Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (21 page)

“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.”

“I want to believe that, too,” the
dowager responded quietly.  “But we have to give him time. We cannot push him
into things that he is not ready for. He is coming along, it appears, but I do
not want to set him back even a day.”

Lyon threw his napkin on the tray,
hiding what he hadn’t eaten of his breakfast. “What torture have you devised
for me today, Madame de Sade?”

“Something very painful.”

He noticed the dark circles beneath
her eyes when Millicent leaned over him to pick up the tray. She was beginning
to look paler and more drawn every day. “Excellent. When do we start?”

“Don’t be impatient. Soon enough.”
She handed the tray to John to take out. “A few hours of uninterrupted sleep
seem to have done you some good.”

“You again spent the night here in
this room, did you not?”

“I did.”

“Why? I told you I have no need of
a watcher, especially when I am knocked unconscious by the dark magic the witch
is using to subdue me. I should ask her to use the same thing on you.” He
caught her wrist when she bent to pick up a cup and saucer that had been left
on the table next to his chair. Her gaze flew to his in surprise. “You don’t
look very well.”

“Thank you. But my health is fine.”

“You look pale.”

“I was born with this look, and
there is not much I can do to change it.”

“What I meant to say is that you
look tired.” She tried to pull herself free, but he tightened his hold. “We
cannot allow you to become sick.”

“Why?”

“Because then I would be left with
no one to torment.”

Gibbs cleared his throat at the
door.

“Do not think it or say it,” Lyon growled at his manservant. He let go of his wife’s hand. As Gibbs went wordlessly to
the hearth and began poking at the fire, Millicent went about quickly tidying
up the room. Lyon watched her carefully. She had lost weight, too. Even her
dress was hanging off her.

“The scheduled torture for today is
to expose you to the ghastly out-of-doors. Sunshine, winter air.” She took a
woolen blanket from a chest in the corner. “We have selected a delightfully
protected spot within the walls of the gardens and—”

“I am not going outside, nor I am
going downstairs today.”

She whirled on him, hands on her
hips. “Why? I know you are too stubborn to admit it, but you have been
enjoying—”

“Because you are getting ill.”

“I am not.”

“You will if you don’t get a few
good hours of sleep yourself—and in a real bed.” He didn’t give her a chance to
voice a protest. “I’ll tell you what I shall do. If you promise to retire to
your bedroom this instant and settle into your bed for a few hours, I will pursue whatever bloody routine you have managed to plan out for me.”  

“It is only half past ten on a very
beautiful morning. I promise to go to bed tonight.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You go
now.”

“There are other things that I need
to see to today. The new stonemason will be—”

“Gibbs.”

“Aye, m’lord?”

“Tell the man we shall pay him his
day’s wages and then send him away until tomorrow.” Lyon turned back to her. “Anything else can wait or be handled by others.”

She stood for a moment, looking at
him. She must have been genuinely tired, he thought, for no argument rose to
her lips. At that instant, his physical shortcomings once again stabbed at him.
What he wouldn’t give to be able to walk Millicent to her bedroom right now, to
be able to care for her a little as she had been caring for him.

*****

Violet’s heart climbed into her
throat at the sight of Ned talking to Mr. Gibbs by the door to the servants’
hall.

He was holding his hat in one hand.
He had made an attempt to comb his blond hair and bind it at his neck. His
woolen coat was open and his broad chest was visible beneath it. She saw two of
the scullery maids giggle and cast flirtatious looks his way as they passed him
heading to the kitchen. In spite of herself, Vi felt her claws emerge.

While the Scotsman continued to
talk, Ned’s eyes scanned the room and paused when he saw her. Vi held her
breath, waiting for his reaction. She had cried her heart out last Saturday on
her way back from St. Albans. She had promised herself that she would not go
alone to Knebworth Village as long as he was still working there. She did not
want to see him or be left alone with him for a minute. She had learned an ugly
lesson, and she knew she was fortunate to have a respectable job and a bed to
sleep in after such a huge mistake. But now, with that engaging smile appearing
at the corners of his mouth, with those eyes seeing only her, Violet nearly
forgot her name, never mind the promises she had made to herself.

Mr. Gibbs looked over his shoulder,
following the direction of Ned’s gaze, and Violet hurriedly moved on through
the room. No one had made any announcement, but everyone at Melbury Hall knew
that the Highlander was to be the next steward. And this suited just about
everyone, including Vi. Mr. Gibbs was strict, but he had a sense of humor. He
was also obviously sweet on Mrs. Page, a feeling that the housekeeper appeared
to share. That in itself was a good sign that he was going to stay.

****

Millicent rolled over in the bed
and stared at the half-light that surrounded her. For a few moments she was
totally confused. The day, the hour, even how she had ended up in bed were a
mystery to her. And then she remembered: She had come to her room before noon
to rest for a couple of hours.

Whoever had lit the fire had
obviously done it hours ago, for the embers on the hearth held only a faint
reddish glow. She climbed out of bed, and the feel of the cold floor beneath
her bare feet awakened her completely. Lighting a taper from the embers, she
looked at the clock on the mantel. It was almost twelve. Midnight. But how could that be?

Millicent stood in the darkness,
listening. The house was quiet. It appeared that everyone was asleep. A sudden
thought made her reach for her wrap. Had anyone changed the dressing on the
burn on Lyon’s arm this afternoon? 

As she washed her face and rinsed
out her mouth, she glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. With her
tousled hair hanging loose around her shoulders, she looked terrifying enough
to frighten a ghost. She ran a hand impatiently through the mess and headed for
the door.

The corridor was dark. She would
just take a quick peek inside Lyon’s room to make certain he was asleep.
Passing Ohenewaa’s door, she recalled promising the older woman the night
before that she would stop to see her today for some ointments she was
preparing for Lyon. Millicent could not believe she had wasted an entire day in
bed.

She didn’t knock. Quietly pushing
the door open, she slipped inside Lyon’s room. By the light of the dying fire,
he looked to be asleep. She closed the door behind her and padded silently
across the floor.

“Did you sleep well?”

She was startled to hear his voice
and find his eyes open. He was watching her.

“Too well. I cannot believe how
long I slept. I had specifically asked Mrs. Page to send someone to awaken me
by early afternoon.”

“I ordered Mrs. Page not to allow a
single person to disturb you.”

“I see then that I was outranked.”
She smiled at him and looked down at his arm. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how
tired I was until I crawled between those sheets. Did anyone change the
dressing on your arm this afternoon?”

“No, I wouldn’t let them near me.”

“I see.” Millicent retrieved some
clean dressings and the bottle of ointment Ohenewaa had placed on the bedside
table last night. She sat carefully on the bed beside him. “So this means I
have not worn out my usefulness.”

“There is little chance of that.”

Perhaps it was the words or maybe
the way he said them, but Millicent felt a subtle warmth wash through her. She
gently lifted his arm from under the blankets and laid it on her lap. His
nightshirt had a wide sleeve. She started inspecting the wound.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Nothing to speak of.”

Her feet were bare and cold, so she
tucked them under her. The serenity of being here, of doing this for him,
filled her with a feeling she had never experienced. Perhaps it was the privacy
of the two of them as they were, while the quiet of the night surrounded them.
Millicent couldn’t explain it, but she felt happy and content. The blisters on
his arm looked clean, despite a couple of them having burst. She gently applied
some more of the ointment and started wrapping it again. “I expected you to be
asleep.”

“I tried, but I couldn’t. The witch
brought her potions in earlier tonight.” He motioned with his good hand toward
the window. Millicent saw the half dozen bottles crowding the tabletop.

“Did she give you any
instructions?”

“Of course. Don’t eat them or
inhale them. Only apply them. They are all the same thing. A new jar for each
night, she said.” 

“Did you have someone apply them
for you tonight?”

He gave her an incredulous look.
“The…whatever it is…is to be rubbed onto my skin. Just the idea of Gibbs or
Will or John spreading the stuff on me is revolting. Besides, I think Ohenewaa
is a fake anyway.”

“Why should you think that?”

“What kind of physician refuses to
say what is wrong with you and whether she can heal you or not? The woman spent
hours inspecting every mole on my body and still says nothing.”

Millicent rose from the bed and
walked over to the bottles of ointments. “She was not inspecting moles, and you
know it. And even if it was only for one night, you had some uninterrupted
rest.”

She picked up one of the bottles
and smelled it. There was something familiar and earthy about the scent. It was
like something she might have smelled in the woods.

“Did she tell you anything else?”

“Are you actually going to use it?”

She carried one of the bottles back
to him. “You don’t have to look so horrified. I am going to try some on this
same arm.” Before he could object, she resumed her previous position on the bed
and started rolling the nightshirt up as far as it could go.

She dipped her fingers in the
bottle. It was oily but not unpleasant.

“It feels cold.” She started
rubbing it gently on his arm, above and below the burn. Beneath her touch, as
she continued to spread the ointment, she could feel his skin begin to warm. “But it changes quickly. Do you feel it?”

He didn’t respond. She carefully
worked it into the skin, up to the shoulder.

Millicent looked into his face. “I'm
using only my fingertips, but I feel the heat of it seeping into my hands,
moving up my arms and through my body.” To prove her point, she dipped her
fingers into the jar again, but this time instead of his arm, she rubbed it on
the narrow span of his chest showing through the open collar of the nightshirt.
The muscles flexed and moved beneath her touch. “Do you feel it now?”

“I do.”

Leaning against him, she dipped her
hand into the jar again, but as she was going to return it to his arm, Lyon’s left hand reached across and took hold of her wrist.

“I want to feel it here,” he said,
bringing her fingers back to his chest.

Between the dancing shadows of the
room and the beard covering his features, she could see little of his
expression. His hand remained on top of hers, though, guiding as she rubbed his
chest in wider circles. His skin continued to warm beneath her touch, but
Millicent’s body began to burn. This was more than the fleeting sensuality of
touching his body. There was an intimacy and a silent awareness between them.
Feeling him react to the gentle caress of her fingers thrilled her.

“Why not close your eyes and let
this have its effect?”

“I prefer to watch you.”

Their gazes locked. Millicent
didn’t know what was happening to her, but she found herself being drawn
uncontrollably to him. She leaned on his chest, her fingers working a slow path up his neck. The memory of the kiss they had shared before filled her mind. Wordlessly, she
brushed her lips against his--once, softly, gently, and then again. His lips
were warm, inviting. Summoning her courage, she let her mouth linger a bit
longer. Her tongue hesitantly teased the seam of his lips. 

His good hand slipped around the
back of her head. Millicent felt his mouth open up beneath hers, drawing her
in. Enthralled with her position of control and by the curiosity of the heat
that was spreading through her, limb by limb, she deepened the kiss. Their
tongues danced and mated.

A hungry groan escaped Lyon’s lips, and his fingers delved and fisted in her hair. She answered and matched his
urgency with hers. She moved on top of him. Her hands held his face, she
threaded her fingers through his hair, and she was lost in the play of their
lips and tongues and the power of a kiss that continued on and on.

Though she had been married for
five years, she had never been kissed or ever kissed anyone like this.
Millicent realized that the joy of this one act exceeded by far the horrid
sexual encounters she had experienced with Wentworth.