Lessons in Loving a Laird (10 page)

“Those are the articles of your extended apprenticeship, the ones that Hartopp drew up when I took you over as my charge. As you can see by the lack of stamp, I never had the articles validated with the parish overseers.” He took a deep breath. “I know how much you desire your independence, so take it. Your freedom is my gift to you. Upon your twenty-first birthday, you are both free to go.”

Free.
It was a word she had wanted to hear all of her life. In a matter of days, she would become her own woman. She could go wherever she liked, work wherever she liked, do whatever she liked. She held in her hands a ticket to be free, and not just her, but Willow, too. It should have been the happiest moment of her life. If it were not for that other word.
Go.

“Of course,” he hastened to add, “it is my wish that you remain here at Ballencrieff. I would have you stay on … as an appropriately paid factor. Goodness knows you’ve earned it. And Willow, too. She has shown herself to be an excellent nursemaid for Eric. And because…” He swallowed hard. “Because I don’t want to live without you.”

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say he loved her. Was it because he didn’t? Or because he knew loving her to be futile?

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She never had problems speaking her mind—until now. She longed to say the words that she felt, but like him, she could not express it. Though she had no doubt that he cared for her, her love would not be enough for a man like him. He needed a wife with money, prestige, and enviable beauty. And these things she could not offer him.

She had to let him go. She had to let him build a life with Lady Violet. He had given her her freedom. Now she had to give him his.

But God help her, she couldn’t. She had lost too many people she loved. She was not about to give up another.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come,” he said in exasperation.

Bannerman opened the door. “Excuse me, sir. But the ladies have descended for dinner. They’re in the drawing room, awaiting your company.”

“Very well. Do me a favor, Bannerman. Take Dexter up to my room, will you?”

“Certainly, sir.” Although Bannerman did not appreciate animals of the four-legged kind, he performed his requested duty with aplomb.

Conall held out his hand to her. “Let’s go in to dinner.”

Shona looked at his hand. It pained her to think that would be the only way he could offer her his hand.

She turned away, unwilling to face the pain any longer. She had always been so attuned to the suffering of others, and would swiftly come to another’s rescue. Now it was her own heart that was screaming for rescue. She had to do something.

And when her gaze landed on the book upon his desk, something snapped into her mind. It was a desperate idea … but then again, this was a time of desperation. Time was a noose around her neck.

“No. Thank ye. I’ve no wish to dine tonight. I want to share the good news with Willow. Ye go on in.”

It took all the courage she had to look into his eyes. And then he bent over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

How wonderful was that kiss! Chaste as it was, she’d have taken that over losing him forever. Even after the door closed behind him, the memory of that kiss was imprinted there upon her face.

Until a tear washed it away.

She wedged the book under her arm before dashing upstairs.

SIXTEEN

“You’re not eating, sir. Is the dinner not to your liking?”

Conall glanced up at Lady Violet. Worry marred her otherwise beautiful features.

“Forgive me,” he said as he set down the fork beside the untouched plate of roasted lamb. “I seem to be off my food tonight.”

“I hope you are not unwell.”

His eyes darted to the empty seat beside the duchess where Shona would have sat. “Not at all, Lady Violet. Just a trifle distracted. Thank you for your concern.” He decided to change the subject. “And you? Have you had any more discomfiture?”

“No, sir. Thank you. A touch queasy this morning, but it has since left me in peace.”

Suddenly, there was a commotion outside the dining room. Raised voices warred with hushed voices. Finally, Bannerman opened the door and shut it quickly behind him.

“What’s happening, Bannerman?”

“Forgive me, sir, but Miss Willow is outside and she is most insistent on seeing you.”

“Bannerman, I’ve told you before. You are never to censor Miss Willow. While she cares for my son, she is allowed full and immediate access to my attention. Let her in this instant.”

“Yes, sir.” Bannerman opened the door, and Willow ran in out of breath.

Immediately, Conall became alarmed. “Willow, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Shona, sir. She’s fallen doon. I think she might be hurt!”

He bolted out of his chair. “Where is she?”

“In the garden. Come quickly!”

He ran out of the dining room without so much as a by-your-leave. “Where’s Eric?” he called out to her as she ran behind him.

“In the nursery. Mrs. Docherty’s looking after him.”

He sped to the rear of the house and threw open the French doors. Darkness hid all but the flagstone walk along the middle of the square knot garden. The tall bushes and hedgerows surrounding it were only silhouettes in the twilight sky.

“Where is she?”

Willow skidded up behind him. “Over there,” she panted. “Behind the rhododendrons.”

Conall ran down the steps and across the walk. The gloaming cast the ground in shadow, but he could just make out a long form lying upon the far garden path.

“Shona!” Conall flew to the form.

Shona raised herself up on her hands. “I’m aright.”

He knelt on the ground beside her, and took her in his arms. “What happened?”

Willow came up behind him. “We were oot here taking a walk. Next thing I know, doon she went.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked her.

“I’m no’ sure. I think it’s my foot. I canna stand up.”

Willow clutched the mantle tighter around her chest. “Poor, brave thing. She was screaming in agony a moment ago.”

Concern clouded his features. “Let’s get you inside. I want a proper look at you.”

He lifted her effortlessly in his arms. Swiftly, he walked back up the garden path and up the stairs to the house.

In a trice, he had negotiated through the house to the drawing room. Willow opened the door for them.

Gingerly, he laid her down on the settee by the fire. Shona grimaced as he did so.

“Which foot is hurt?”

“The right one,” she said.

He sat down beside her feet. He wrapped his hand under her calf and raised her foot in the air. Gently, he slid off her slipper. Shona groaned in discomfort.

He laid her stockinged foot upon his muscled thigh. “Is there any numbness in your toes?”

She shook her head.

“That’s good. There doesn’t seem to be any deformity in the ankle … most likely, you haven’t broken it. Tell me if this pains you.”

He pressed the ball of his thumb upon the arch of her foot.

“Ouch! Dammit, Conall!”

He cracked a smile. “Sorry. What about this?” Between his thumb and forefinger, he gently squeezed the hollows around her ankle.

“Gah!” She whacked him on the shoulder. “Are ye doing this on purpose?”

“Ow,” he exclaimed. “You’re not supposed to strike your doctor.”

“Then stop torturing me!”

He smiled. “All right. One more examination. I’m going to move your foot to ascertain if there really is anything broken. Try not to hit me as I do this.”

He lifted her leg up, and slowly moved her foot up and down. Shona groaned and bit her lip.

“Right. It seems you have sprained your ankle.”

“Before or after you jostled it aboot just now?”

He shook his head. “Pity you didn’t sprain your tongue.”

She hit him again, prompting a chuckle from Conall.

“All right. Let’s have a look at the skin. Take off your stocking.”

“Ye do it. Ye’ve done it before.”

He cast a sidewise glance at her. “Shona, behave yourself!”

“It pains me to bend that far. Go on. Have a heart.”

He shook his head. “Er, Willow? Could you tear Bannerman away from his duties and tell him to fetch me some bandages?”

“Straightaway, sir,” she promised before sprinting out of the room.

“Right. Let’s have a closer look at that ankle, shall we?” Conall slipped Shona’s skirt and petticoat up to her knee. His smooth hand slid up her leg, enjoying the feel of the firm contours. Midway up her thigh, her stockings ended, leaving exposed the baby-soft skin of her upper thigh. He couldn’t help himself. His fingertips drew a lazy circle around her inner thigh, making her close her eyes in remembered ecstasy. He played with the ribbon garter holding up her stocking. With just one hand, he deftly unbuttoned it. Shona sighed as he trailed the tips of his fingers along her skin just above the stocking—all the way around her thigh. Her skin was so sweet, so smooth, that the touch of it sent desire rushing down to his cock.

He could still remember the sweet smell of her virginal musk, and how copious her desire for him had been. Between her legs, all had been warmth. The pink folds of her inner womanhood were plump on his tongue and tight around his finger. Many times he had relived that moment in the tollhouse, when he introduced her to a new form of pleasure. How he yearned to teach her more, and to bring her to fulfillment by joining his body to hers. And giving his penis the thrill that his fingers had enjoyed.

He curled his fingers over the top of the cotton stocking and pulled the fabric down. His knuckles stroked the skin down her knee, and then rolled the stocking all the way to her ankle.

The door opened and the duchess walked in. “Ballencrieff! What is the meaning of this?”

Conall, jolted out of his reverie, looked down at what the duchess saw. Shona was reclined upon the settee, the hem of her dress to her knee. Her calf was exposed, and her stocking was curled around her ankle, in his hand.

He faced the duchess. “I am in the process of examining Miss Shona’s ankle, which has just suffered a very bad sprain. To what are you referring, Your Grace?”

“Ballencrieff, surely you can see the impropriety of examining a single woman’s naked leg alone in a room, can you not?”

“I am a doctor, Your Grace. There is no indecency in what I do.”

“Correction. You
were
a doctor. Now you are a landed, titled gentleman, sir. It ill befits a gentleman to hold a profession of any kind.”

“Madame, medicine is more than just a profession. It is a calling, one achieved through many long hours burning my eyes in focused study. And having acquired the skill to heal, I will not now withhold it from someone who is in dire need of medical attention.”

The duchess’s jaw tightened. “For the life of me, I cannot comprehend how such a learned man could be so naïve. Can you not see that this chit is merely trying to lure you away from marrying my daughter?”

Conall became incensed. “How can you be so narrow-minded? Does nothing in the world exist beyond your daughter’s marriage?”

“Certainly there does. And that is why I am endeavoring so diligently to ensure that scheming vixens like your ‘factor’ over there do not conspire to subvert my arrangements.”

To Shona’s groans, Conall shifted her foot from his lap and eased out from under her. “Madame, I am mortified by your callousness. Have a care not to push me too far, or else there shall be no wedding.”

“And if there is no wedding, sir, you shall push
me
too far. And I think we both know what that will mean for you.”

Conall ground his teeth, fury blurring his vision. He took Shona into his arms once more, regretting the distress that the dangling of her foot caused her.

“I think, Shona, that the drawing room is not a fitting sick room for you. Come. I shall take you upstairs to your room where I can tend to you
unhampered and in my own manner.
”

*   *   *

Shona wrapped her arms tighter around Conall’s neck as he climbed the stairs up to the nursery. He wore a scowl, but it was certainly not from the exertion of carrying her up the stairs.

“Are ye aright, Conall?

“I’m fine.”

“Ye don’t look fine.”

“Shona,” he replied in exasperation, “I’m fine. You’re the one who’s injured.”

It seemed to her that he was the more injured, but she held her tongue. They finally reached the nursery, and as Willow said, Mrs. Docherty was there with Eric.

“Oh, dear! What’s happened?”

Conall shouldered past her, bearing Shona in his arms. “Shona’s had a nasty fall. She’s injured her ankle. Bring those candles over by the bed, won’t you?”

Conall put Shona down upon her bed. “Mrs. Docherty, I will need some medical supplies. Will you do me the very great favor of fetching the brown valise in my study?”

“No, please,” exclaimed Shona. “You get it, Conall. I need to relieve myself, and I’ll need Mrs. Docherty here to help me.”

His mouth pursed in worry. “Of course. But have a care not to put any pressure on the foot. I’ll return shortly.”

Shona waited until Conall closed the nursery door … before she leaped off the bed.

“Did ye get it?” she demanded of Mrs. Docherty.

“Aye. It’s right here.” Mrs. Docherty opened a drawer and pulled up a bowl covered by a cloth. “Beet juice. Just like ye asked.”

Shona flew to the desk and pulled out an unused quill feather. “Bring me the book.”

While Shona yanked off her stocking, Mrs. Docherty pulled
The Practice of Physic, Surgery, and Midwifery on the Human Female
from under the bed and opened it onto the mattress to the bookmarked page. “Here ye go.”

“Right. Now let’s see … the diagram says that the foot discolors here, here, and here. Bring the beet juice!”

Mrs. Docherty held out the bowl. Shona dipped the top of the feather into the red liquid and dabbed at the outside of her heel. She also brushed some on the top of her arch. Immediately, the beet juice began to absorb into her skin, and the reddish stain made her foot look as if she had hurt it quite badly.

“How’s that?” she asked the housekeeper.