Unraveled By The Rebel (39 page)

“Have you a wife, Mr. MacKinloch?” he asked, reaching for his bag.

“N-no,” the man said, shivering hard. “My wife died a year ago in the fires.”

“Any children? Or grandchildren, perhaps? Sometimes a man can heal quicker if his family is with him.” He exchanged a look at Bridget, who nodded and left the hut.

He reached inside his bag for a tiny vial containing a tincture of opium. A few drops would ease the man’s pain.

At times like these, he wished there were a way to suture an artery or cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding. But the femoral artery was too deep below the flesh. The gunshot wound had blown apart all hope of saving this man. It was a miracle that he’d survived this long.

“M-most of my family left Ballaloch,” Alexander admitted. “I’m s-so cold.” His body began to shudder as it slipped deeper into shock.

Paul adjusted the tourniquet again, though it would do little good for this man. “Who burned Lord Strathland’s wool? Have they found the one responsible for the fires?”

Alexander shook his head. “Might’ve been Joseph MacKinloch, Lady Lanfordshire’s former footman. He’s been causin’ trouble, from what I’ve heard.”

“I thought he fled to the coast.” After he’d learned that the man was responsible for setting the Lanfordshire house on fire, Paul had demanded that MacKinloch leave or face trial.

Now that MacKinloch’s sister was dead, it was entirely possible that Joseph had arranged for the wool to be destroyed. But he would have needed others to set so many fires.

The door opened at that moment, but instead of his mother entering, Juliette emerged in the dim light. “Mrs. Fraser thought I could help,” she said. Her voice was bright and filled with encouragement. Though her gaze passed toward the bleeding man, her eyes focused upon Paul.

I’m here for you,
she seemed to say. And though he didn’t want to expose her to this man’s pain, she appeared to have made up her own mind.

She went to sit beside Alexander and held his hand. “My husband is a doctor who studied in Edinburgh. If anyone can help you get better, it’s he.”

Juliette’s hair was pulled up in a topknot, and her gown was the same light blue silk she’d worn earlier. She gave the man a gentle smile, and Paul didn’t miss the look of gratefulness in his
eyes. MacKinloch would believe anything Juliette told him, for Bridget had gone and fetched an angel of mercy.

Paul poured a few drops of the tincture of opium into a cup of water. The man’s shivering increased, and Juliette rubbed his hands between her own. “There, you see, he’s gone and prepared some medicine for you. You’ll feel better quite soon.” She took the cup from Paul and helped the man sit up to drink it. “There are some friends outside, praying for your recovery. Would you like to see them?”

“I’d rather hold the hand of a bonny lass,” he admitted. “They can come in a wee bit later.”

Paul met Juliette’s gaze. Though both of them knew that no medicine would cure his wounds, the opium would ease his pain and make the passing easier.

“Of course,” she said gently. But as his wife calmed MacKinloch and spoke soothing words to him, all Paul could think of was how devastated he would be if anything ever happened to her. He’d saved many lives over the years, and lost just as many.

She took MacKinloch’s hand in hers, continuing to murmur comfort to the man. And though her words were meant to soothe him, they reminded Paul of a mother’s comfort.

He’d taken that from her, stealing her away from her only son. And although he’d claimed that it was meant to protect the boy, he wondered if his own selfish reasons had intervened. He’d wanted Juliette to himself.

A woman like her was meant to be surrounded by bairns, opening her arms to them. Her voice was made to read bedtime stories and sing lullabies. But he would never father a child upon her. Not if her life was the price.

It took only a few minutes longer for MacKinloch’s hands to relax their grip before he slipped into unconsciousness. When he checked the man’s pulse, it was uneven and erratic. Juliette continued to hold Alexander’s hand. Her green eyes met Paul’s, and
when Death’s quiet hand took the man’s final breath, she was still holding his palm.

Paul loosened the tourniquet, allowing the man to die in peace. “You didn’t have to come,” he said quietly, taking MacKinloch’s hand away from hers and closing the man’s eyes.

“I was already following you. Bridget found me and brought me here when I asked it of her.” She reached out and embraced him. “There are more of them, aren’t there?”

“Aye. She brought me to this man because he was closest to death. She thought I might have a way of saving him.” He shook his head in regret. “No matter how many lives you save, these moments haunt you.”

“You brought him comfort and peace. He died with no pain,” she said. Her arms came around him, and she kissed him. The need to possess her, to take the comfort she offered, was undeniable. He gripped her hard, and he vowed that no matter how much she tempted him, he would be careful.

For he couldn’t lose her. Not ever.

“Why don’t you go and visit your sister?” he suggested. “I’ve many more men to see. I’ll find you later.”

She pulled back, but he let his hands trail down her neck. “We’re staying with my parents,” she told him. “Now that the house is rebuilt, there will be rooms enough for us.”

“Or we could stay with your sister and Worthingstone.” He didn’t relish confronting her family after the elopement. Even with his title, there would be repercussions from their actions. The idea of sleeping under the same roof was not a welcome one. But neither could they dwell with Bridget. His mother lived in a one-room house, which was even worse.

“I’ve already spoken with my mother,” Juliette said. “She knows of your title. That will help.”

“And your father?”

She sent him a rueful smile. “That may take some time.”

And well he knew it. Paul led her to the door, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. “I’ll be late, so don’t be waiting on me.”

“Would you rather I stayed with you to help?” Though he could see that she was serious, he doubted she’d have the stomach for what he had to do.

“No. I’d rather join you when it’s done.”

“Then I’ll wait.” She reached out and touched his cheek. He touched her hand, wishing he could hold on to this moment. And when she was gone, his mother returned.

A softness edged the corners of Bridget’s mouth. “I ne’er thought I’d see the day when ye’d wed the likes of Juliette Andrews. I’m happy for ye, lad.”

“Why did you never tell me what happened to her?”

Bridget sobered, her gaze fixed upon Juliette until she was out of earshot. “It was her secret to tell, no’ for me to say.” His mother led him away and added, “I’m glad she’s wedded to ye, Paul. Ye’ll be the one to give her the love she needs. Perhaps a child one day.”

He said nothing, uncertain of how much Bridget knew. “No. There willna be children for us.”

“It could happen, lad,” Bridget said. “Och, there’s time yet. It’s only been a few weeks since ye wed her.”

Nearly a month, but he didn’t correct her. She led him inside the next house, and he let himself fall into the familiar routine of treating wounds. It was kinder to agree with his mother than to make her aware that there would never be any grandchildren.

She’d barely seen her husband in three days. Though Juliette had spent the time visiting with her family, Paul had immersed himself in caring for the wounded crofters. On the occasions when she brought him a basket of food, he’d wolfed it down, kissed her, and gone back to his work.

Her father hadn’t spoken a word, pretending the marriage didn’t exist. Her mother had smiled brightly and chattered on, asking questions about London and Aunt Charlotte. But beneath it all, she sensed the tension between her parents.

Henry Andrews kept to himself, offering little in the way of conversation. But sometimes Juliette caught him sneaking glances at her mother. He seemed bewildered, as if he didn’t know her anymore. And Beatrice seemed on edge herself, hardly speaking to him.

For that reason, Juliette had decided to pay her older sister a visit this morning. She hoped Victoria could shed light on what was happening between their parents.

When she reached the duchess’s house, her sister was blossoming in the glow of pregnancy. Juliette smiled as Victoria embraced her, laughing as she turned. “Soon, I’ll have to hug you sideways. I’m getting larger every day.”

“You’re not at all,” Juliette said. Her sister had a thickened waist with a slight bump, but certainly she wasn’t large. “Are you feeling all right?”

“It’s wonderful,” Victoria answered, a softness stealing over her face. “Sometimes when I lie down at night, I feel the baby move inside. You can’t imagine what that’s like.”

A tightness closed up in Juliette’s throat. Yes, she knew exactly what it was like. “Do you know when the baby will be born?”

“I think in November,” Victoria said. She bade Juliette to sit down beside her. “And what of you? Are you enjoying your married life?” There was enough of a blush on her sister’s cheeks to know that she was referring to the most recent letters she’d sent, filled with advice.

Juliette nodded. “Paul is a good husband.”

“I know Amelia was quite disappointed not to see the pair of you wed. She told me so in her letter. But we’re all happy for you.”
Victoria reached out and rubbed her swollen middle. “Perhaps you’ll have a child next year as well.”

“No,” Juliette answered automatically. “That is… I don’t think so.”

Her sister glanced over at her. “It only takes once, Juliette. When was the last time you had your monthly?”

Exasperated, she shook her head. “I’m not going to have a child.” The one time she had made love with Paul, he had not finished within her. And since then, they had been careful not to risk it again.

“Oh, you needn’t worry,” Victoria said. “A child will come when he’s meant to.”

“Well, not now,” Juliette remarked.
Or ever
.

Victoria shrugged. “Well, if you’ve had your woman’s time since you were married, I’m sure you’re right.”

Juliette’s smile froze, as she stopped to think about it. For she
hadn’t
bled. She counted back the weeks, and she was stunned to realize that it had been over a month since her last flow. Had it been five weeks or six? Her brain tried to reorder her scattered thoughts, reminding her that there was no reason to worry. A woman could miss her monthly and it would come again in time.

But we were careful,
she thought to herself. Surely it couldn’t have happened. Could it?

Her sister began speaking of Aphrodite’s Unmentionables, talking about the sales and ideas for new designs. But her words blurred against the panic rising within Juliette.

“Margaret doesn’t like the new designs,” Victoria remarked. “But I believe they will sell quite well among married women. I know His Grace likes them very much. What do you think?”

“I’m sure they will be fine,” Juliette answered, though she’d not heard a word of her sister’s suggestions. In fact, she remembered nothing of the drawing Victoria had shown her. It could have been a white sheet and rope, for all she knew.

Inwardly, her panic had evolved into full-fledged terror. She couldn’t be pregnant. Surely there was no chance at all. The very thought sent a cold storm of fear blasting through her.

She tried to remember her symptoms when she’d been pregnant with Matthew. Almost two weeks from the time she’d missed her monthly, she’d begun waking up ill. During those first few weeks, she’d been miserable, unable to keep any food down. And whoever had come up with the idea that it was a pregnancy sickness only in the mornings was completely wrong. She’d been sick from the moment she got up until the moment she fell into bed at night to sleep. All-day sickness was what it was.

But she wasn’t feeling sick right now. Only the sense that her monthly was going to start at any moment. Surely she was imagining things.

“Victoria,” she interrupted. “How have you been feeling during this pregnancy? Have you been sick at all?”

“Strangely, no,” her sister admitted. “Everyone told me their stories of being sick, but I wasn’t. Only hungrier than usual. And”—her face reddened—“my breasts have gotten much larger.”

Juliette clenched her hands together. “I suppose His Grace is happy about that.”

Her sister sent her a wicked smile. “Oh, yes. It was most gratifying to have a respectable bosom with no padding, for the first time in my life. In fact, that’s why I considered designing unmentionables for women who are
enceinte.
Not only do I need a different corset, but I find that I am more sensitive to the fabric.” Victoria rang for a tray of food, and went on to describe her ideas for the garments. She sketched out a sample, and after a moment said, “You’re really not interested in this.”

“No, I am. I’m just worried.”

“About your husband?”

She nodded, though it wasn’t the truth. She was mostly worried that she’d confused the dates of her menses. Over and over,
she reminded herself that it was too soon to tell. After all the difficulties of the past few weeks, surely it was only anxiety that was causing it.