Page 52 of Never Tempt a Scot
She continued to move her fingertips over his palm in soothing patterns as her lovely blue eyes fixed on him.
“You were trying to rescue me. They would have killed you, Brodie. I don’t need to forgive you. I only hope you can forgivemefor putting you in such a position. You came for me. You didn’t have to.”
The brave, bonnie lass.
“The men who took you brought their fates upon themselves, lass. You have no blame for that.” His gaze drifted down to her arm. “Does it hurt much?”
She blinked, as if he had broken some spell. “Does what hurt?”
“Your arm.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “Not too much. Mr. Lennox gave me a stout glass of brandy.” The sight of her smile fairly stole his breath. “And I do meanstout.” She opened her other hand to indicate the size of the glass, and he couldn’t resist chuckling.
“Rafe’s answer to everything is a good drink.”
“I think he’s quite right in this case.” Lydia lay back and winced.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think I have some twigs in my hair from sleeping on the ground last night.” She brushed at it with her good arm a little. “Brodie, could you ...? That is to say, would you mind very much if I asked you to comb my hair out? I meant to have Fanny do it, but I forgot.”
Brodie had never been asked by a woman to brush her hair before, and if any other woman had made the request, he would have thrown back his head and laughed. But for Lydia? At that moment, he would’ve done anything she asked.
“Aye. Where’s your brush?” He looked around the room until he found her luggage.
“In the smaller valise.” She pointed to the case next to the large trunk.
He dug through the contents until he found the hairbrush and a mother-of-pearl-handle comb. He held them both up to her, utterly baffled as to where to start.
“The comb first, and go gently, please. I suspect it’s in quite a mess.” Lydia sat up and turned her back to him. She searched for pins, removing them before he started. Brodie carefully began to use the comb to thread the tangles loose. He did find a surprising number of twigs and bits of leaves in the silken strands.
“Lass, I think you hid half the forest in your hair.” He added another twig to a growing pile on the table beside the bed.
“It was a very bad night of sleep.”
“I imagine it was. Cold ground, no blankets or pillows, no feather-tick mattress. Just hard, unforgiving earth,” he said.
“It sounds like you’ve slept like that before.” She looked over her shoulder at him, and he was entranced by her profile. She was lovely beyond measure. Lovely in a way her sister would never be, and it was only partially to do with her looks.
“My father used to be rough with me and my siblings. I spent many a night sleeping in the woods. If he couldna find me, he couldna hurt me.” It was one of the things he did often back then. Run away and hide from anything that could hurt him. His father’s abuse had made him a coward, and he would always hate his father for that.
“Oh, that’s awful.” Lydia tried to turn around to face him. He gently urged her to stay still so he could brush more tangles out. Her hair was smoothing out into a glossy golden waterfall down her back.
“The old man is dead. I no longer need to fear him,” he said quietly.
Lydia did turn then. “That doesn’t mean that what he did to you didn’t leave a scar. Our hearts carry scars as much as our bodies.”
She was wise for one so young, and he realized more than ever that he had ruined this good young woman’s life all because of his temper and his pride. Now she was giving him compassion when he least deserved it. His face heated, and when she noticed, her head tilted to the side as though she was puzzled by his reaction.
“Lydia ...” He started to speak, but the door opened and Rafe entered with a doctor behind him. Brodie wasn’t sure whether he was frustrated or glad for the interruption.
“This is Dr. Jacobs.”
“I was told this young lady is my patient?” The Scottish gentleman raised a pair of pince-nez to his nose and approached the bed.
“Aye. This is Miss Lydia Hunt,” Brodie introduced her.
“A pleasure, Miss Hunt.” The doctor made a short bow, and Lydia thanked him. “Though I do hate to meet lovely young ladies under such circumstances. Gentlemen, you may go, unless the lady wishes for you to stay. But I urge you to leave, in case I must make delicate inquiries.”
