02 - Borrowed Dreams Read online

  “Nothing is wrong. However, I want you to read this book to me.”

  *****

  Violet gasped as Ned shoved her hard, pinning her against the wall. His eyes were flashing with anger. She tried to get a hand between his forearm and her throat, but he pushed harder.

  “I am sorry,” she cried. “I am so sorry. But I heard you were going to St. Albans, and I thought you might want me to follow you here. Ned, we did plan to come together so you could meet with my—”

  “Ye planned,” he shouted into her face. “I did no plannin’. And by the de’il, woman, I should give ye a bloody lip for sneaking into this tavern and hiding in my room.”

  “I was just trying to make you happy, Ned,” she whispered tearfully. “We’re always sneaking off to your little room in the village. I thought here…well, I have two whole days off and—”

  “Here I might just whistle and bring a few o’ the lads up from the taproom and have ye play whore to all of us.” He took his arm from her throat and grabbed her chin roughly in his hand. “Or maybe I’ll just bind ye on that mattress there, with a gag for your mouth, and have my way with you a hundred different ways without never havin’ to listen to your whinin’ at all.”

  The young woman spoke through her sobs. “You are scaring me, Ned Cranch. You know you shouldn’t say such things. You know I’m no whore. I only came because I thought you would be glad to have me here.” She gathered the front of her cloak tightly around her. “I’ll go. I am sorry to upset you like this. I was a fool to think you meant all those sweet things you said. I know now you only said them to find your way under my skirts.”

  “Mind your bloody tongue or I’ll…”

  When Ned raised a threatening fist, Violet cringed against the wall. She was relieved when he didn’t hit her, and instead dropped his hand to his side.

  “Get out o’ here, ye brazen chit, before I change my mind and decide to teach ye a hard lesson.”

  There was no doubting his words. The anger she saw in those green eyes was sobering. It was as if he hated her. Violet moved away, circling around him and then running for the door. Outside in the dark, foul-smelling hallway of the inn, she let the tears fall.

  What a wretched fool she had been, she thought, trying to get her bearings. She had believed every word he had told her. elieved him when he’d said he loved her. Behind her, a woman laughed a drunken, salacious laugh, and Violet turned around in alarm. In the murky light of a shuttered window at the far end of the hall, she could see the woman bent over, while a tradesman with his breeches around his knees held her hips and slammed into her.

  Violet felt her stomach rising into her throat. She was no different, she thought. The tears came faster. She had become a whore. She pulled the hood of the cloak over her head and hurried down the hall.

  At the stair landing, she ran into a small man coming up. Kid gloves steadied her. She stared down at the man’s shiny boots.

  “Pardon me, sir,” she whispered.

  One glove took hold of her chin and raised it. Violet shivered as she glanced into the coldly amused eyes regarding her. There was no escaping him.

  “Aren’t you a pretty thing? And what a fortunate wench,” he exclaimed, glancing toward Ned’s door. “Come with me, girl. This will take just a minute.”

  On impulse Violet pulled her face away and backed up a step. He continued to hold her arm. “The stonemason just had me, sir. Perhaps you’d care to take me someplace else?”

  His amusement changed to a look of mild distaste. “Very well. Wait here, then.”

  She was relieved when he let go of her and continued down the dark hall. As the man tapped on Ned’s door, Vi turned and fled down the steps. Going down the stairs, she could hear Ned’s greeting.

  “Come in, Mr. Platt. Ye’re early.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Two maids were already scrubbing the wax and ash from the table. Another was washing the floor. The housekeeper had every window open and was waving the smoke out with her apron. Gibbs had the two hangdog valets in the corner and was lashing into them like a prosecutor at a murder trial.

  “Leave them be, Gibbs. The bloody candle dropped on the table; that’s all. You are all making too much of a fuss over nothing.” Lyon glared at the unsmiling woman who was scissoring through the sleeve of his jacket and shirt. “You realize you’ve just committed a capital offense in cutting my coat. And ruined a perfectly good one, at that.”

  “A perfectly charred one. And you can afford another,” Millicent whispered absently, crouching beside him. She peeled back the sleeve of the coat and laid his arm on the armrest of the chair.

  Lyon leaned his head back and stared in disbelief at the commotion around him. He had been going over the estate's books in the library when he had inadvertently bumped the candelabra on the table, tipping it over and setting the papers on the table on fire. Millicent had left the room only seconds before, but Will had been in here and had pulled Lyon’s chair away from the table before dousing the small fire. What he had not realized immediately was that his master’s sleeve was on fire, too.

  Lyon flinched at the sharp pain in his arm. He looked down at the burned shirtsleeve. The cloth appeared to be stuck to his flesh. She immediately stopped trying to pull it.

  “Mrs. Page, have someone get Ohenewaa for me. Mr. Gibbs, I want his lordship taken back to his room. It is getting far too cold in here.” Millicent turned her gray eyes toward Lyon. “You moved your arm.”

  It was not a question but a statement.

  “No, you’re mistaken.”

  She gave him a look that he could not comprehend, and then the chair was lifted by the valets. Whatever concern Lyon had a week ago about being paraded through the household with everyone around had been cast to the wind. Every servant in the place was racing about, but no one seemed to have a moment to stand and stare. Millicent stayed beside him all the way upstairs.

  Inside his bedchamber, Ohenewaa was already waiting by the window.

  “I didn’t do it intentionally,” he barked at the black woman.

  The wrinkled eyelids were open only a fraction. The dark stare told him she was not convinced.

  “You two have met?” Millicent asked, motioning for John and Will to move him to the bed.

  “We’re old acquaintances.”

  Lyon became suspicious when Millicent and Ohenewaa started whispering together. When his wife started for the door and the old woman came over to check on his arm, he voiced his complaint immediately.

  “Where are you going? Bloody hell. You really don’t intend to leave me alone with her now, do you? Millicent!”

  Millicent hid her smile before giving him an exasperated look over her shoulder. “I’m going nowhere.” She stopped at the door and whispered some directions to a servant who was hovering outside.

  Ohenewaa waved John and Will away from the bed. The old woman then approached him and began checking the burn on his arm. After looking at it for a few moments, she retrieved some sharp shears from the table and cut most of the fabric away from around it. In the meantime, the servant Millicent had sent away returned with a large bowl of white liquid.

  “I am not drinking this,” he groused when Millicent brought it to the bed. “Whatever it is.”

  “It is only milk.”

  “All the same, I’ll not have it.”

  “As you wish.”

  Millicent sat on the edge of the bed and, following Ohenewaa’s quiet direction, draped Lyon’s arm over the bowl. Using a small towel, she poured the liquid over his arm again and again.

  “Bloody hell!” he growled, gripping the bed with his good hand.

  After a few minutes of the treatment, the aching pain started to subside. Ohenewaa directed her to lay the soaked towel on the wound. After the second or third soaking, he saw the fabric of his sleeve had loosened. Carefully, the two women peeled the cloth off, exposing fully the ugly blisters and raw flesh.

  A few minutes later, Gibbs came into the
room to check on him. Millicent assured him that everything would be fine and sent the Highlander and the valets away.

  With the burn cleaned, Lyon thought the ordeal was over, but Ohenewaa had other ideas. Using feather-light touches, she started to examine his right arm and hand in the places that were not burned. She felt and moved each finger, following the line of each bone through the hand to his wrist. She gently felt the bones and muscles up to the elbow, being especially careful around the burn, and then worked her way up beyond the elbow until the material of the coat and shirt stopped her.

  “Remove his jacket and shirt.”

  “The hell she will.”

  “I shall be back in a few minutes.”

  As Ohenewaa left the room, Millicent picked up the shears, and Lyon turned sharply to her. “What is this woman doing?”

  “Ohenewaa is going to examine you, as any physician would.”

  “Why?” He caught Millicent’s hand.

  “Because she knows medicine as well as or better than the doctors you have been seeing. And because I asked her to do this,” she said softly. “She won’t hurt you, Lyon. I will not move from your side. Please allow her to tend to you.”

  He couldn’t refuse her. “Very well, then. But no more cutting. Help me out of these.” With her help he shrugged out of the coat. “You don’t believe just because she healed a dog last week, she can heal me, too.”

  “She liked that dog, and you clearly don’t believe she likes you.”

  “The old hag told me so herself.”

  “This is not the time to be so disagreeable,” Millicent whispered. “Please, Lyon. I think she knows things that those highly educated physicians you have been dealing with have been blind to.”

  “And what do you think she knows?”

  “Perhaps she can make use of the feelings and sensations that have been coming and going. The ones you ignore or try to hide.” She met his gaze when he looked up startled at her. “I have seen it. Last week, when the glass cut you, your hand moved. Three days ago, when John was helping you out of bed, I think your foot was twisted, and I believe you straightened it yourself. And then, last night you were having a nightmare, and I saw the muscles in your leg move.”

  There was no rhyme or reason to what his body did, it seemed. Lyon had no control over what he was capable of moving and when. But he didn’t want to say any of this to Millicent. He didn’t want to raise any false hopes in her. Instead, he admired the loose ringlets that had escaped their tight confines and were now framing her face. She looked so soft. This was the way she had awakened him last night from his nightmare, and Lyon remembered how much he’d wanted to draw her mouth down and kiss her.

  He wanted to do the same thing now.

  “The mvements were involuntary. They don’t mean a thing.”

  Ohenewaa returned, carrying bottles of different liquids that she proceeded to line up on the table.

  Millicent leaned closer, tantalizing him with her nearness. “I should like to grasp at every chance, no matter how small. Many people here believe in her, Lyon. I am not saying that she can heal you completely, but we would be fools not to give her a chance to help as much as she can.”

  “Do as you please.” He let go of her hand. “But I think you are wasting your time.”

  *****

  Beneath his long, dark hair, his neck was strong and powerful. His shoulders were wide and his chest was muscular. Lyon was thin, though, and his ribs showed through the skin, reflecting the weeks of refusing food and nourishment.

  Millicent’s throat was dry by the time she finished removing his shirt. They had been married nearly a month. She had spent her nights at his bedside. She had been present during the changing of his clothes and even during sponge baths by his servants. But none of those moments had felt as intimate as removing his shirt herself.

  Ohenewaa came back to his bedside with a bottle of ointment and a few clean cloths. “Spread this gently over the burn on his arm and then wrap it loosely with this.”

  She brought the jar to her nose. “It smells familiar.”

  “’Tis a decoction of the bark of the elm tree. ‘Twill dry the pus that will soon be forming, and help the healing process.”

  Millicent was grateful for having something to do, and she went to work while the healer started examining Lyon’s body.

  “You are too tense. Relax,” Ohenewaa said softly to him. The woman’s palm was pressed flat against the skin of his chest, moving in slow circles. “Let your body talk to me.”

  “You accused me of talking too much,” Lyon retorted, moving his gaze momentarily from the ceiling.

  “Close your eyes. Let your mind float away from here to a peaceful time in your life. Then your body will tell me where there is pain.”

  Millicent was surprised when he didn’t protest or argue. She saw him close his eyes and give himself up to the touch of the old woman. She went back to her own task of dressing his wound. After she finished, Ohenewaa motioned to her to remain at the bedside.

  It was soothing to watch her. Following the movements of the wrinkled hands over his chest and shoulders and arms, Millicent felt the calming effect of them on her as well. After a time Ohenewaa paused.

  “Now I need to check his legs. You must remove his shoes, stockings, and breeches.”

  Heat rushed into Millicent’s face. “I shall go and get one of the valets.” She rose quickly to her feet.

  “No.” Lyon’s eyes opened slightly. “I don’t want any new rumors circulating in this house. You can manage it.”

  She took a deep breath. She had been sexually aroused simply taking the man’s shirt off. Now his breeches!

  Ohenewaa walked back to her table of medicines. Suddenly the room felt too hot. Lyon was lying on top of the bedclothes. Millicent took a folded blanket from the bottom of the bed and spread it across his middle. To make matters worse, he was watching her every movement.

  “In case you’re considering using those shears,” he said in a low voice, “you can put that thought out of your mind. My stockings and breeches don’t trust them…and the same thing goes for any parts of my body that you might encounter.”

  “Why don’t you close your eyes and let your body talk to me?” she asked quietly, trying to inject some humor.

  She moved to the foot of the bed and removed his shoes and peeled off the stockings. Without thinking, she ran her hands down one calf. Lack of exercise had shrunk the muscles somewhat. Her fingers moved up to the buckles below the knee on his breeches. Millicent’s hands shook as she started undoing them. The skin beneath her touch was so warm.

  “Keep this up, and you’ll see very soon that my body does indeed have something to tell you. That doesn’t trouble you, does it?”

  He was mocking her, teasing her. But his voice was beginning to sound a little strained. Steeling herself, Millicent held her breath and moved up to stand beside the blanket that covered his middle. The pulsing of her blood rang in her ears. She was thankful for the dimness of the chamber, for she could feel her face and ears burning. Her gaze remained focused on the weave of the blanket, and her hands brushed against his stomach as she reached under the covering.

  “Get Gibbs.”

  At his curt direction, she leaped back from the bed and ran for the door.

  ****

  “The news from the Borders is quite disturbing, m’lady. The Earl of Dumfries has begun to clear the farms to the west, raising the crofters’ rents to exorbitant rates. As of the writing of this letter, it appears that some two hundred tenants have taken refuge at Baronsford since Michaelmas. My man says he’s been told that perhaps five hundred more went to Glasgow with the hope of moving on to the American colonies.” Sir Richard put down the letter that he had received from the Borders. “The earl should be told.”

  “No,” the dowager asserted stubbornly. “He is not ready for this.”

  “As you wish, m’lady, but his lengthy absence is only adding more meat to the stew of ru
mor bubbling amongst the tenants. Many fear that with the earl’s injury and the marriage to an Englishwoman—along with the fact that he signed the lands over to Pierce—Baronsford’s farms will be next to go. They are already talking of him never coming back.”

  The dowager closed the book on her lap with a snap and glared at her old lawyer. “Under Millicent’s care, Lyon is making great improvement. Relaying any such news to him now would only add strain and hinder any further progress.”

  “You think she would nt accompany him to Baronsford if he were to decide to make the journey?”

  “I don’t think it, Sir Richard. I am certain of it. And I do not believe anything of value will be accomplished if he were to go right now—for Lyon or for the people at Baronsford. Find some other way to put the tenants at ease. Pass on the news of the earl’s progress. Write to Walter and have him lower the rents. Move every sheep off the farms, if that’ll calm them. Whatever needs to be done, get their minds off such foolishness. Tell them I’m gasping for my last breaths, and they should begin mourning for me.”

  “That they shan’t do, m’lady. The tenants at Baronsford are more wary of your tactics than your sons are. They all believe you’ll outlive the entire family. But about the earl, you do realize that we can delay passing on this news for only so long. ‘Tis his right to know if he is improving. And knowing your son, he’ll be wanting to go back to Baronsford before the planting season anyway. How can we not tell him what he’ll find there?”

  “You are talking about the man he once was. You and I both know that Baronsford is no longer his responsibility. He might still simply tell us to notify his brother Pierce of all these problems. Have you forgotten his anger the last time he left Baronsford? He wanted never to return.”

  “I’ve not forgotten, m’lady. But that was the pain of the moment talking. Signing those papers was an act of frustration and nothing else. The tenants, Pierce, you, and I all know that he is the one who can save Baronsford. We all want to remember him as the man he once was, and I believe he will be that man again in time.”