Chapter 12
Was there anything worse than being an invalid, especially when Bonnie was absolutely certain she didn’t have to be in bed all the time?
Well, yes. You could be dead.
Put like that, it was hard to complain.
But still, as the days passed, and it became clear she wasn’t going to be allowed out of the guest room she’d been given, Bonnie’s irritation at the inactivity grew.
Of course, at first, she was only awake for an hour or two each day—long enough to attend to personal tasks with the maid Lyon had hired for her.
But no matter how much the laudanum affected her, and no matter how much her head hurt, Bonnie had the same dream each night; Lyon, holding her carefully in his arms.
It took a fortnight before she realized it wasn’t a dream.
They were both fully clothed, and she was certain she felt—and smelled—exactly like an invalid would. But each night, he climbed into her bed and held her.
And the nightmares—licking flames and choking smoke—were held at bay.
As she began to recover, Lyon would visit her during the day, as well.
He brought her books, and they discussed their favorites, or he would nag her into eating more.
He kept her apprised of the goings-on with their families—she was thrilled to learn he was spending more time with his brothers, although he wouldn’t tell her why—and shared stories of their pasts.
She loved hearing about the antics of his nephew Callan, his sister Athena’s son.
Since the lad had been born out of wedlock, he’d run wild through Newfincy Castle, with Lyon, Lysander and Phineas as his father-figures.
But now Athena had fallen in love with and married the Duke of Cashard, and one might think that Callan’s mischievous streak had been tempered…
but it seemed Cashard’s son and heir Matthew was just as bad, and the pair of them together had stories which kept Bonnie giggling.
And Lyon told her more about Rose and the time he’d had with her. When he explained workmen from the village had come to tear down the ruins of the stables where she’d died, Bonnie held him as he mourned, and she whispered how proud she was of him.
Aye, being stuck in this room was irritating, but in all honesty, it wasn’t so bad, not when Lyon would regularly visit her. But he always had to leave, and seemed to be very busy, without telling her why. Whenever she asked, or whenever she’d try to discuss the future, he’d change the subject.
It was almost a month after the fire when Bonnie had decided she’d had enough. It was Hogmanay, the time of new beginnings, and she figured she could start right then and there.
Mrs. Oliphant, the grumpy cook who seemed to have a soft spot for her, was in the middle of brow-beating her to eat. “Come along, milady! I ken ye like the soup well enough, and I’ve baked this bread fresh this morning!”
Bonnie thought it was much better than her attempts in the kitchen during the blizzard. Heavens, how long ago had that been? Time seemed to blur together these days.
With a satisfied sigh, she pushed the tray back toward the cook.
“Everything was delicious, Mrs. Oliphant. And if you will leave the bread, I promise to nibble on it throughout the afternoon.”
The woman peered suspiciously at her. “I dinnae like the look in yer eyes, lass.”
“I did not think you would. I am prepared to do something drastic.”
“How drastic?”
“Very drastic.” Bonnie grinned impishly. “On your way downstairs, could ye ask Mrs. Oliphant to send up a hot bath for me?”
“Saints preserve us, she’s bathing,” the cook muttered on her way out the door, and Bonnie’s smile grew. She was certain she was doing the right thing.
But when the tub arrived, followed by Bonnie’s sisters, she wasn’t so sure. “What are you two doing here?”
With a sigh, Tiffany lowered herself into one of the chairs as the maid and two footmen Lyon had hired—at least, Ember thought they were supposed to be footmen—filled the tub and set up a screen.
“We are here to help you. Is it not obvious?”
Bonnie eyed her pregnant sister. “I am not sure how much help you will be.”
“I am supervising. Ember, drag our smelly sister out of bed, please?”
When Tiffany waved imperiously, both Ember and Bonnie smiled. “With pleasure,” they chimed in unison.
Ember’s hold was gentle, as it had been the other times her sisters had visited, and soon Bonnie was standing beside the screen wrapped in a robe, while Ember examined her leg.
“Well, it does not look so bad, does it? It has healed nicely.”
Bonnie had to agree. “Yes, the scars will likely be permanent, but I can walk well enough, which was not a given.”
Hesitantly, Ember’s gaze lifted to Bonnie’s head, which was still swaddled in bandages. “Do you want to remove those?” she asked in a low voice.
Bonnie faced the mirror and took a deep breath. “Yes. Please.”
Ember gently pushed her down onto the small stool and reached for the end of the bandage, which the maid had tucked carefully in the back. The doctor had visited regularly, and given the girl instructions, which she—and the housekeeper—carried out to the letter.
But Bonnie knew the wounds had scabbed over a while ago and could now be exposed to the air.
And perhaps even washed now that the pain was so much less intense.
Ember was gently unwinding the lengths of soft linen, but she hesitated when she reached the last layer. “Are you ready?”
From the other chair, Tiffany scoffed noisily. “Stop dragging it out, already. My stomach cannot take much more worry!”
Ember met Bonnie’s gaze in the mirror, and they shared a secret indulgent smile at Tiffany’s imperious nature.
And then Ember removed the last bandage.
Bonnie barely heard Tiffany’s horrified gasp, or Ember’s low moan of pity. She was too busy staring at herself.
She’d never cared much for her hair, one way or the other. It had just…always been there.
But now that it wasn’t, she wasn’t certain she knew how she felt.
With shaking fingers, she reached up to touch her scalp. It didn’t hurt any longer, but it felt…rough. Hard. That was the scabbing fading to scars, she knew. She knew it logically—she’d read enough on the subject, or rather, Lyon, who had lived through this same process himself, had read it to her.
But there was a difference between reading about something and living it.
“Oh, Bonnie,” whispered Tiffany. “Your beautiful hair. I am so sorry.”
Ember’s hand closed over Bonnie’s shoulder, offering her strength. “How do you feel about it?”
“I do not know,” Bonnie answered truthfully. “I will have to get used to it.”
“If we had to choose between your hair and your life, I am glad you are bald,” Ember admitted.
Grinning, Bonnie agreed. “If I had to choose between my hair and my manuscript, I would still choose my book.”
She had, hadn’t she? Plunging into that inferno for her life’s work.
And Lyon had saved her.
Yes, he’d saved her and her manuscript, but hadn’t been able to save her future, the publishing house.
Tiffany must’ve seen the sadness in her eyes because her sister tsked loudly. “We will start a new fashion, Bonnie. Turbans will become all the rage once we three start wearing them!”
Leave it to Tiffany to consider fashion. Bonnie flicked a glance up at Ember.
“Turbans and engraved evening slippers. Between the three of us, we will change Highland fashion forever!”
When Ember leaned down to hug her, Tiffany heaved herself up out of her chair and joined them, wrapping her arms around them both and pressing her pregnant belly into Bonnie’s side.
And Bonnie embraced them both in return, knowing no matter what the future brought—no matter what Lyon wasn’t telling her—they would always have each other.
The bath felt delightful, if a little awkward. Bonnie was stiff and sore from being immobile for so long, but the hot water was a delightful balm. Her sisters kept up a running commentary, making her chuckle, right up until the moment she brought up Lyon.
“Have you brought me any new gowns to wear?”
Tiffany frowned. “Yes, but what does it matter? You will just be getting back into bed, will you not?”
Bonnie knew she ought to do just that and allow her body to rest. But she felt as if she’d been resting forever and knew she needed other things more.
“I need to find Lyon.”
Ember was patting her arms and shoulders dry but froze at her words. “Why?” she asked, her voice a little strangled.
“Because I need him. I need to talk to him.”
“About what?” Tiffany asked sharply.
Bonnie turned to face them both, taking the towel from Ember’s limp fingers and patting at her tender scalp. “I need to talk to him about the future.”
“Your future? Or his future?”
Frowning at Ember, Bonnie shrugged. “Our future. My goals—my dreams—burned along with my hair. But he knows how I feel about him, and I need to know how he feels about me. I need to know that before I can start thinking of any new goals and dreams.”
Tiffany nodded thoughtfully. “You mean your publishing house?”
“Tiffany!” hissed Ember, sending their sister a Significant Look. “You know you are not supposed to…”
Bonnie sighed. “I am tired of everyone walking on eggshells around me. I want—no, I need—to see Lyon.”
Lumbering to her feet once more, Tiffany smiled triumphantly as she held her arms open for a hug. “I think that is a wonderful idea.”
“But—” Ember began.
“And if Lyon is not ready for her to see her surprise, he should have kept a better eye on our sister, because Bonnie is clearly more than ready to see it herself.”
Surprise?
As Ember sighed in agreement and reached for a fresh gown, Tiffany turned Bonnie toward the mirror. “Now, dear, shall we practice turban-tying?”
Bonnie frowned thoughtfully at her own reflection, deciding she didn’t hate this new look. “No. Not yet. Let him—let them all—see the new me.”
Tiffany pressed a kiss to her cheek. “He will love you, Bonnie. Do not worry. We all love you.”
“Nay, more to yer right. Yer right! Yer other right,” Phineas huffed in exasperation. “More right.”