Diane Gaston – The Lord’s Highland Temptation (страница 5)
Sometimes she could go for days without thinking of it. Then a sound, a word, even a smell, would put her right back in that shrubbery, that horrid man on top of her—
She pressed her fingers into her forehead.
It had been five years ago. It was over. No one knew and she could keep pretending it had never happened.
Mairi turned to the sick man in the bed. He was still. Quiet. Her heartbeat quickened. No. No. He could not die!
She glanced over at Niven, who was still sound asleep. She wanted desperately to wake him so she would not be alone with a dying man, but how cruel would it be to put her brother through what she feared to endure herself?
Finally, the man took a deep, rasping breath and sat up, startling her so much she almost tipped over in her chair.
His feverish eyes fixed on her, but without indication he really saw her. ‘Let me die,’ he begged. ‘Me, not him. My fault.’
His tone was bereft. Mournful. A wave of incredible sadness washed over her. She shook herself. She did not wish to feel sympathy for this man, this stranger. This Englishman.
But she also did not want to witness him dying. She stood and gently pushed on his bare shoulders. ‘Lie down. No talk of dying now. You must rest.’
He lay back against the pillows, breathing hard. ‘No. Better to die.’
The pain in that statement washed through her again. She remembered wishing she could die. After what had been done to her, she’d felt too ashamed to live. She’d once stood on the red sandstone cliff, determined to throw herself over the edge, but then she’d thought of Davina and Niven, and her mother and father. They needed her. No matter her unhappiness, she would not desert them. Gradually, she’d learned to live with what had happened to her.
The stranger rolled on to his side, facing away from her. She strained to see that his chest still moved. She shifted her chair to a better vantage point and tried to stay awake.
* * *
She did not succeed.
She woke to Niven shaking her. ‘Wake up, Mairi! The doctor is here.’
She straightened in the chair and her gaze shot to the stranger. Still breathing, thank God!
He lay on his back, the bedcovers flung off, revealing his undressed state.
Mr Grassie, the doctor, a stocky man who seemed perpetually in a rush, strode into the room, stopping abruptly at the sight of her dishevelled appearance and the half-naked man in the bed nearby.
‘Miss Wallace!’ He eyed her disapprovingly. ‘You are tending to this man?’
She stood and lifted her chin. ‘Niven and I watched over him during the night.’ At least the doctor would not presume she’d been alone with the man.
Mr Grassie’s gaze swept over the stranger as he approached the bed. He felt the man’s pulse, then opened his black bag and pulled out a glass tube. He pressed one end of the tube to the man’s bare chest and the other to his ear, moving it to various spots. He frowned. He put the tube away and opened the man’s eyes with his thumb and looked inside his mouth. The Englishman did not rouse.
Finally Mr Grassie stepped back. ‘His chest is not clear. He is gravely ill. How did he come to be here?’
‘Niven and Davina found him at the standing stones,’ Mairi told him. ‘He’s not been sensible enough to tell us anything more.’
Mr Grassie gestured to the scars on the man’s chest. ‘He was a soldier, I’d wager. Those are sabre cuts. I’ve seen the like before.’ Mr Grassie had once been an army surgeon.
‘A soldier!’ Niven’s eyes kindled with interest.
Mairi’s brows knitted. ‘What was an English soldier doing on our property?’
Mr Grassie looked up at her. ‘English, is he?’
‘In his ravings, he spoke with an English accent.’ He’d called for whisky and wished he would die. ‘What are we to do? Is there some medicine for him?’
The doctor shrugged. ‘I’ll have the apothecary mix up something. It might help his breathing.’
‘
He gave her a direct look. ‘If the fever doesn’t break soon, well, there is no hope for him.’
‘Do you mean he could die?’ cried Niven. ‘He must not die.’
Mr Grassie patted Niven’s shoulder. ‘Only time will tell, son.’ He picked up his bag. ‘Give him broth or tea. He’ll need the fluids to flush out the fever. And limit who tends to him. I’ve seen this grippe in the village. It is highly contagious.’
That did it. Mairi would tend to him alone and no one besides Niven would enter the room.
‘Shall I stop above stairs and report this to your father or mother?’ the doctor asked.
She knew he was in a hurry. ‘I will tell them.’ Or some version of the doctor’s report. She did not wish her parents to fret. In any event, they were likely still abed. The morning was not yet very advanced.
‘I will come tomorrow if I can.’ Mr Grassie shook his head. ‘But there is a lot of this sickness about.’
‘Come when you can, sir.’ She walked him to the door. ‘I’ll have Niven or one of the footmen collect the medicine from the apothecary this afternoon.’
The doctor nodded and took one more glance at the patient. ‘I wish I had more to offer.’
So did Mairi.
As he was crossing the threshold, Davina appeared in the hallway. ‘Good morning, Mr Grassie,’ she said brightly. ‘How is he?’
Mr Grassie hesitated to answer her.
Mairi broke in. ‘Let Mr Grassie be on his way, Davina. I’ll fill you in.’
The doctor nodded gratefully and hurried away.
Niven came up behind Mairi. ‘He said the man could die, Davina!’
‘Oh, no!’ Davina cried.
Niven couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Why alarm Davina that way?
‘We will not let him die,’ Mairi assured her, although the truth was more uncertain. ‘We will take care of him.’
Davina gave her an earnest look. ‘I will help. What can I do?’
Mairi certainly would not risk Davina becoming ill. ‘The doctor said he is very contagious and that we must limit who is in contact with him, so I do not want you in his room.’ Even if there was no chance of contagion, she did not want Davina in the presence of a half-naked Englishman. ‘I’ve already been exposed, so I will continue to care for him.’
‘I can help, too,’ Niven said. ‘I’ve also been exposed.’
‘Yes, you can help,’ she agreed. ‘But I must be the only one who touches him. No sense you getting sick.’
‘I must do something, too!’ Davina insisted.
‘Help Mrs Cross. She really needs help and I won’t be able to assist her,’ Mairi said. ‘Or go with Niven to pick up the medicine.’
Davina pursed her lips. ‘Oh, very well.’
She stormed off, and Mairi, still very weary, returned to the bedside of their patient.
* * *
After the doctor left, Mairi sent MacKay and John out to look for this other man the Englishman kept raving about. Had he called him his brother? No one was found, but they did retrieve a satchel she presumed belonged to the Englishman. She and Niven searched through it and discovered a purse full of money, but nothing that told them anything about the owner. At least there would be money to pay Mr Grassie, which was one worry off Mairi’s shoulders.
* * *
The Englishman remained feverish for two days straight. Mairi fed him the medicine the doctor had ordered. She pushed him to drink broth and tea. She bathed his skin with cool cloths and remained by his side with only short breaks to eat and change clothes. She no longer insisted Niven stay with her. The man was no threat to anyone in his state and she was long past any limit propriety would dictate. She did ask Niven to fetch things for her and to sit with the man while she caught a little sleep, but that was all.
The doctor returned on the second day and declared it a hopeful sign that their patient was still alive, but he also cautioned that the fever needed to break soon.
The hours of care Mairi devoted to the man played havoc with her emotions. He was still a stranger, an Englishman—a whisky drinker—young and strong enough to be an object of fear, but, at the same time, he was so very ill. His life depended on her care. She swung from feeling great compassion for his suffering to wishing he had never entered their property. His ravings both disturbed her and piqued her curiosity. What had he done that tormented him so?
She discovered the Englishman’s ravings dissipated if she talked to him. So, even though he lay insensible, his breathing still laboured, she rattled on to him, about how they’d found him and brought him to the house, about how they’d found his satchel, about how they did not know who he was or where he belonged.
She also scolded him for wanting to die.