A Lass for Christmas (Tenacious Trents Novella) (4 page)

The ice beneath him shattered. The woman
screamed. Lachlan pulled the woman tightly against him as they both
sank beneath the surface. His feet touched bottom but the water was
still above his head. He pushed off and kicked his feet until they
surfaced again and he swam back to the edge with the help of Dougal
pulling him. When he could finally touch ground without sinking,
Lachlan lifted the woman in his arms and carried her out of the
lake. Dougal cut the wet rope from his body and it fell into the
snow.

He had never been so cold before in his life.
Every part of him shook. He glanced down at the young woman. She
lay limp in his arms, unconscious and deathly pale. Lachlan lifted
her head and put his cheek close to her mouth and nose. She still
breathed but they were not deep breaths. He had to get her
warm.

“Hurry ahead and build the fire up in my
room. Have Mrs. MacGinnis heat some water for tea, and have a maid
prepare a bath.”

Lachlan trudged through the snow, moving as
quickly as he could while Dougal ran ahead and into the house. The
heat engulfed Lachlan when he stepped inside, and he paused briefly
in front of the fireplace to try and absorb some of its warmth. His
garments, as well as the young woman’s, dripped onto the parquet
floor and a puddle was quickly forming around this feet. He had to
get them both out of these wet clothes before they caught their
death.

Her lips still held a bluish tint and her
skin was as pale as the snow outside. He needed to get her dry and
warm before he saw to his own comfort. She had been in the frigid
water much longer, and she was smaller and lighter than he. Blond
hair hung loosely behind her head and a green ribbon was knotted in
the strands. It had probably been tied in a pretty bow before she
took her swim.

As much as he hated to leave the warmth,
Lachlan pulled himself away from the fire and made his way to the
foyer and took the stairs two at a time until he reached the
landing and hurried down the hall to his bedchamber. He couldn’t
think of where else to put her, knowing this room would be the
warmest. Of course, Dougal’s room would have been warm as well, but
he didn’t want her in Dougal’s room. Although he certainly
shouldn’t have her in his own, all the remaining chambers were
closed up with cold hearths. She needed heat.

Lachlan paused after stepping inside of the
room. He couldn’t lay her on the bed because then that would be wet
as well. Instead, he marched to a chaise and laid her gently upon
it before dragging the piece of furniture before the fire. He
didn’t care if the fabric was ruined as he never had need for such
an item. It was a frivolous piece of furniture for women in his
mind, and Lachlan wasn’t quite sure why there was one in the master
chamber, unless it was for the ladies his uncle had entertained
when he was younger. The fabric was old and faded. Maybe the old
man kept it around for nostalgic purposes. Regardless, it would be
ruined after tonight and he wouldn’t be replacing it.

Dougal ran into the room and stopped.

“Help me.” Lachlan lifted her to a sitting
position. “Pull her cloak off.”

Dougal slid the heavy, soaked material from
her body and let it drop to the floor with a thump.

Lachlan laid her back down and moved to her
feet. He unlaced her sodden kid boots and placed them before the
fire before looking up at Dougal.

“I need a maid,” Lachlan barked. He had to
get the young woman out of these wet clothes. She hadn’t stopped
shivering since he dragged her from the lake. A few times she
opened her eyes and looked at him, but they always closed again, as
if she didn’t have the will to keep them open. Though he was far
from a gentleman on occasion, he knew he shouldn’t be the one
undressing the young woman.

“We doona have any.”

“What do ye mean we doona have any maids?
There were at least a dozen this morning.” Truthfully, he had no
idea how many servants worked within Brachton Manor. They were
quiet and the place was clean, as was his clothing so he didn’t
really pay much attention.

“Ye sent them on their way to be with their
families,” Dougal reminded him. ”Ye told them there was no reason
to be here if ye werena, and it was goin’ to be Christmas
soon.”

He had forgotten. He wanted to be with his
family and assumed his servants did as well. “Who is left in the
house?”

“Mrs. MacGinnis, yerself and me.”

“Mrs. Plight?” She was the housekeeper and
came with the manor when he inherited it, along with most of the
other servants. That woman was always here, except on Sundays.

“She has family in the village.”

They had planned on closing Brachton Manor
until he returned in the spring and there was no reason that it
needed to remain fully staffed the entire time. Mrs. Plight, the
butler and a handful of staff were going to return after the New
Year. The stable master and other stable hands also had local
families and would check on the animal stock in his absence. Mrs.
McGinnis was going to travel with them to Scotland. “No other
females?” He turned to look at Dougal who only shook his head.
“Send Mrs. MacGinnis up.”

“What is she goin’ to do?”

“Undress the lass. I certainly canna do
so.”

“Mrs. MacGinnis is heatin’ all that water,
which I will probably have to haul up these bloody stairs as she is
a mite herself. She canna undress the lass.”

Dougal was right. Mrs. MacGinnis was a wee
thing and young. Widowed at the age of twenty-three with no
children, he had hired her as his cook the last time he was home so
that he could have good Scottish fare for his meals.

“She is unconscious and will never know,”
Dougal insisted.

“She will when she wakes and demands to ken
who took off her clothing.”

Dougal sighed and crossed his arms over his
chest. “Ye saved her life. Ye want her to die from the cold because
ye want to protect her modesty.”

He did have a point. Besides, he was freezing
himself and the sooner he got the lass settled in the warm bed, the
quicker he could take a hot bath himself.

He rolled her to the side, but his fingers
were still numb and he was shivering so much he couldn’t grasp hold
of the buttons.

Dougal produced a knife and handed it to him.
Thank goodness Dougal was never without his trusted blade because
Lachlan had needed it twice now in less than half an hour.

“I could undress her while ye get warm,”
Dougal offered, a sly grin on his face.

The thought of Dougal undressing the lass
didn’t set well with Lachlan, but he didn’t know why. “I will do it
myself.” He took the knife and slit the back of the dress open
before he let her roll onto her back. Lachlan pulled at the front
and slipped the sleeves down her arms.

Beneath the green woolen dress was nothing
but a shift. At least she wasn’t wearing a corset. He hated the
stiffness they caused. A man couldn’t feel the softness of a
woman’s form through one of those things.

The wet shift plastered against her body and
revealed far more than he should be seeing given he was a stranger.
“Toss me a blanket.”

“Shouldna ye get her out of the rest of her
wet clothing?” Dougal asked.

The linen was soaked and it wouldn’t do good
to leave it against the lass’ skin for the entire night. “Turn yer
back.”

“Why?”

“It is bad enough that I am seein’ this much
of her.” Besides, if she turned out to be a lady with an
influential family, he would be legshackled to her before the snow
melted given the liberties he had already taken, regardless of the
fact he was trying to save her life. And because of that, Dougal
was not going to see any potential future wife of his without her
clothing.

Dougal harrumphed and turned around.

Lachlan covered her with a blanket so as not
to see any more than he already had and worked to remove the shift
from her body. He never had difficulty undressing a wench in bed or
out, but those women were cooperative. This one was unconscious and
he was trying to preserve her modesty best he could. Instead of
trying to save the shift, he ripped the material at the neck and
tore it off of her body without ever removing the blanket that
covered her. However, his fingers skimmed over areas that no man
should touch except a husband, but that couldn’t be helped. Lastly,
he slipped his hands up each leg and rolled each stocking down
until he pulled them from her feet.

“Get my nightshirt.”

Dougal laughed. “Since when do ye sleep in
anythin’ other than what ye were born with?”

“My mother always packs them. I doona tell
her I doona use them.”

“Where are they?”

“Bottom drawer,” Lachlan nodded to the
dresser on the back wall.

Dougal removed a shirt and tossed it to him.
Lachlan shook it out and then looked down at the girl. How was he
going to get it on her without revealing any of her body?

With a sigh, he knelt on the floor and
bunched the material and dragged it over her head, stopping at her
neck. He then pulled one arm out from beneath the blanket and slid
it into the sleeve before he did the same with the other arm. Next
he pulled the blanket higher and over the nightshirt before he
slipped his hands beneath, grabbed the material and pulled it down
her body. He was rather proud of himself at being able to undress
and dress her without glimpsing any part of her body he shouldn’t
be looking at.

The bed had already been turned down, so he
scooped her up in his arms, tossed the damp blanket aside, and
carried her across the room and gently laid her onto the sheets
before he pulled even more blankets over her.

“Ye need to get out of those clothes before
ye become ill.”

Lachlan simply nodded his head and began
pulling the wet clothing from his body. Soon, he stood naked. He
dearly hoped she was not of society or his fate had just been
sealed, especially if she happened to wake up at this moment. He
grabbed the Spens plaid folded neatly on the chair and draped it
around his body as he had been taught as a child and wandered to
the fire to warm him. He couldn’t stop shivering despite the warmth
in the room.

“Let’s get that hot water up here before my
bullocks disappear for good.”

“Ye arena getting’ a bath.”

“What?” Lachlan turned on him. “Ye said Mrs.
MacGinnis was heatin’ water.”

“For me.”

“Ye?” he shouted. “Ye arena the one who just
took a dip in a frozen lake.”

“Shush, ye’ll wake the lass.” Dougal stepped
closer. “Mrs. MacGinnis said ye canna have a hot bath after
swimming in icy water because it will shock yer body to death.”

Lachlan eyed him. A memory tickled at the
back of his mind. A healer back home had recited something when his
younger brother had fallen into an icy stream. “The quicker the
cold, the slower to warm.”

Dougal nodded. “Never made sense to me. Ye
would think that if you fall into cold water you get into hot water
to even it out.”

“Old Munroe ignored her.” The memories were
coming back to him of the spring thaws, the streams swelling and
overflowing with frigid water from the mountains. Munroe had fallen
from his boat and Ian had gone in after him. Munroe had insisted on
a hot bath but Lachlan’s mother did what the healer told her.
Munroe died. It could have been a coincidence but Lachlan wasn’t
going to take that chance.

“At least bring up the whisky.”

Dougal grinned. “That I can do.” He glanced
back at the bed. The young woman was still shaking. “The healer
always said the best way to warm a body is with another.”

“I’m sure the blankets will suffice.” There
was no way he was crawling into that bed. “Get the whisky.”

Madeline couldn’t stop shivering. She wasn’t
nearly as cold as before but her body continued to shake. And she
was so tired she didn’t have the will to open her eyes. For a short
time she heard male voices but couldn’t make them out. They were
probably Matt and Jordan. They wouldn’t be happy that she went out
in this storm and fell into a lake.