Chapter 13
A bigail looked as if she were going to cry. Even Cook halted in her pot stirring to stare at him. Susanna stood, sat down heavily before standing once more. Only Ned didn’t look horrified. He grinned as he left the kitchen. No doubt in commiseration for what was to come, James thought later.
What faced him in the mirror was a daunting sight even for someone expecting it. One of Drummond’s blows had struck him above his left cheek; another had peeled the skin from his forehead. Between the two, his left eye was badly bruised and swelling, and his right was bright red.
He looked like some sort of variegated sea monster.
“You’ll sit and let me look at your head,” Susanna said. Her tone of voice was one his mother might have used. But he towered over his mother as he did Susanna. The time to coddle him had long since passed.
“I’ll be fine, Susanna.”
“You’ll sit right down, James MacRae.”
When a woman frowned so fiercely, it was wiser simply to obey her. Words his father might have said. Or even Alisdair this past year, as his quiet bride had turned demanding at times.
But he startled Susanna by leaning over and kissing her cheek in genuine appreciation for her worry. “I’ll be fine.”
She sputtered a little but didn’t attempt any further cosseting.
He waved Cook away when she would have served him breakfast. He had no appetite this morning.
“Will your attacker come again?” Susanna asked.
“I’m not entirely certain,” he said, giving her the truth. One thing about the Drummond clan: they were rarely convinced to give up their hatred. The fact that his sister-in-law, Iseabal, was a Drummond was a constant surprise to him.
“Did you deliver him a mortal blow?”
The question surprised him, but perhaps it shouldn’t have. Susanna had a bluntness that he recognized in Riona. In addition, both women, when asking a question, wanted a direct answer in return.
“I can’t tell you that, either.” He walked to the door, impatient to be about his task.
“You should rest today. The thefts will wait,” she added, following him as he left the kitchen and entered the yard.
“It would be best if I cleared up the matter as soon as possible,” he said, “and returned to Gilmuir.”
If nothing else, the events in the past day had proven that it was unwise for him to linger at Tyemorn Manor. Not only might he have unwittingly brought danger to the McKinseys, but a hazard also lurked there for him as well.
Riona.
He had to keep reminding himself that she was betrothed, that she was soon to be a wife. Each day it grew harder to remember.
Susanna watched James walk away, feeling terrible. Worse than terrible. Her conscience was grating at her so fiercely that she had barely slept the night before. She really should tell him the truth. But if she did, he’d leave, and all her plans would disintegrate into nothing.
But that was not, regretfully, the only reason that her better nature was up in arms.
She was worried about Mrs. Parker. The herbal tea had worked only too well. The poor woman had been dreadfully ill the day before, and it looked as if today would be no better.
What had she done?
“They are spending a goodly number of hours together,” Polly said, joining her and staring after James. “Is it what you intend?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Susanna said, her facade of calm abruptly disappearing. “On the one hand, I would much rather have my daughter aligned with Fergus’s family than that dolt from Edinburgh. But I haven’t the slightest notion of what to do about Harold McDougal.”
As if she’d summoned the sound, a bell rang from the upper floor as they returned to the kitchen.
“Nor can I keep Mrs. Parker ill forever.”
“Why not?” Polly asked.
She sent her housekeeper a censorious look.
The bell rang again, and not one person in the kitchen made a move to answer it.
“I was the last to wait on her,” Polly said, backing away.
Now was not the time to remind Polly of her position, Susanna thought. After all, her housekeeper had taken the brunt of Mrs. Parker’s temper for the past few days. And Abigail looked as if she would mutiny if asked to serve the woman again.
“Very well,” Susanna said, sighing. She picked up the tray. “I will take her breakfast.”
The other women in the room only nodded, as if she deserved such punishment.
“Good morning, Mrs. Parker,” she said in greeting as she entered the room. “I trust you are feeling well?”
“I’m feeling wretched,” the other woman complained, “just as you warned. But my health must suffer for a greater errand. I have a letter that must reach Edinburgh.”
The woman was attired in her usual nightgown over which she wore a beribboned bed jacket. “Here,” she said, weakly waving a letter in the air. “You must promise me that it will go today.”
Carefully placing the tray down on the table at the end of the bed, Susanna nodded.
“You do have a post in the country, I trust,” the older woman said. “I must get word to my housekeeper that I’ve been taken ill and have been delayed. There are several social events where I must make my appearance.”
No doubt trolling for clients. Mrs. Parker did know a great many people in society.
Had she not sent her daughters to the woman, it was doubtful that Maureen would have ever met Captain Hastings, let alone be on the verge of betrothal.
Nor would Riona be marrying Harold McDougal, but she put that thought far from her.
“I will have it taken to the village this morning,” Susanna said, nodding and placing the letter in her apron pocket. “I am truly sorry you are not feeling well. Is there anything I can bring you?”
“You can ensure that it is quiet outside,” Mrs. Parker said crossly. “How you manage to get any sleep at all with all that bleating and neighing and mooing, I don’t know. Indeed, the streets of Edinburgh are less noisy than that barnyard of yours only feet from my window.”
The barn was located nearly half a mile away, and the air was fresher here than in the crowded streets of Old Town, but Susanna said nothing, only smiled determinedly.
Her years of experience handling boarders had taught her that people would complain if you allowed them, and certain people would grumble more than others.
Mrs. Parker was most assuredly in the latter category, choosing complaints over any other topic of conversation.
Which was just as well, Susanna thought, laying out the breakfast dishes.
She didn’t want to talk to the woman anyway.
“You look terrible,” Riona said, staring at James in awe. She stood outside the milking shed, in the act of handing two filled pails to one of the milkmaids when the sight of him halted her. Beside her the milkmaid gaped. “Does it hurt as bad as it looks?”
His mouth moved in what might have been a smile. “I will be a brave and stalwart MacRae and say no.”
When it was all too obvious the answer was just the opposite.
“I am so sorry. What can I do?”
For a moment he didn’t answer, and when he did she had the impression the words weren’t those he truly wished to say.
“It will get better in time,” he said, smiling.
She’d never seen anyone look so bad and still be walking around.
His forehead was badly abraded, his left eye bulging and shut, while his right was bloodshot. The area around his cheek was tinted various colors, but mostly crimson.
If she had been Drummond, she would have fled simply from his expression.
“Are you certain you feel well enough to be about?”
“No more onion possets,” he said, holding up his hand.
“Very well,” she said, taking pity on him. “But should you not rest?”
“Your mother said the same.” His glance was filled with irritation. “I was only in a fight, Riona. Shall I do something to prove my strength?”
“What, exactly?” she asked curiously.
“A labor of Hercules. Give me a list and I’ll perform any manner of tasks.”
She shook her head at him. “I think standing would be beyond you. I am already impressed.”
“We MacRaes are hardy.”
A bit of a boast that amused her. Right now he looked less hardy than simply stubborn.
“Have you seen the Roman wall?” she asked suddenly.
He started to shake his head, then resorted to speech. “No.”
“Then that is something we should amend.” Stretching out her hand to him, she said, “You should see one of Ayleshire’s most famous sites.”
“Are you attempting to lure me from my duties?” he said, taking her hand. His fingers curved around hers.
“What exactly are your duties?” she asked.
“Has anyone told you that you’re inordinately obstinate?”
“Only a few people,” she answered. “Those who know me well.”
There was a pause between them that she was in no hurry to fill with words. Neither, it seemed, was he.
“I have things I must do,” he said, pulling his hand away. “Chores I’ve been given by Ned.”
“And your secret task.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling once again.
“Then I will leave you to them.” She turned and began to walk away.
“Where are you going?”
“To the village,” she said over her shoulder. “I have to meet with the elders.”
“Is it wise to go alone?”
“You could accompany me.” She turned and faced him, certain that behind those bruises was a frown.
His injuries had robbed his face of beauty, yet she was even more intrigued by the man. He acted as if the distortion of his appearance was unimportant. James MacRae, for all his attractiveness, was not vain.
Shrugging at his silence, she turned and continued striding down the hill. Glancing over her shoulder, she realized he was following her. There was no longer any doubt about the frown.
“Another way of keeping me from my duty?”
“Whatever that might be,” she said blithely.
“Very well.” An ungracious response, one that amused her. He didn’t like being pushed into behavior. Who was more stubborn of the two of them?