Page 30 of The Last Debutante
“But she is no longer the woman I so fondly remember. She is much changed, and oh, how I tried to help her, to shield her from the consequence of what she’d done! But it was no use, of course, for she’d done such a terrible thing—and now I fear there is no return from it.”
She buried her face in her hands and waited, hoping Bethia would soften. But a moment passed, and another, and still Bethia had not spoken. Daria resisted a long sigh—she would have to try another tack. She had no idea what that might be, but hopefully a bath and clean clothing would help her think.
And then, Bethia said very quietly, “Aye, it must have come as quite a shock.”
Daria nodded and slowly lifted her head. “Quite,” she agreed, and with a weary sigh, she stood and prepared to begin the delicate dance of survival. She moved to the bed, picked up one of her gowns, and carried it to the wardrobe in the dressing room as she began to relate the tale of how she’d come to be in Scotland.
Ten
RORYCAMPBELL, DUNDAVIE’Sdoctor, had made Jamie drink something far more foul smelling than what the witch had forced on him, and then had put a salve that burned in his open wounds when they were cleaned. Jamie slept the first night with his dogs, Aedus and Anlan, their backs pressed against the full length of him, Anlan’s head resting on his ankle. He slept as soundly as he ever had in his life, his dreams filled with honey-colored hair and golden-brown eyes. Of a quick, bright smile and a quicker frown.
In fact, Jamie slept through most of the next two days, rousing only to eat and to ask a few questions of Duff about matters pertaining to the clan and Dundavie. During one of his waking hours, when he asked Duff if their collateral for ransom was cooperating, Duff frowned down at his large hand. “Aye. She’s put her nose into everything, she has.”
“What do you mean?” Jamie asked as he slurped down his broth.
“Wandering about the bailey, asking questions.”
“About?”
“About?” Duff said, waving his hand. “What they do. Their names, their children’s names.” He shook his head. “Geordie’s been at sixes and sevens since she’s come.” He lifted his gaze to Jamie’s. “She’s attempted to befriend him.”
Jamie paused in the drinking of his broth to peer at Duff.“Why?”
“’Tis indeed a mystery to us all, Laird.”
Jamie had no interest in the mystery, however. He was too focused on his own troubles.
When he awoke the next morning, his dogs were gone. He drank more of the liquid, had more of the salve applied to his wounds, and slept again. He was awakened later by Geordie pacing about his room, his slate in one hand. The moment he noticed Jamie awake, he thrust the slate at him.She go.
Jamie gingerly eased himself up. “Go where?”
Hel.
“I grant you it’s tempting, but she’s our guarantee against the thousand pounds we’ve lost.”
Geordie’s face darkened. He walked in a circle, dragging his fingers through his dark brown hair before writing on his slate, underscoring it several times over—Jamie had learned to recognize when that was happening—and then thrust the slate at Jamie again.Vxen.
“Aye, I am well aware how vexing the situation is,” Jamie said. “Avoid her, Geordie. It’s the only way.”
When he awoke the day after that, his stomach was growling fiercely; his head was heavy, but from too much sleep. He sat up and saw Duff sitting in a chair at the foot of his bed, reading.
Jamie looked about, blinking, mentally taking stock. For the first time since being shot, he felt his old self. The pain had receded, and in its place was a dull ache. Dull enough that he wanted out of his infernal bed.
“Back to the land of the living, eh?” Duff said without looking up from his book.
“Aye,” Jamie said. “What the devil has happened to my dogs?”
Duff snorted and closed his books. “Donna concern yourself with them, Laird. Two more traitorous hounds I’ve no’ met.”
“Traitorous?”
“Never mind them. There’s much that needs your attention. Shall I fetch Rory?”
“No,” Jamie said, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Bring me Young John,” he said, referring to his butler.
“Aye,” Young John said, appearing from the adjoining dressing room. He held a stack of lawn shirts in his hand.
“Give a hand, then. I want out of this bloody bed.”
