Highland Temptation (2 page)

Emilia's eyes instantly slammed shut, and she looked away.

Colin jerked back as if he'd been punched in the chest. He gasped for breath. Her
father
had done this to her? He'd known Pinfield was an ass but he'd never really considered the man would have the capacity to hurt a woman like this, and his own
daughter.

Bloody hell. He realized he was squeezing her hand too tightly, and he released her instantly and sucked in a deep gulp of air. He couldn't lose his mind right now. He needed to be calm. To help her as much as possible.

The door opened, and Lady Claire hurried in—Major Campbell, Ross, and McLeod at her heels.

Lady Claire sat on Lady Emilia's other side. “Oh, Lady Emilia, my dear,” she exclaimed, and Colin remembered that the two ladies were acquaintances—Lady Emilia didn't go out into society much at all, but she'd been introduced to Claire on one of those rare forays. “What happened?”

Colin glanced meaningfully at Emilia's back, and Claire followed his gaze, then frowned.

“I can't…” Sobs again racked Emilia's slight body. “I can't say.”

“All right, that's fine.” Claire stroked Emilia's arm. “You don't need to. But I must take a look at your wounds and dress them.”

Emilia gazed at Claire, her eyes streaming. “It is true, then?”

“What?” Claire asked.

“They say you're as skilled as any doctor. That it's an embarrassment to the
ton
that a high-bred lady would pursue such a profession. But I don't find it embarrassing…I think it's fascinating.” Her voice sounded calmer now, and curious, which was about a thousand steps in the right direction, Colin thought.

Claire laughed, but it was tight and false-sounding. “No, I am no doctor, but I live among rough Scots, and they manage to get themselves into far more trouble than they ought. I had a choice—either hire a physician to live full-time with us or learn basic medical procedures myself. It is an interest I've always had, but I was never formally trained.”

“We trust her implicitly, though,” the major said with a fond look at his wife. “Unless you require surgery, Claire will ensure your wounds heal well, and without festering.”

“ 'Tis true,” Colin added, trying to reassure Emilia that she was in good hands. “Lady Claire has doctored my wounds more than once, and each time I've recovered without incident.”

Emilia turned to look at him, and the level of trust in her gaze was surely far more than Colin deserved. “Really?”

“Aye,” he said solemnly, his eyes locked on hers.

“All right, then.”

“Bring me my basket, if you please, Colin,” Claire said, “and set some water to heating in the kitchen. And, Rob, she looks about my size. Would you mind fetching me a clean nightgown and my blue robe for her? And then wait for me to call you back in.”

The major knelt on the floor in front of Emilia. “Milady, I am Sir Robert Campbell, the leader of the Highland Knights.”

“Yes…I remember,” Emilia whispered.

“Before we leave you, please tell me if it's possible you were followed,” the major said. “Is it possible that whoever did this to you might be lurking outside?”

She shook her head. “No one knows I'm here. I…slipped out without anyone seeing me, and I came alone.”

Colin ground his teeth. She'd walked all the way from Mayfair in the middle of the night? Thank God she hadn't been accosted.

“Are you sure?” the major asked.

“Yes. I'm sure.”

“Verra well.” The major rose and glanced at the other three men before turning to the door, a silent command for them to follow him out into the corridor.

Colin stood hesitantly and went to the cabinet where Lady Claire stored her medical supplies. He fetched her basket and set it at her side. Then he cast a lingering gaze at Emilia. He really didn't want to leave her.

But he shouldn't be here, either. She was a young, unmarried English lady. It was already wildly inappropriate that he'd been alone with her for as long as he had while Ross and McLeod had fetched Claire and the major.

Colin yanked himself into the corridor behind the other men, and the major closed the door behind them.

“Did she say anything about what happened to her?” McLeod asked.

“Aye.” Colin swallowed hard. “She said…She said it was her father who hurt her. Pinfield.”

Ross's and McLeod's expressions turned stony. The major blew out a breath. “Christ. Did she say anything else?”

“Nay. Nothing.”

The men gazed at one another, and Colin knew they were wondering the same thing as he was. What had prompted Pinfield to do this? Was it the first time, or had he made a habit of abusing his only child?

The major gritted his teeth. “I'll get the water to heating, and the clothes. McLeod and Ross, go outside to check the perimeter, and be thorough about it. Stirling, you stay and watch the door. Remain close by in case the women need anything.”

Colin nodded, relieved. The idea of going outside or to the kitchen and away from this door, leaving Emilia open for attack, hadn't sat well with him. He watched the major, Ross, and McLeod stride away. Folding his arms across his chest, Colin braced his legs and stood guard over the drawing room door.

Emilia was terrified. Not because of her injuries, but because of what she'd done.

She'd left. She'd finally run away.

But she was certain—especially now, especially with the information she had—that her father would come after her. And Lord only knew what he'd do to her when he found her. Or what he'd do to these kind people who had promised to help her.

He'd kill them all. She should hate herself for putting Sir Colin and the others in danger. She'd admired the Highland Knights for a long time now, Sir Colin in particular. He was quiet and stoic, strong and self-assured. Those adjectives might describe an automaton, but Colin was anything but. There was an edge to him, a rawness in his gaze that showed her he was human, perhaps more human than anyone she'd ever known.

She didn't hate herself—she couldn't, because she was acquainted with all the Highland Knights from their months of guarding her father, and she trusted them. Not only to take care of themselves when faced with danger, but to protect her as well.

Still, she knew her father. He was the most insidious, conniving person in the world, as far as she was concerned. He could fool anyone.

Sir Colin had left the room, but she sensed that he was close. He'd said she was safe now, and he wasn't one to renege on his promises. He would ensure her safety for as long as he could.

“You're bleeding,” Lady Claire said with a gentle touch to Emilia's waist. Emilia nodded.

“May I remove your bodice and take a look?”

Emilia nodded again. She knew it was bad. It hurt terribly, and the blood was sticking the fabric of her dress to her raw skin like glue.

She sat as forward as she possibly could on the edge of the sofa while Lady Claire undid the hidden buttons at her side—Emilia was surprised she'd managed them at all. She'd been in such a state when she'd donned the dress, shaking so hard, she'd hardly been able to slip the buttons through their holes.

Claire gently unwrapped her dress until Emilia's torso was completely bare. She wasn't wearing stays or a petticoat or even a shift. She hadn't thought about it until now, when she was naked before someone who wasn't her lady's maid. Heat suffused her face and chest, but it was quickly overtaken by pain as Claire tugged her dress from the raw flesh of her back.

Claire didn't gasp or suck in a breath, for which Emilia was thankful. Instead she simply asked, “You were whipped?”

“Yes.” Emilia said nothing more, for what else was there to say?

“You have scars. This has happened before.” Claire's words were flat. Emotionless.

“Yes.”

“I have some salve, which should soothe the pain,” Claire said. “Then I'll wrap it. We'll change the bandages once a day and add medicine until the wounds have healed.”

Emilia nodded.

“You can sit like this while I work, or lie on your stomach. Whichever you prefer.”

“This will do.”

A few minutes later, Sir Robert brought in some warm water. She only remembered him vaguely, because he hadn't guarded her father as much as the other men had. But she knew who he was. The Highland Knights referred to him as “the major,” which was in honor of his military rank, though he was no longer in the army. He had been a military hero and had married Lady Claire, an earl's daughter, a few years ago. From the way the other Knights spoke of him, he was a man to be respected and admired.

Emilia leaned forward, her arms wrapped around her chest, and breathed carefully, refusing to allow herself to whimper as Claire tended to her. Claire worked briskly but meticulously, first using warm water and a soft cloth to clean the wounds, then rubbing a soothing cream over them. Using a sturdy roll of wide linen, she bade Emilia to stand and wrapped the linen around her torso several times. Finally, Claire helped Emilia into the nightgown the major had left with Sir Colin at the door. The nightgown fit her perfectly, and she realized that she and Lady Claire were nearly the same size.

“There now.” Claire threaded Emilia's arms into a robe made of soft blue muslin before leading her back to the sofa and sitting her down. Then, smiling, she knelt before Emilia and cleaned her face with a warm, damp cloth. When she was finished, she asked, “Better?” and Emilia nodded, thankful the other woman had remained quiet throughout the ordeal. Emilia felt less out of control now, calmer. But she didn't want to talk. She wasn't ready.

“I'll be right back.” Claire rose and went to the door, and Emilia heard her speaking in low tones to the men outside. She heard only snippets of their quiet conversation. Phrases like “mustn't press her” and “exhausted” and “be gentle.”

Emilia waited, staring down at her hands clasped in her lap, the knuckles white. After a few moments, Claire returned, followed by Sir Colin and the major. Sir Colin sat beside Emilia as he had before, his presence solid and calm, and she relaxed fractionally.

“Can you tell us what happened, milady?” the major asked.

She shook her head. “No…please, I…can't.”

Eventually, she'd probably need to tell these people about what her father had done—was doing. But not tonight. Not yet. She was too raw, emotionally and physically. She hoped they would understand.

The major sighed. “All right.”

“You will stay here with us tonight,” Sir Colin said. “You'll be safe here.”

She nodded, almost smiling. Because where else did he think she could go?

“We can give her the corner room.”

“Aye,” the major agreed.

“You'll feel better after some sleep,” Claire said reassuringly.

“What time is it?” Emilia asked. She had no idea. The whole night was a blur.

“It's after two,” Claire said.

Emilia blinked, surprised at the lateness of the hour.

“Put your arm around me and I'll help you up.”

She did as Sir Colin instructed, and he bore most of her weight as they trudged upstairs to the bedchamber at the end of the corridor. The room was large and simple, with its own sofa situated across from a narrow bed.

“I…” Emilia swallowed hard against the panic that welled in her throat. She looked desperately at Sir Colin. “Am I to sleep here alone?”

“Aye,” he said. “But it'll be all right. We'll have men posted at all the entrances and exits for the rest of the night. You'll be safe.”

She started trembling as he led her to the bed. She knew how to sleep on her stomach after one of her father's beatings, but here alone in this cold, foreign place, with no idea of what tomorrow might bring…

She shook harder. Her breaths grew short and choppy, and though she clenched her fists, there was no way to hide her shudder.

Sir Colin noticed it first. He sat beside her at the edge of the bed, somehow tucking her against his body. “There now,” he soothed. “It'll be all right. I promise, lass. It'll be all right.”

Lass.
No one had ever called her that before. It reminded her of Sir Colin's Scottishness, and for the first time tonight, she focused on his kilt tartan, the pattern consisting of blocks of light reds and grays with a thin yellow stripe. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched the wool over his thigh. It was warm and soft, and she rested her hand there.

Sir Colin froze for a moment, then his arm tightened around her.

“Will you…” She swallowed, trying to will away the huskiness of her voice and get her breath under control. “Stay with me? Please?”

She sensed more than saw him glance at Lady Claire and the major. After a short pause, he said, “Aye, of course.”

She exhaled in relief, her chest loosening almost instantly, finally allowing her lungs to take their fill of air.

Lady Claire cleared her throat. “You will sleep on the sofa, Colin. I don't want you…er…disturbing my patient's injuries.”

“Aye,” Sir Colin said mildly.

Emilia didn't mind. Sir Colin would be close. She'd lie on her side, and when she opened her eyes, she'd see him and know she was safe.

“Get some rest, milady,” the major said. “We'll speak more in the morning.”

She nodded tightly. She didn't want to think of the morning, of the impossibility of the future.

“I'll fetch you a plaid, Colin.” Claire exited and returned mere seconds later with a thick plaid, which she fashioned into a bed of sorts on the sofa.

Sir Colin thanked her, and Lady Claire and the major left, closing the door behind them. Emilia and Sir Colin were alone again. She looked up at him, giving him a tentative smile. “Thank you for staying with me.”