Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (26 page)

“As I was saying, Mr. Hyde, her
ladyship is relying on her more and more. I doubt any offer of money would
convince Lady Aytoun to part with the slave.” Ned Cranch lowered his voice and
leaned confidentially toward the plantation owner. “But as I have been looking
about the place, I’ve noticed that no one watches her. And she does have a
routine.”

“And what is that?”

“The woman leaves the house about dawn and roams the deer park in the direction of Solgrave, collecting things in this large
basket she hangs from her neck. She gets back to Melbury Hall about the time
the kitchen is ready to send up breakfast for the earl.”

“How convenient.” Hyde felt the
twinges of the pain between his ribs but tried to ignore them.

“If ye want, Mr. Hyde, I could just
snatch her some morning when she’s in the woods.” Ned glanced at the drawn
shade and lowered his voice to a whisper. “In fact, knowing ye’re willing to
make it worth my while, I could more easily cut her throat and make it look
like she was attacked by some passing gypsy or tinker, maybe. Ye just say the
word, sir.”  

“I will keep that under advisement,
Mr. Cranch. Meanwhile, I have other plans in the works that might settle the
matter once and for all.”  Hyde rubbed his chest as the pain started to
increase. “But that is good thinking on your part. Right now, you continue to
keep watch.” He had difficulty lifting his arm enough to toss the man a bag of
coins. Cranch had no problem catching it, though.

“Will ye be coming yerself or
sending Mr. Platt next time?”

“We’ll let you know.” Hyde weakly
waved toward the carriage door, motioning to the man to get out. He did not
like anyone seeing him when he was writhing in pain. He refused for others to
see the hold Ohenewaa had on him.

“Thankee, sir.”

Ned Cranch stepped out of the
carriage into the dark. As soon as the door closed, Hyde tore at his collar and
cravat. He couldn’t breathe. The pain scorched his chest with the same blazing
heat that his bailiffs had used to brand his slaves’ flesh.

Hyde had no voice or strength left
at that moment or he would have called Ned Cranch back and asked him to go
ahead and cut the woman’s throat. If he only knew that was a sure way to end the
she-devil’s curse.

“You are no more than a bloody
bramble weed, Gibbs,” Lyon complained as the new steward entered the library.

“Thank you, m’lord.”

“Do you not realize that in taking
the position of steward, you are supposed to be freeing more of her time?
Instead, you’re tying her up in knots.”

“She’s not one to take what she
sees as her duty lightly, sir.” The Highlander sat down at the writing table
with a grace that belied his size. Taking out his pens and ink, he prepared
himself to write the correspondence Lyon had wished to dictate this morning.
“I’ve been trying to ease her ladyship’s burden.”

For three days Millicent had been
running in every direction. With the exception of brief glimpses of her when
breakfast and dinner were served, or when she was overlooking some devilish new
concoction Ohenewaa had devised for Lyon’s legs and arm, or when one of the
valets was bending him this way and that, she had been difficult to find.

Worse, though, was the matter of
her failing to come to his bed again at night. She was extremely tired, or she
had to stay up late answering letters, or some such thing. Any excuse she could think of had successfully kept her from being alone with him for any length
of time.

It couldn’t go on, Lyon thought. He missed her. He missed everything that they shared, from the verbal
skirmishes to the kisses that set his blood boiling in his veins. More than
once Lyon had cursed himself for whatever it was that had happened that night
he’d touched her in his sleep. That was the cause of all of this, he was sure. But staying away from her was not giving him any answers, either, and he needed to change that.

The papers being shuffled on the
desk drew Lyon’s attention back to Gibbs. The man looked positively dejected. 

“Bloody hell, Gibbs. She’s not been
blaming her busy schedule on you.”

“I’m not surprised, m’lord.”

“In fact, she’s been singing your
praises.”

“’Tis like her ladyship to do that,
m’lord. She’s very generous with her compliments.” 

“Where is she this morning?” Lyon asked impatiently.

“She is looking over what Cook
planned to serve Reverend and Mrs. Trimble tomorrow.”

“How long will she be in with him?”

“Not too—” Gibbs stopped himself.
“It could take all morning, depending on how involved Lady Aytoun wishes to be
with the preparations. I’m thinking that she wants this visit to go well,
m’lord.”

“Is impressing some country cleric
and his wife so bloody important?"

“Mrs. Trimble’s lame, sir, and
doesn’t leave the rectory too often. The woman is making the effort just to
meet your lordship.”

Lyon snorted. “I don’t suppose you
would know where your mistress is going after her discussions with Cook.”

“Aye, m’lord. The schoolmaster who
generally comes out to Melbury Hall on Thursday afternoons is unwell,
apparently. Whenever that happens, her ladyship tries to take over the lessons
of the older children and some of the workers.” Gibbs paused, and then
immediately added, “Just so you should know, on occasion she also works with
some of the wee ones on Friday mornings.”

“There are children here?” Lyon asked in astonishment.

“Aye, m’lord. Black and white and running about everywhere. They’re mostly the children of those working on
the farms, but a few belong to the Hall.”

“Why don’t they go to school in the
village? What is it…Knebworth?”

“From what I hear, they started
teaching the wee ones here back in the days of that cur Wentworth. Reverend
Trimble and the schoolmaster, a Scot named Cunningham, rode out to hold
classes. Her ladyship wanted to continue with reading and writing and the
basics of arithmetic. Some of these folks are far past school age, but this is
the first opportunity that they’ve had, m’lord. Most of the younger ones go
into Knebworth village for their schooling, but they all still look forward to
this gathering at the Hall.”

“Take me there.” At Gibbs’s
surprised expression, Lyon gestured impatiently at the steward. “After we are
done with these letters, I want you to arrange it so that I am taken to
wherever my wife happens to be. Starting today, I wish to keep Millicent’s
company in her daily endeavors.”

*****

Millicent was leaning over the
shoulder of one of the women and guiding her hand on the slate when she heard
the scrape of benches and surprised murmurs. When she looked up, everyone was
on their feet and staring at the door. Straightening, she was shocked to see
the valets carefully setting Lord Aytoun down just inside the door of the
servants’ hall.

“M’lord,” she greeted him, startled
by his appearance. She started around the table toward him.

“Disregard my presence here,” he
said to the group, motioning with his good hand. “Sit and continue.”

Stunned, no one moved. Millicent
found both valets were avoiding her eyes and instead staring at the floor.

“What are you doing here, m’lord?”
she whispered when she reached his side.

“I’ve come to see you.”

“You might have sent someone for
me. If you could give me a moment, I can dismiss these people and—”

“No.” He took hold of her wrist
before she could step away. “I should prefer to watch you teach. I have missed
your company, but at the same time I understand about your responsibilities. So
go about your work, and I’ll sit quietly here. I promise to make no more
interruptions.”

Millicent stared at him,
open-mouthed. There was no way she could object. “Very well, m’lord. As you
wish.”

She withdrew her wrist gently and
tried to appear composed as she turned back to her students. At her encouraging
nod, all but Moses sat down. The giant watchman continued to stare uneasily at Lyon.

“Where were we?” she asked of the
group.

Several mumbled hushed comments
about being finished with their writing exercises. It was time to move on to
reading. Millicent grouped the students in twos and threes and, giving a Bible to each group, assigned a passage for each, telling them to alternate reading every three
lines. 

Moses was still standing when she
reached him, and she found the older man was clearly apprehensive. He also had
no partner.

The idea came to Millicent
unexpectedly, and she voiced it before she had a chance even to consider how
preposterous it was.

“Lord Aytoun, would you consider
acting as Moses’s reading partner?”

Her question silenced the room.
Everyone, Millicent included, was holding their breath. Lyon’s gaze moved from
Millicent to Moses.

“I should be delighted.”

Millicent felt a knot loosen in the
back of her throat. She could almost taste the saltiness of the tears that were
about to escape. Lyon Pennington continued to surprise her at every turn.

Lyon gave a quiet order to his men,
and she hurried to Moses’s side to make room for the earl’s chair. The black
man appeared as surprised as she was.

“All will be well, Moses,” she
whispered to him.

No sooner had the earl’s chair been
positioned at the table than Lyon looked up at the older man.

“I understand you have an injured
dog. How is it faring?”

“Better, m’lord.”

“Did they take off the leg?”

“Nay, m’lord.”

“Good. They didn’t take off mine,
either.”

Moses’s dark gaze fixed on Lyon’s legs.

“Before we start to read, I want
you to tell me about it,” the earl said, casting a glance at Millicent. “That
is, if the mistress does not object.”

“Not at all, m’lord,” she replied
with a smile as Moses sat down.

“Anything else I can do for ye,
m’lord?”

The curtains were drawn. All the
candles but the one next to the bed had been snuffed out. The fire on the
hearth had been tended. Lyon had changed into his nightshirt, and
Ohenewaa—escorted by Millicent—had come and gone. This looked too much like the
situation he had been left with for three nights in a row. John would retire
and no one would disturb him until morning.
B
loody hell
.

“Where is her ladyship now?” Lyon asked the valet. 

“I don’t know, m’lord. Sleeping, I
should guess.” 

“Go find her.”

“M’lord?”

“Find her and tell her I need to
see her.”

With eyebrows raised, John started
for the door.

“Wait.”

The short, round man turned and
looked at his master.

“Tell her there is an emergency.
Tell her…tell her I’ve fallen from the bed. On my bad arm.  Tell her I am back
in bed but in severe pain.”

John gaped at the earl, clearly
uncomfortable about carrying such a message. “Perhaps I should get Mr. Gibbs
for this, m’lord. If I—”

“I am telling you to do it. And don’t fret so. I shall take full responsibility for the outcome. Wait! Whatever orders she
gives—sending for doctors or anything else—it is your duty to make sure nothing
is done.”

The valet scratched his head and
continued to stand by the door. “Can I say ye cut yer hand or burned yerself
again, m’lord? Falling on that arm—”

“Do as I say, you cowardly ape.” He
gave his man a reassuring nod. “I shan’t make her suffer too long. I
promise.”     

When the valet left the room, Lyon pushed himself closer to the edge of the bed. He wanted her within his reach when she
came to check on him. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted something as
much as he wanted Millicent here right now. Spending the day with her had been
fine. Lyon realized he had been more content than he had felt in months
observing the many aspects of her involvement at Melbury Hall. This household
was indeed like a great family, and Millicent sailed about like some queen
mother, tending to all that needed to be done. 

Lyon adjusted a pillow behind his
neck. This had also been the first day since the accident that he had felt
nearly whole. He’d had no time to regret what was lost or who had wronged him.
Instead, watching his wife, he had been filled with the simple desire to touch
her. And that was what he intended to do now, even if it meant tricking her.

Lyon heard Millicent’s urgent voice
in the corridor, and he pulled the blanket over his right arm. A moment later
the door of his bedroom banged open and she came quickly across the floor to
him. Her hair was flying wildly about her.

“Light those candles,” she ordered
John, who had paused by the open doorway. “Send Ohenewaa here and tell Gibbs to
send a rider to St. Albans for a surgeon.” She leaned over him and carefully
lifted the covers off him. “Are you in great pain?”

Lyon wrapped his good arm around
her waist and held her against him. “You can leave now, John. Assure everyone
that I need nothing else.”

The valet immediately closed the
door, and Millicent turned to him sharply.

“How can you say that when you
might have broken something?” Without waiting for an answer, she gingerly
pushed the sleeve of the nightshirt up to his shoulder and started feeling his
bare arm with her fingers. “Where does it hurt?”

“Nowhere,” he said, admiring her as
she continued to lean over him. She was dressed in her nightdress and a robe
that she had obviously not had time to tie at the waist. He stroked her back
with his hand.

“I cannot tell what is wrong.” She
glanced toward the door. “Where is Ohenewaa?”   

“She is not coming.”

“What do you mean?” Millicent tried
to pull away, but Lyon tightened his hold around her.