03 - The Wicked Lady (12 page)

However, Kristen wasn't fooled. "Lean on me," she whispered as they slowly made their way toward a most unusual door. She stopped and waited for someone to answer the knock. It gave her a chance to examine the doors.

The broken pediment was surmounted by a lion and a griffin. In the middle of the doorway, just above their heads was a carved shield that displayed a coat of arms in the center of the shield. Two large columns entwined with laurel leaves stood on the side of the double doors."

Finally the door swung open, and a tall, thin man with white hair filled the space blocking their entrance. "Who should I say is calling?" His graze raked over Hagan and Rebecca.

"Why, His Grace, of course, Billingsly." Rebecca informed him. "Where are your spectacles?"

"I--I beg your pardon." Billingsly stuttered, then blinked, and looked past Rebecca.

"Billingsly, kindly get out of the way and fetch my grandmother, posthaste," Trevor muttered, his voice demanding in spite of his pain.

The shocked butler instantly recognized the authoritative voice of his employer and practically ran to do Trevor's bidding or as fast as his seventy plus years would let him.

"Billingsly is a bit nearsighted, or he'd have recognized my coach.  He's also a tad old, as you can see, but insists on answering the door. This has been his job for the last forty years, and he's loathe to give it up," Trevor explained while they stumbled into the house.

As they moved past the massive doors and into the main hallway, Kristen could only stare at the huge staircase that displayed portraits as large as she was. Everything was black and white, and except for the vivid oils in the portraits there was very little color in the room.

Cold, she thought again. Much too cold.

Now she could see why Trevor was so withdrawn and careful not to show much emotion at all.

"Ye actually lived here?" she whispered, while supporting his weight the best she could.

"Most of the time. Don't you like it?" Trevor leaned against a table for support and to take some of his weight off Kristen.

"One couldn't help but like it, I suppose," Kristen answered, her voice betraying the doubt she tried to conceal. "How do ye keep from gettin' lost? I'm afraid I might take a wrong turn and never find ye again."

"Rest assured, sweetheart," Trevor said slowly, managing a low chuckle. “I'll always find you."

Kristen wasn't sure what he meant by that statement. Was he giving her a compliment or threatening her? However, she didn't have a chance to ask because a stout woman with white hair swept into the hallway. Kristen knew this had to be the Dowager Duchess by the regal way she carried herself. For her age, her skin was remarkably smooth, and her cheeks looked like rosy red apples, but those crystal blue eyes held no welcome as Kristen had hoped they would.  The woman more or less glared at Kristen, then a shrewd look entered her eyes before she looked away, dismissing Kristen as one would a servant.

"It's about time you made an appearance, Trevor. And what do you mean sending word to prepare for a wedding when I've not even met the bride?" She stopped in front of Trevor. "I do hope you chose well and she's from a good family."

"You sure do talk a lot," Hagan said, stating the obvious.

The duchess turned until her gaze rested on Hagan. "Mind your manners, young man. And who, pray tell, are you?"

"Grandmere," Trevor said, his tone conciliatory. "I see you are feeling much better. I feared you might still be in bed."

"I could hardly stay in bed after your announcement. And why are you draped across that young lady. Stand up." She motioned impatiently with her hand. "Haven't I taught you anything?"

"Grandmere, you have taught me so much," Trevor managed to tease her even though his face still mirrored his pain. "This young lady is my fiancée."

"I see," Constance Claremont said.  Her white eyebrow rose a fraction of a inch.

She inspected Kristen as if she were buying a horse. Kristen wondered if the woman would ask her to open her mouth so she could check her teeth.

"She is a pretty little thing," Constance finally commented.

Trevor sagged a little further. His added weight forced Kristen to finally speak. "Do ye mind if we get yer grandson tae a bed? He's been shot."

"My God, she is Scottish. You're marrying a Scot!" Constance's tone sounded chilly. "And you've been shot!"  Her eyes grew wide with horror and her face paled with revulsion just before she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

"
'Tis not good." Kristen shook her head.

"Doesn't appear so," Trevor took a deep breath, "
But actually she took it very well." Trevor gave Kristen a grave smile before he turned slowly and called, his voice growing weaker, "Billingsly."

"Gracious me!" Billingsly exclaimed as he peered down at the duchess, a look of horror on his face as he wrung his hands together uncertain of what he should do. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Please have someone fetch the physician and some smelling salts for grandmere. Rebecca, if you'll look after my grandmother, I'm going to find a bed while I can still stand."

Suddenly the room filled with servants helping the duchess as Kristen and Trevor moved up the grand staircase. She could hear the duchess mumbling to her servants.

"He's brought a bloody Scot home to marry! Claremont will roll over in his grave," Grandmere declared.

"I don't think ye grandmother is very happy with me."

"Grandmere is always unhappy, for one reason or the other. Don't worry, she'll get used to you," Trevor answered.

"I'm not tae sure about that. Ye could always change ye mind about marrying me."

"I--I," Trevor's voice cut off as he slumped halfway up the stairs, pulling Kristen down with him.

"Help!," Kristen screamed over the banister. "I need some help. Trevor has passed out."

"I'll help you," Hagan called out.

"Thanks, Hagan, but yer just a wee bit small." She managed to smile at him.

"We're coming." Several of the other servants hurried up the stairs and managed to get Trevor up and moving again.

The upstairs maid threw open a door at the end of a long hall. "The master's room," she announced.

They entered Trevor's room where they lowered him to the huge bed that commanded the room. Kristen didn't realize that Trevor had regained consciousness until he said, "I'm not going to change my mind, Kristen. You belong to me."

The man was stubborn even in an unconscious state. Kristen smiled. She would have informed him that she wasn't one of his belongings, but when she looked up to speak her mind she saw his face had lost the rest of its color. "Let's get ye settled in the bed."

The servants had left them alone, so she helped him remove his jacket and pulled the heavy embroidered spread over him, then she placed a couple of pillows under his head. Kristen laid his jacket over a chair, then she examined the room, unable to do anything else for Trevor until the doctor arrived. She noticed this room was definitely larger than the rooms in the London town house.

Two big windows graced one wall and let in plenty of light. The drapes were of Damask silk, flowered with gold. Kristen pulled the panels open and tied them back with a gold cord to let in more light. Tuning she saw a mahogany kneehole desk with matching wardrobe. Trevor's room seemed a little more inviting than the rest of the house, but still very plain and impersonal.

Though Kristen knew there were an array of servants who could care for Trevor, she couldn't bring herself to leave him. Surprisingly, she wanted to care for him herself.

On a small washstand, she found a purple flowered, porcelain pitcher and bowl. She poured fresh water into the bowl, then picked up a cloth and carried everything back to Trevor's bedside.

Carefully, she removed his shirt. He managed a weak smile. "You're the prettiest nurse I've ever had."

"Thank you," she murmured as she let her gaze travel over his magnificent chest. He was so big. She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Now lie still, so I can cleanse yer wound." She placed the damp rag gently over the ugly, red hole.

"Ouch," Trevor said and flinched.

"What are you doing to my grandson?" Constance Claremont entered the room without knocking.

"I see she's recovered from her 'Scot' attack," Kristen said softly as she straightened.

"Move aside," the old bat ordered, and Kristen had a good mind not to budge an inch, but Trevor was too sick to cause a scene, no matter how much she wanted to.

"What has she done to you?" Constance asked Trevor, her tone considerably more gentle than the one she'd used with Kristen.

"Grandmere." Trevor sighed and took her hand. "You need to calm yourself. Remember, you have a condition," he warned her gently. "Kristen has done nothing." He paused, as if mustering his strength. "We were set upon by highwaymen on our journey, and I seem to have gotten in the way of a bullet." He didn't bother to tell her about the other bullet hole, compliments of Kristen.

"And where, pray tell, were your guards?"

"With the second carriage. Really, Grandmere, I'm not up to this discussion at the moment. Where is Dr. Harrison?"

"Here I am, young man. Let me see what you've done to yourself." The old doctor went to the side of the bed and pushed Constance gently aside. "You need to sit over there, Constance. I can only handle one patient at a time."

"Don't be impertinent!" She glowered at him. "You forget whom you are speaking to, Harrison."

"You shouldn't forget who takes care of you," he shot back.

The duchess did have the grace to blush as she set her mouth in a thin, firm line, but she did ma
ke her way over to a chair. Evidently, no one usually talked back to her.

Kristen couldn't hold back the chuckle, and for that slip, she received a sharp look from the old bat.

"And who are you?" The doctor asked.

"I'm Trevor's fiancée."

"Well done, son." Harrison patted Trevor's hand. "It's about time you settled down." The doctor bent over his patient. "Now, let me see to this wound." His bushy brows drew together as he prodded the hole.

"Easy!" Trevor all but shouted.

"Not good." He shook his head and sighed. "I'm going to have to take that bullet out, son."

Trevor's voice was absolutely emotionless
when he spoke. "I was afraid you would say that."

"Constance, bring me a bottle of whisky."

Surprisingly, she did as she was told. Though the old woman tried to hide them, Kristen saw the tears in her eyes. At least Constance did have a heart, though it seemed to be buried under a thick layer of ice.

"I think it's best you wait downstairs with that weak heart of yours," Doctor Harrison
told her gently.

"Should I leave, too?" Kristen asked.

"If you have a strong stomach, you may stay." He looked at her over his wire-rimmed spectacles. "I can use some help." He smiled a generous smile.

Kristen stepped forward. "What should I do?"

The doctor poured a second shot of whiskey and held it to Trevor's mouth. "I need fresh water and some bandages." He nodded to the whisky in his hand. "A few more of these, and Trevor will be good and numb."

Kristen didn't waste any time getting everything they needed. She hated seeing the pain that dulled Trevor's eyes.

"Christ!" She heard Trevor swear.

"What happened?"
Kristen asked.

"I disinfected his wound. Now . . ." The doctor looked her square in the eyes. "Can you hold him still?

Kristen swallowed, then nodded.

"This won't be easy," Dr. Harrison warned one last time.

The odor of the liquor brought back too many ugly memories for Kristen, and she started to shake as the bile began to rise in her throat.

"Young woman, if you cannot handle this, I shall have to get someone else."

"No-no. I can do it," Kristen shook her head, forcing her stomach to behave. She knew she was being silly, letting all those old memories scare her. This was Trevor. He'd never beat her or hurt her in any way. She needed to push the old memories aside.

"Kristen," Trevor slurred her name as he held out his hand for her. His motion was jerky and sudden, so Kristen knew the drink was working. She grasped his hand, and he squeezed hers as if he were trying to reassure her when she should be the one comforting him.

"I'm ready, doctor," Trevor said.

Harrison picked up his scalpel, and his eyes went again to Kristen. "Let go of his hand and hold him down."

The doctor poured liquor over his scalpel. Turning back to his patient, he pressed the point of the knife down into the wound and Trevor hissed with a sharp intake of breath as he tried to move away from the red hot pain.

Kristen had to put all her weight on his body, attempting to keep him still, and yet she could feel him quiver with every probe of the knife. She couldn't imagine the pain he must be in.

She felt so helpless.

"Just a little bit deeper, and I'll have the ball. Any normal man would have been unconscious by now," the doctor said, more to himself than to anyone.