Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (12 page)

“Physically? Nay, m’lady. But as far as that viper’s tongue of his, he’s lashing out quick enough to kill a company of
Dutch mercenaries.”

And as if to prove Gibbs correct,
Aytoun unleashed another string of obscenities.

“What do
you
think would
happen if we refrained from giving him any more opium?”

Gibbs was astonished. “I’m sure I
wouldn’t know, m’lady. I’m no doctor. But I can tell ye that his lordship
wasn’t sleeping after the fall. Before he started taking the laudanum, he was
miserable as a starving hound, though, and always made certain that every poor
creature around him was sure to be miserable, too.”

Millicent made a quick study of the
chamber. Her husband was propped up in bed. The curtains of the windows were
tightly drawn, holding out the chill of the winter evening. The brandy and the
bottle of opium sat on a table. As she looked back at Aytoun, Will came in
behind her, mumbling an apology and leading a servant girl who was carrying a
bowl of soup and some bread on a tray.

Millicent told herself that she
could handle this.

“None of you need to suffer his
lordship’s wrath tonight.” She motioned for the servant to put the tray down on
a table. “I want you all to go and catch up on your sleep. I should like to
keep my husband’s company for the night.”

*****

After a year and a half, Mary Page still considered herself new to the place and the job. Widowed as a young woman when
her husband had died in a carriage accident in London, she had worked for
almost ten years as a housemaid, putting in long, backbreaking hours of work,
and getting treated with minimum respect. Then she had seen Lady Wentworth’s
advertisement for a housekeeper.

Mary had been impressed with Sir
Oliver, and even more so with the mistress since meeting her. And she was forever grateful for the position and the opportunity she was given in coming down
to Hertfordshire. And being new at the job no longer bothered the housekeeper,
for the help was very good. The freed slaves worked as well as or better than
the native English workers, and Amina, Jonah’s wife, had become a good friend
to her as well as a trusted helpmate.

Indeed, Mary Page loved her
position, and she found she quickly came to love Melbury Hall as well. The
addition of the Earl of Aytoun and his people was no hardship, either. In fact,
she thought the mistress and the household had all adjusted to it quite
readily.   

Sitting in a settle by the fire in
the servants’ hall, her needlework on her lap, she raised an eyebrow as two of
Lord Aytoun’s personal servants trudged in from the master’s bedchamber. When
the tall Highlander appeared a few minutes later with a troubled expression in
his eyes, Mary fought down the fluttering feeling she felt in her stomach
whenever she saw him. She sensed, though, that something was amiss. 

“Good evening, Mr. Gibbs. You and
your lads are taking a holiday this evening?”

“Aye. Though ‘tis not to our
liking, I must say, Mrs. Page. Your mistress insists on staying alone with his
lordship for the night. The lass does not know what she’s getting herself
into.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye, mum.” With a frown etched on
his face, the Highlander sat on the settle beside her.

Mary spoke to him in a low voice.
“Don’t think I mean any disrespect, sir, for I have great affection for
the
mistress, but this is the second time she’s been married. I’d say she knows her
way about.”

The dark brows of the Scotsman
lifted in surprise. “She knows her way about
what
, Mrs. Page, if I might
be asking ye?”

Mary felt a blush rise up in her
cheeks. “I was simply jesting to ease your mind, Mr. Gibbs.”    

“Och, well. I’m delighted to know
that you care enough to be doing any such thing, Mrs. Page. I believe that in
the course of this past sennight ye haven’t seen fit even to return a lonely
Highlander’s morning greeting.” 

“I’m quite sure I have treated you
with all due civility, sir.”

“Ah, civility.” He sighed
dramatically. “’Tis come to that, now?”

Mary felt herself growing warm.
Despite his size and his fierce attitude to many around him, she found Mr.
Gibbs to be quite attractive. Mary smiled as she remembered Vi’s comment to a
group of giggling serving maids when they were discussing the looks of the
newcomers.
Handsome enough,
she’d said,
if you consider hairy monkeys
attractive.

“But now ye smile.” His dark gaze lingered
on her face. “Now, to what should I contribute this glimpse of heaven?”

“Surely, I don’t know. It must have
been something I ate for dinner,” she answered flippantly. “But about your master. In spite of anything you have heard about her ladyship’s circumstances
during her first marriage, Lady Aytoun has worked hard to become a very capable
individual. His lordship will do perfectly well in her care.”

“To be honest, I was more worried
about her. I doubt the lass has ever faced anyone with a temper as foul as he
possesses this night.”     

“From everything I’ve heard, sir,
she has survived a husband who was the devil incarnate. I think you can put
your mind at ease.” Mary patted his hand confidently. “She can handle him, Mr.
Gibbs. She can handle him.”

****

The heat of his fury was scorching
the inside of his skull. He could feel it swelling in uncontrolled waves,
burning the skin of his face, of his neck. His chest was a knot of anger, and
if he could get his one good hand around her throat, he’d go whistling to the
gallows.

Not much chance of having luck that
good, though, Lyon thought as he continued to stare at the closed door. The
stubborn woman was moving about far beyond his reach—sliding a chair here,
straightening a table there, ambling about the room as if nothing were amiss.
Why, the bloody woman was simply carrying on and pretending that she was not
responsible in the slightest for turning those dogs he once thought of as loyal
servants against their master. Like cattle at feeding time, the feebleminded
cowards had dutifully lined up and marched from the room at her command.

He finally exploded. “Get Gibbs.”

“You were looking for something?”
she asked in a disgustingly cherubic voice.

He wanted to throw up again. “Aye.
I said, get
Gibbs
!”

“I’m very sorry, m’lord, but Mr.
Gibbs just left. And he won’t be coming back for quite some time.” She moved to
the foot of his bed, a smile plastered on her face, behaving as if she were not
bothered at all by his barking at her. “But I am here if there is something
that you need.”

He had been aware of her presence
from the moment she’d arrived. Strange, he thought, that even in the midst of
the haze and the anger, he was becoming aware of her. And how curious that even
the horrible names that he called her seemed to have no effect on the woman. In
becoming his wife, she had promised to take care of him, but Lyon knew that
many a woman in her position might be thinking right now about how to rid
herself of baggage as foul as he must seem to her. He prayed that she was
thinking those exact thoughts. Poison would finish it all. 

“Give me a drink.”

She walked away from the table of
medicines. He was annoyed to see her pouring a glass of what he assumed was
water. Lyon waited until she came back, glass in hand.

“Can you manage this yourself,
m’lord, or do you need help drinking it?”

This close she didn’t look quite so
confident. When Lyon reached out with his hand, he saw the tremor in hers. He
could make a grab for her throat now. 

Almost against his wishes, he found
his fingers closing around the glass. As soon as she released it, though, he
let it fall.

The glass dropped onto the bed,
spilling the clear liquid before tumbling off onto the floor. It didn’t break,
and he watched it roll away.

“I am sorry. I thought you had it,”
she said, immediately reaching for a towel and starting to soak the wetness
from the blankets.

“Get me my drink. I’ll have no more
of whatever that was.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. They
narrowed as the realization flashed upon her that it wasn’t an accident. She
backed away quickly and picked the glass up from the floor.

Lyon waited, only vaguely pleased
with the small victory. The weakness was back and the nausea as well. But he could only remain quiet for so long. He fully expected her to do as he commanded.

His mood soured even more than
before when she sat down in a chair across the room. “You vile, inhuman wretch.
Do you defy the doctor’s o-orders to give me the med…medicine?” The struggle to
form words smoothly increased Lyon’s anxiety. He needed the medicine now. “If
your p-plan is to kill me, then do it, by the devil. But don’t t-torture me.
Listen, damn you. I need it
Now
!”

His plea must have penetrated her
thick skull, for he saw her rise to her feet again.

“I shall give you that only if you
eat something first.”

“I have no desire for food,” he
snapped.

“You need to try, all the same.”
She started sitting down again.

“You are a hateful, withered hag,”
he said in a raspy voice. “I know now for certain that I d-died at the bottom
of that fall, for this is hell.
You
are my eternal punishment.”

“Say whatever you wish to me, but
know that you shall receive the medicine only after we get some food into you.”

“No. I’ll have it before.” Lyon wished he had throttled her when he had the chance. “You will give it to me now.”

“Not before you eat,” she responded
without any further consideration. “That mistake was made today at noon. And last night. And God knows how many times before that. No one can remember when was the last
time you had a meal.”

“You are no woman. You have no
warmth in you.” He turned his face away. “Damn you. You can see that I cannot
move. I have no appetite. Medicine, however, I need.”

She went to stand by the tray of
food, and he watched her. “Think of this as medicine, too.”

Lyon cursed ferociously at the
world, including in his verbal barrage Gibbs and Millicent and his damnable
luck at being stuck with such a bloodless, unfeeling villain. When he leaned
back to catch his breath, she approached with the tray of food. He considered
upending it, grabbing the tray, scaling it across the chamber, and sending her
scampering on her merry way. But already exhaustion was setting in. His body
had begun to tremble badly, and his stomach was knotted with cramps and nausea.
He just wanted the opium-laced brandy. He just wanted to forget.

“I should like you to feed
yourself.”

He turned his murderous glare on
her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers still clutching the
tray tightly.

“You have one good hand. You feed
yourself, and I shall ready your medicine.” She positioned the tray on his lap.
“But I warn you. If you intentionally spill this food, then I shall need to go
to the kitchen for some more. So keep in mind how much this will delay you from
receiving your precious medicine…if that is what it is.”

He continued to glare at her,
making certain she saw the extent of his hostility. The damn woman, though,
simply carried on as if nothing were wrong. She removed the cover from a bowl
of broth. She put a spoon near his left hand and spread a napkin on his chest.
Then she stood back, looking triumphant and watching him expectantly. He moved
his hand over the spoon, and she turned to the table holding the tray with the
bottles of brandy and opium. 

If she wanted this to be a battle
of wills, Lyon thought, then he could easily be the victor. She started
counting the tincture of opium, drop by drop, into a small glass. He watched
her add the brandy.

“I have done my part.” She raised
the glass to him. “Now let me see you do your part.”

He waited for a long moment, but
the desire for the laudanum overwhelmed his pride. Picking up the bowl of broth
crudely, he brought it to his lips and—almost against his will—took a sip.

It was the smile of approval that
crept across her face that killed him. Without a word, he flung the bowl away
from him, soaking himself and the blankets with the broth. The bowl broke into
a dozen pieces on the floor.

She didn’t raise her voice or
complain. She didn’t even look startled, though the smile was gone from those
lips.

Instead, calmly, she placed the
glass on the tray and deliberately tipped it over.

“Oh, how clumsy of me. I have
spilled your medication.” Picking it up, she looked at the glass closely. “And only a couple of droplets are all that are left, it appears. I do hope this will suffice for
the night.”

He should have killed her. Next
time he had the chance, he vowed, he would.

***

“So, ye vixen. Tell me what’s new
at Melbury Hall.”

“Lady Aytoun spends a lot of time
looking after her new husband. But other than that, nothing to speak of.”
Violet stretched leisurely on top of Ned’s naked body. Her fingers played in
the thick mat of blond hair on his chest. “She’s sending me to St. Albans this Saturday to buy some woolens and other things. While I’m there, I might get
a chance to stop and see my mother and my grandmum. Will you come with me?”

“Nay, lass. I’m far too busy a man
to be traipsing around the country after ye.” 

“Then perhaps I can slip away some
Sunday when you’re free. I’m anxious to have you meet my family.”

“What for?” Ned asked shortly. “Are
ye so anxious to tell them ye’ve got yourself a good lover?”

 “No. I just thought that since
we’ve become so close,” she said, blushing, “I just thought, now that you’re my
man—”

“What’s this?” Ned rolled over on
top of her. He smiled that devilish smile that made her quiver inside. She
could feel his huge member was hard again. “Your man? And here ye’ve only come
to my bed but twice.”