Page 10 of The Last Debutante
“You’ve been asleep for two days, I think,” she said. “Or rather, two days that I know of.”
Two days?
She inched to the edge of her chair. “Do you speak English?” She stood up, warily coming closer, as if she expected him to suddenly snatch her like a corpse rising from his grave. She glanced nervously at the door and shifted even closer, hesitantly reaching out her hand. Long, elegant fingers. Jamie realized she meant to touch him and reacted unthinkingly, jerking his head away. He instantly felt the throb of pain in the back of his head and was momentarily stunned by it, at which point she pressed the flat of her palm lightly against his forehead.
Jamie grabbed her wrist and pulled her down so that he might see her in the fog that surrounded his brain and his vision. Her face was close to his, a young, beautiful face. His gaze roamed over her features, trying to understand. Deep golden-brown eyes, dark brows, a slender nose, and full lips. “Who are you, kitten?” he asked in Gaelic. “The devil in disguise?” His mouth was dry; he licked his cracked lips. Her gaze fell to his mouth. Jamie tightened his grip, felt the small, slender bones of her wrist, the way she strained against him.
“I think your fever has broken,” she murmured, and tugged at her arm. Jamie let it go, and she slipped away from him like a whisper of silk. “Thank the Lord for it; I’ve feared for your health.” She knelt down beside the bed, just beyond his reach. Her eyes, Jamie noticed, were only slightly darker than her hair. “Why are you here?” she asked softly. “What happened to you? Who shot you?”
How could she not know who had shot him? Was he not lying in the bed of his enemy? Surely she’d seen his horse—wherewashis horse? If the witch had done something to Niall, he would hang her from the highest wiggen tree—
“I want to help you,” she said earnestly. “But I cannot help you if I don’t know who you are and why someone would shoot you.”
She wasn’t making sense. Where was the old woman? The thought of that old witch made him eager to move. He tested the leg that didn’t burn, moving it under the coverlet. He had one good leg, then. With effort, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, testing his arms.
“No, no, you mustn’t!” the woman said frantically. “My grandmother will be quite upset, for you are too badly wounded—”
The sound of a door closing somewhere in the house made her gasp; she scrambled to her feet as determined footsteps moved down the hall toward them. She cast about the room as if she were seeking a place to hide and looked frantically at him just as the door swung open and the Witch of Clan Brodie entered the room.
“Daria! What in heaven’s name are you doing in here?” she whispered loudly, and then looked at the bed. She was clearly quite surprised to see Jamie propped up on his elbows. “Oh!”
Jamie steadily returned her gaze.
The old woman’s breath hitched. She nervously smoothed the lap of her apron and tried to force a smile. “Has the pain awakened you, sir? I shall fetch some medicine—”
“No,” he said quickly, his voice scratchy and low. He knew her medicine and suspected she’d been trying to kill him with it.
“His fever has broken, Mamie,” the young woman said, her voice hopeful.
“Has it?” The old woman did not sound terribly excited by the news. “Then... I should have a look at his wounds.”
“No,”Jamie growled. He’d fight her if necessary—he wasn’t yet dead.
“I really think I ought,” she said. “We cannot risk them turning septic, can we?”
“No,”he said again.
“Mamie, he does not want it,” the young woman said pleadingly.
Mary, Queen of Scots, what in blazes was going on here? Jamie looked at the two women. He could see a resemblance: full bottom lips, light brown eyes, and even in the old woman strands of golden hair peeked out from amid the gray.
“I was hoping he would help us determine what has happened to him, but I think he does not have a basic command of the English language,” the young woman said.
Diah.He had been educated at Oxford. “I understand,” he said gruffly. “I understand everything you’ve said.”
The moment he spoke, Mamie—as the younger woman had referred to the older—seemed on the verge of bursting with trepidation. He could see it in her eyes, in the set of her mouth and the nervous fluttering of her fingers on one hand.
But the younger one was clearly relieved. “You speak English! Can you help us, then, sir? Can you say who might have shot you?”
“Daria!” Mamie said quickly. “The poor man has only just awakened! He needs a pillow. Let me put a pillow—”
Jamie threw up his hand, stopping her as she took a step toward him. Grimacing, he eased himself up, propping himself against the wall behind his head.
“Oh! Splendid!” the younger one said, clasping her hands together in such an enthusiastic manner that Jamie thought she was restraining herself from applauding outright. “He’s much improved, Mamie!”
“For heaven’s sake, Daria, let the poor soul rest—”
“But if he knows who might have done this, we can help him!”
