Page 21 of The Butterfly
Face reddening, Conall shrugged out of his hold. “None o’ this belong t’ ye until ye become the earl. Niall ismyson, and don’t ye forget it!”
Adam grinned, the expression downright feral as he advanced on Conall. Having grown to match Niall in size, he stood an inch taller than Conall and had the benefit of youth on his side, as well as the fact that he hadn’t just been struck in the face with a horsewhip.
“I may not be Hartmoor yet, but I can certainly see to it that your position is given to someone more deserving.” He inclined his head at Niall, who stood, trying to stifle the bleeding with his sleeve and failing. “Someone who is already doing your job while you sit about drinking yourself to death.”
Conall sneered, issuing a derisive snort. “Ye’d defend him, even if I told ye he was in that stall kissin’ and pawin’ at yer sister?”
Niall winced when Adam turned his head to look at him, eyes narrowing. “Is that true?”
He’d never lied to his friend, and did not intend to begin now. “Aye.”
Clenching his jaw, Adam turned back to Conall. “That hardly warrants horsewhipping. Go home. Sleep it off, and pray I don’t tell my father what you’ve done. I have the power to see you sacked, and we both know it.”
Niall’s da looked as if he wished to say something, to hurl the epithets obviously causing his upper lip to curl. Instead, he spat at Adam’s feet and turned to leave, his whip forgotten.
“This isnae over,” he growled before barreling out into the night.
Niall swayed on his feet, dizzy from the pain, his vision beginning to swim. Adam rushed forward to catch him up just as his knees buckled, bracing one of Niall’s arms over his shoulders, one hand strong around his waist.
“Damn it, Niall,” he grunted, half carrying him out of the stable. “He split your face open something awful. Probably a good thing, too … good for me. Now, I’m the pretty one.”
Despite the pain, Niall laughed, relieved that his friend could still jest with him at a time like this.
“The lasses love scars, ye know. I’ll still snatch them right from under ye.”
Adam chuckled. “Aye, I don’t doubt you will. Now, come. I’ll put you in my chambers and send for the doctor. That face wound will need to be stitched.”
Casting a glance at his friend from the corner of his eye, Niall frowned. “Ye aren’t mad about Livvie?”
Adam sighed, gaze focused ahead of them. “Have you ruined her?”
“No. I’ve only ever kissed her.”
Adam nodded, tightening his hold as they neared the house. “Then, no, I’m not angry. If a man is going to kiss my sister, it ought to be someone I trust.”
Relief caused him to relax, and he let the pain take him. Closing his eyes, he relinquished his hold on consciousness.
When he awakened some time later, he found himself in Adam’s bed, surrounded by all the finery his father would insist he was not entitled to. He’d been dressed in what he had to assume was one of Adam’s nightshirts, and a clean bandage had been wrapped around the wound in his forearm. His face still throbbed like the devil, but now itched, as well. He supposed the physician had stitched him up while he’d been unconscious. He lay on his side, facing the slight form of Olivia seated on the chair beside him. A shawl draped her shoulders, and a messy braid hung down her back. It made her look younger and more innocent than ever.
When she realized he had opened his eyes, she began to weep, reaching out to grasp his hand. A cursory glance at what parts of the room he could see revealed they were alone.
“Niall,” she croaked, raising his hand to her mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Oh, Niall …”
He attempted to move closer to her, but the tight pull of stitches in his back stilled him. It made sense that he’d been laid upon his side.
“Dinnae cry for me,” he muttered, pulling their hands closer to him so that he could return her kiss. “I’m all right, Livvie. It’s all right.”
Shaking her head, she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, tears now streaming down her face. “It is not all right. He did this to you because of me … because of us.”
“Aye. And yer da might do worse if he catches wind of this.”
“Adam will not allow that, and neither will I.”
“Still. Do ye ken now why we cannae do it ever again? Ye shouldnae even be here now. If yer da catches ye—”
“I do not care,” she insisted, reaching out to stroke his hair, the caress sending warmth through his entire being. “I will not leave you like this, Niall. Do not try to convince me otherwise.”
Her presence was comforting, her fingers stroking his hair so bloody good that he forgot about caution. Closing his eyes, he allowed her to fuss over him, checking his bandages to ensure they were still clean, helping him sit up so he could eat, mopping his face with a damp, warm cloth. He reveled in her attentiveness, having missed this sort of thing, something his mother might have done for him were she still living.
