Good Samaritans, Davina. Of course we must care for the poor man. I hope you told Mrs Cross to care for him as if he were a member of the family,’ her mother added.

‘I spoke to Mrs Cross about the man’s care, yes,’ Mairi responded.

She shot warning glances to Davina and Niven to say no more about it. Her mother and father would be thrown into a tizzy if they knew Mrs Cross could not handle one additional task. And her parents could so easily be thrown into a tizzy, like when Mairi tried to talk to them about economising, or suggest they sell something to at least pay the servants. Surely selling just one of her mother’s necklaces could pay the servants and perhaps hire new ones.

* * *

Later that night, when she was certain that her mother and father had retired, Mairi crossed the hall to Niven’s room.

‘Come with me, Niven,’ she insisted. ‘We must check on the man.’

‘Why do I have to go?’ Niven protested.

‘Because I said so!’ He would be her safeguard.

She led him to the servants’ stairs. They climbed down to the ground floor, where both the butler and Mrs Cross had their rooms.

They entered the butler’s room.

Davina rose from a chair by the man’s bedside. ‘I tried to spoon him some broth, but it was no use.’

Mairi gasped. ‘Davina! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.’

Davina tossed her a defiant look. ‘We told Mrs Cross that we would care for the man.’

‘I said not you.’ Davina should be nowhere near this man. ‘You go to bed. Niven and I will remain with him.’

She’d meant only to check on the man, not stay, but now she feared if she did not, Davina would sneak back down.

Besides, he looked deathly ill.

‘I don’t want to stay the whole night,’ grumbled Niven.

Mairi whirled on him. ‘Well, you must.’

Davina tossed her head haughtily as she walked to the door. ‘Try to get him to take some broth.’

Niven settled in the upholstered chair that had once sat in their library before their mother had decided on a whim to redecorate. Niven promptly closed his eyes. Mairi moved the wooden chair away from the bed. She stared at the stranger and felt her cheeks grow hot.

He’d thrown off the covers and was naked above his waist. The nightshirt Mairi had sneaked from their father’s room lay folded on a nearby chest.

‘Niven! Why did you not dress him?’

‘He started fighting us,’ her brother replied without opening his eyes. ‘Do not fret. He’s wearing drawers.’

The man looked even more formidable bare-chested with every muscle in stark relief. Even more disturbing were the scars criss-crossing his chest, a dozen random cuts. Mairi made herself approach the bed and pull the blankets over him. He stirred and flung the covers off again.

‘Niven!’ she whispered.

But her brother had fallen asleep and she did not have the heart to wake him.

Her gaze returned to the stranger and she saw that his breathing was ragged. She reached over and felt his forehead. It was still hot with fever.

She must do something for him. She rose to the chest of drawers and poured water from the pitcher into the basin. She grabbed a towel and brought the basin to the bed. Dipping the towel in the water, she bathed his head. When she touched the scrape on his forehead, he groaned. His eyes opened and fixed on her.

She gasped.

He stared at her. ‘Are you an angel?’ His speech was slurred.

She recoiled. ‘An angel? No.’

His brow furrowed. ‘Not heaven?’

‘No. Not heaven.’ She glanced towards Niven. He was still asleep. No help to her.

‘No,’ the man rasped. ‘Wouldn’t go to heaven.’ He swallowed and the effort seemed painful. ‘Bradleigh. Where is he?’ He tried to rise.

‘Bradleigh?’ Was it possible there was another man out there? ‘You were alone.’

‘Alone.’ His ramblings were very close to madness. He lay back down and closed his eyes. ‘Yes. Yes. I am alone.’

His accent was English.

Her attacker had been English.

Reluctantly she pulled her chair closer. ‘You should drink some broth. Sit up.’

‘Want whisky.’ His eyes opened again, but for a mere moment. ‘To forget.’