Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (24 page)

“Gibbs and her ladyship both speak
highly of you, Jonah,” Lyon said after the initial introductions. “What do you
say we put our heads together about these properties?”

Together, the three of them
discussed Melbury Hall’s farms and lack of income. Throughout, he encouraged
the two men to be open in their thoughts on ways of improving things. Before long, the ex-slave was expressing himself without hesitation. 

 Jonah’s detailed assessment of the
present situation was clearly based on close scrutiny and thoughtful analysis. Lyon listened carefully as the bailiff spoke at length.

“There are tracts of land in the
east farms, m’lord,” he concluded, “that are surely capable of yielding many
good crops. But they lie fallow, and the farm buildings are tumbling down from
lack of use. The land is used only for sheep grazing. Even the dairy farm.
Makes no sense to me, begging your pardon. Wool prices are down. The squire was
partial to his horses, too, so we have too much grazing land here at the home
farm. Solgrave, the estate to the west of us, plants barley, rye, some oats,
and acres of wheat.”

When Jonah paused, Gibbs asked what
was stopping them from doing the same here. The bailiff told them of the lack
of people in the outer farms. All the Africans had previously lived in the
Grove, and it was not practical for workers to travel daily to work those
farms. But now, with Lady Aytoun’s project of building new cottages, the hope
was to plant those fields in the spring.

Lyon told them what he had heard of
new methods that were being used throughout the countryside. Agricultural
methods were changing, with progress being made using crop rotation, forage
crops, and new field design. For an hour and a half, they discussed better uses
of the soil and the land.

Finally, talk turned to the idea of
reorganizing the outer farms, leasing the land to families, and helping them
restore or build whatever dwellings or outbuildings were needed. By the time Jonah left the room, Lyon was confident that the man would do well. He also found
himself looking at Gibbs differently.

“I am quite impressed with how
suited you appear to be for the position of steward. Who would have thought
that such a dog could rise to such heights?”

The giant man scowled at the earl.

“I am serious, Gibbs. You have
established a workable relationship with this bailiff, who will be a great help
to you. You know the household. Already you have had enough time here to learn
your way around and get to know everyone. And as far as doing the job of
steward, you have helped Campbell enough times at Baronsford to handle
everything here.”

“Och, I wish I could say for sure,
m’lord. Men are born into these sorts of positions, I’m thinking. Perhaps yer
wife should be looking someplace else to fill the position. Do ye think she
might just be asking too much of me?”

“You are a muscle-brained ox, to be
certain, Gibbs,” Lyon snapped at him. “You have no more faith in yourself than
a stewed prune has. She is not asking you to sell your soul to the devil, man.
She is only offering you a position in the household. A position in which you
will excel. Speak up, you Highland ape. What is stopping you? Out with it.”

Lyon knew what his man was
thinking. For ten years they’d been inseparable. Where Lyon had gone, Gibbs had
gone as well. When he had taken a commission, Gibbs had joined to serve with
him. When his regiment had been dispatched to India to fight the Dutch, Gibbs
had been at his side. When he’d fought duels against any number of scoundrels,
Gibbs had faithfully served as his man. Now the Highlander was being offered a
position that would give him a place of his own, in a sense.

Gibbs’s dark brows were a straight
line when he finally looked up. “It has to do with responsibilities,
m’lord—responsibilities and loyalties. After all these years together, I just
cannot have ye thinking that I have forgotten what ye did for me.”

“I dragged your arse out of an
oyster house. That’s all.” Lyon shook his head in disbelief, but he remembered
the day very well. Wandering into an Edinburgh establishment on High Street on
King George’s birthday, Lyon had found a tall, slightly inebriated Highlander
refusing to drink to the monarch’s health unless the rest of the drunken mob
would drink to Bonny Prince Charlie’s. They’d been ready to stuff his
rebellious carcass into Mons Meg and fire him from the ramparts of Edinburgh Castle. “And that was over a decade ago. Do you know how many times you have
repaid me over the years for that day?” 

“Nay, m’lord. ‘Tis been a very fine
thing, serving in your house over the years. But I’ve ne’er had the chance to
repay ye. For as many years as I have been serving ye, I’ve been the envy of
every manservant from Baronsford to Bath. Ye have always treated me no less
than as an equal, and I have much to be grateful for on that score alone.”

Lyon expelled his breath in
frustration. “You are not leaving me, you deuced son of a horse thief. You
shall be put in charge of things and making a bloody difference.”

“Och, by the devil. If ye are
thinking—”

“I’m thinking that I shall be a
great deal harder on you if you don’t take yourself out of here right now and
tell my wife that you shall take the position she has offered you.” 

Gibbs glanced at the door and back
at Lyon. “If ye are certain, m’lord.”

“Get out.”

Lyon watched him go to the door and
open it. Before going, the Highlander threw a glance over his shoulder. “Thank
ye, m’lord. I’ll do ye and yer bride proud.”

“I know you will.”

******

With the door to the bedchamber
left open and a dozen candles burning brightly on every table and shelf,
Millicent tried to dispel all appearances of intimacy in the room as she
prepared herself for the task ahead. Following her instructions, the valets had
dressed Lyon in a nightshirt with wide sleeves and deposited him on the bed.

While John was still in the room,
Millicent applied the ointments to her husband’s right arm and changed the
dressing on his burn, which was healing beautifully. But the short, stocky
servant then asked to be dismissed, and Millicent was left alone to apply
Ohenewaa’s ointments to the rest of Lyon’s partially dressed body.

By the time she was finished
spreading the healer’s ointment on one of Lyon’s legs, her face was on fire,
and she was drenched with sweat.

“Why not just call in the bloody
household to chaperon us while you are doing this?”

She gave him a startled look. “I
don’t know what you mean.”

“Really?” He lifted his chin
challengingly. “You have been nervous since dinner when you thanked me for
Gibbs's deciding to accept your offer to make him steward.”

“You took me on your lap and kissed
me.”

“What is wrong with that?” he asked
with a wry smile.

“There were at least half a dozen
servants around, still serving the meal.”

“And?”

Millicent had been excited and
embarrassed and confused. He had simply ignored all of the shocked glances and
unsuccessfully hidden grins of the servers. Of course, the fact that she had
practically melted into him hadn’t helped either.

“And nothing!” she whispered,
dipping her fingers into the ointment and spreading it on his other leg.

Her long talk with Ohenewaa this
afternoon had opened Millicent’s eyes to the short-lived nature of her present
situation. On the first day of meeting with the dowager, she had demanded that
in the event of the earl’s recovery, a divorce would be uncontested. Now it
appeared that he would indeed recover, and perhaps speedily.

Millicent was no fool. She knew she
would never be an accepted member of the
ton
. As a young woman of
average looks with a fairly respectable lineage, she had been barely attractive
enough to suitors to secure a marriage to an abusive sugar plantation owner
with social aspirations. And in the years since, her looks and her luck had
only deteriorated. She didn't want to imagine how objectionable Lyon would find her as a wife once he was completely healed.

“You don’t need to do this if it
makes you uncomfortable.”

“I am not uncomfortable,” she
replied, meeting his amused gaze. She had made a bargain, and she was going to
fulfill her part of it. “This is only the beginning of these treatments. The
groom I sent to St. Albans was able to find several herbs Ohenewaa was looking
for. She has already promised to prepare another ointment for you tomorrow. And I shall need to have John or Will help me every day to exercise—”

“This is all a waste of time. I
have no bloody control of those limbs.”

“Today you have no control. But tomorrow…” She paused, having finished rubbing the ointment on his leg; she pulled the
blankets over him. “Tomorrow is a new day, with new surprises and greater
promises.”

He caught her wrist when she was
about to tuck the blanket around his chest. “That is what I have been doing for
all these months. Thinking of tomorrow. Knowing that nothing would change.
Certain as a man can be that I shall continue to be a pathetic cripple, stuck
in a chair for ten thousand tomorrows.”

“Well, I am determined to change
your mind on that, m’lord.”

“How? By becoming distant? By running away?”

“No, I am here.” She would help
him, but she had to protect herself—and her heart. But how could she admit this
to him? “I shall be here whenever you need me.”

“Very well. Then spend the night
here with me. In my bed, beside me.”

“I don’t see that—”

“Last night was the only restful
night I have had in months. I want you here. I need you here.”

*****

He had tipped his hat to her and
whispered good morning. He had smiled at her when he’d entered the servant's
hall tonight. Violet didn’t see anything wrong with serving Ned Cranch the late
supper. Clearly he had found his manners once again, and Vi liked the way he
was treating her.

Violet topped his cup of ale and
sat across the table, watching his large, callused hands handle the food on his
plate. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the feel of those hands on
her body. She looked up at his wide chest and thought of the crisp, curly hairs
and the feel of them rubbing against her breasts. And that mouth biting and
suckling her. She must have made a sound, for Ned’s green eyes lifted from his
food and met hers.

“Don’t let yer thinking wander too
far south, lassie, or I’ll be taking you down by the stables. If we make it
that far.”

Violet blushed with embarrassment
and stared down at the deep grooves in the dining table. He was handsome and
charming and the only lover she had ever had. But at the same time she needed
to force herself to remember that he was mean and rough and had not thought twice
about kicking her out of his room at that tavern in St. Albans. Violet knew she
had to force herself to behave coyly, to remain cool and reserved, the way Mrs.
Page did with Mr. Gibbs. It definitely would not do to drool after Ned whenever
he came near her.   

“Who that one think she is, the
bloody Queen of Sheba?” 

Immediately annoyed with his tone,
Violet followed the direction of Ned’s gaze and saw Will, the lanky valet to
the earl, holding a door open while Ohenewaa carried in a tray. The woman definitely
had the look of a queen. 

“She is a great healer.”

“What the de’il does that mean?
She’s a witch?”

“No,” she snapped at him. “That’s
Ohenewaa. She’s quite knowledgeable about herbs and medicines. She was a slave
to an English doctor for some forty years before Lady Aytoun brought her here.
The women here at the Hall say she probably taught that doctor more about
healing than she learned.”

Violet watched with great
admiration as the old woman glided through the room and disappeared into the
kitchens with Long Will on her heels.

“The stories they tell about her
ability to heal things are so impressive. Most of the black folk here knew her
from the—”

“Ain’t your mistress afraid of
letting her near the food? I’ve heard stories about them witch doctors in the
sugar islands. When they’re not stirring up trouble with the slaves, they’re
poisoning the masters.” He shoved his half-eaten meal away from him. “What if
this one decides to poison us all with one of her brews?”  

“That’s a horrible thing to say.”
Violet frowned at him. “Everyone trusts Ohenewaa. She wouldn’t do anything like
that. And that includes my mistress.”

He snorted in disbelief and stabbed
at a big chunk of meat on the plate.

Feeling compelled to defend
Ohenewaa, Violet leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “Lady Aytoun bought
her at an auction. That old woman was brought here in nothing more than rags.”

“Aye? So what?”

“Well, her ladyship values
Ohenewaa’s opinion more than those of all those fancy doctors that have seen to
his lordship since his accident. More than that doctor who came out from London. That’s what I call trust.”

“How’s that? That woman is looking
after the earl?”

Vi nodded exultantly. “None of
those other physicians is even allowed to come here anymore. Her medicines are
the only thing the earl takes. What she says goes. The mistress has put her
husband’s life in this woman’s hands. That should tell you how much she values
Ohenewaa.”

The mattress shifted slightly
beneath their weight, and Millicent awoke with a start. Lying on her stomach at
the very edge of the bed, she pushed up on her elbows and watched him. While
still asleep, Lyon was trying to roll onto his side. She considered how she
could help without waking him up. Before her sluggish mind could sort out a
plan, though, he whispered something under his breath and rolled successfully
onto his right side.