Chapter 9 #2
“Are you even a doctor?”
“By necessity,” he said, laying a towel next to the box.
“Our ship’s surgeon was killed my third year at sea.
Though his lordship was no’ one to tangle spars with, we saw our fair share of action.
I learned the trade quickly. If a man was brought to me .
. . as ye can guess taking a man’s limbs is not an easy thing even if it is meant to save what life he has left. ”
“That is horrible.”
“Oh, aye.” He peered at her from beneath bushy brows that looked like aged caterpillars. “You’ve no idea the courage it takes to look down the black maw of a forty pounder. His lordship did it more times than most. Me? I remained belowdecks and prayed.”
She doubted it. He looked like an old curmudgeon capable of freezing the enemy to stone with one look.
But at the thought of Ruark standing on the deck of his ship in the midst of battle her heart tripped, and she remembered their conversation in the glade, when he had told her how a broadside can destroy a man in more ways than one can imagine.
She had wondered at the time if he had been alluding to more than battle at sea.
“Lord Roxburghe spoke briefly about his time on the Black Dragon,” she said.
“Did he?” McBain peered over his nose at her with interest. “That is unusual. His lordship rarely speaks of such matters even to friends.”
The criticism Rose had wanted to heap on the head of McBain’s lordly master suddenly seemed trivial and childish, especially when she wanted to learn more about the man who had come home to Scotland from the sea. “You have known Lord Roxburghe for a long time?”
“Oh, aye. But he wasn’t always ‘his lordship.’ ”
McBain finally found what he was searching for. He removed a small tin box and set it next to the folded rag. His eyes twinkling, he peered at her as he removed salve. “Most patients have already fainted by now.”
She glanced at the devices on the table. “If you had pulled out the amputation saw, I would have thrown you out of the room.”
He laughed as he shoved a pair of spectacles on his nose. “That be the spirit, lassie.”
McBain knelt next to her. Reluctantly, she bent over her knee. She wore a brown stockings and tallow-colored shoes that peaked from beneath the calf-length hem. She eased her dress to her thigh and untied her garter.
She looked away as McBain delicately pressed around the freshly scabbed flesh where she had snipped away the sutures this morning. He made complimentary sounds and grunts about her work, but noted the redness around an area she couldn’t see.
Despite the serious slant of his lips, his eyes twinkled as he set down the tin of salve.
“Ye were smart to be restin’ this week. Meadowsweet will help with itching as it begins to scab more.
We’ve no’ much in the way of an herbal here but you are welcome to visit when you are up to the walk and see what we have.
Maybe ye can teach me a thing or two about what is there on the shelves. ”
“I do not think so.” She smoothed her hands over her skirts. “I mean I cannot see how I can help you.” It wouldn’t do her any good to involve herself with the people here at Stonehaven. She didn’t want to see the herbal.
“Suit yourself, lassie. But you are welcome to visit if ye wish.”
He began to repack the box. In the growing silence, Rose adjusted her dress.
For the most part everyone had treated her as if she were a guest, she thought as she stared at the four poster bed more suited to royalty than a hostage.
From the sapphire velvet hangings draping the bed to the blue-and-green throw carpet and painted ceiling, she could conceive of such places existing only in her imagination.
Except for the fact that there were so few windows, she found no fault with her quarters—any more than she had with the people who had served her. They’d been kind.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment.
“Those who live here be decent souls,” he said as if reading her mind. “I can tell ye Lord Roxburgh is no’ as bad as ye want to believe he is, lass. He is nothing like the man his father was.”
For the hundredth time since her arrival, Rose thought of Lady Roxburghe and the horror of losing one’s child to an unknown fate.
Rose didn’t know why she felt responsible for Julia’s son, only that she had felt a connection to the woman.
Perhaps it was because of the way Roxburghe had held her that night on the stairs as if they were more than friends.
The same way he had held her in the glade, just before Rose had turned toward him and laid her hand across his heart. And he had made her feel safe.
“Lady Roxburghe must have wed Lord Roxburghe’s father at a young age,” Rose said.
McBain shut the surgery box and clasped the lid.
“Aye, but ’tis no secret that the betrothal should have been between his lordship and Lady Julia.
But her father wanted his daughter married to an earl, and Roxburghe wanted a beautiful bride and more sons.
That be the way it is, I suppose. A man needs sons. ”
The candid tone brought a flush to Rose’s cheeks. “What happened?”
“What could happen?” McBain’s eyes became blank as pebbles as they no longer seemed to focus on anything.
“His lordship got it into his mind to save her from her fate. He would wed her and take her from Scotland, though where they would have gone . . . ? Young people do no’ have the sense the good Lord gave a squirrel.
Well, three days before the weddin’ is to take place, he and Lady Julia run away together.
Only, she balks and they never made it to the kirk where his lordship had paid the minister there to marry them.
“Duncan and his lordship’s father caught up to them before they had gone a few miles.
He might have killed his father if no’ for Duncan stepping in.
When his lordship woke up three days later, he found himself delivered to the old captain of the Dragon.
The ship did no’ add Black to the Dragon until a year later when his lordship took the helm.
Lord Roxburghe married Julia a week after he sent his son off to sea as if naught had ever happened to forever estrange him from his only son and heir. ”
Rose pretended close inspection of her hands. “One hears gossip.”
“Aye, and I’m only telling ye something everyone else already knows, lass. But if ye want to know more you’ll have to be askin’ his lordship.”
Rose came to her feet and turned toward the fire. She held her palms facing outward against the heat. “Is it true that my father killed the former Lord Roxburghe?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“Aye . . . that’s what they say. Ye and Jamie have been thrown into the middle of a fight that has nothing to do with either of ye.”
“Do you know my father then?”
“Reckon his lordship knows him best.” McBain’s implacable tone was unmistakable. “They were business rivals, so to speak.”
“Lord Roxburghe personally knows my father?” She had not meant her voice to come out so sharp, but the fact that Ruark and her father were personally acquainted had somehow escaped her.
She didn’t know why it should have seemed important, except that it felt relevant to her current situation.
“Just what manner of commerce did my father and your laird share?”
McBain ran a finger beneath his stock while he cleared his throat. “Reckon ye best be takin’ up that topic with his lordship when he awakens, lass.”
Ruark heard the swishing of a petticoat first, before he became aware that the soft tread of slippers on carpet was not Mary Duff pacing a rut into the fine weave.
Pushing up on his elbows, he gave his trespasser’s back a frown even as he admired her lines and the way her skirts flared from her hips.
With his hair falling over his forehead, Ruark could barely see more than shadows and shapes in the darkness, but he would know that enticing silhouette anywhere.
His first inclination was to check his weapons. His second was less refined. Just then, she lifted her head and saw that he was awake. “What the hell hour is it?” he grumbled.
“Late. ’Tis at least seven o’clock.”
Turning her back to him, she stretched out her arms like Moses confronting the Red Sea and threw open the heavy velvet curtains that usually blocked out the light of the day.
Sunlight glared through the lead glass and he winced against the brightness. The master’s chamber, though unmistakably masculine—dark furniture carved from solid oak, jade damask wallpaper, and plum brocade chairs—looked severe in contrast to Rose’s soft, refined presence.
She placed her hands on her hips, giving him her full measure. “I have just come from a visit with McBain.”
Ruark slept naked. The sheet covered the lower half of his body, but that was all the modesty it afforded him.
Her presence in his room had a predictable effect on him.
Clearing his throat and turning on his side, he rested his head on his hand and his elbow on his hip, letting his arm hide the obvious.
He admired the fit of her bodice. With her hair braided in a thick coronet around her head, she reminded him of a female Thor or the goddess Diana.
Leaning slightly to peer over the edge of the bed, he saw that the hem of her skirt only reached her calves, exposing a well-turned ankle.
She wore shoes the color of soft butter.
“Did you hear me?”
The glaring heat from those green eyes was enough to hold his attention. That and the hint of a blush staining her cheeks. “And that warrants a visit to my chambers. Why?”
“You know my father.”