Rebellion & In From The Cold (6 page)

The truce lasted while Coll’s fever raged. By the time the light turned gray with approaching dawn, the crisis had passed.

“He’s cool.” Serena blinked back tears as she stroked her brother’s brow. Silly to weep now, she thought, when the worst was over. “I think he’ll do, but Gwen will have a look at him.”

“He should sleep well enough.” Brigham pressed a hand to the small of his back, where a dull ache lodged. The fire they had taken turns feeding during the night still roared at his back, shooting light and heat. He had loosened his shirt for comfort and a smoothly muscled chest could be seen in the deep V. Serena wiped her own brow and tried not to notice.

“It’s almost morning.” She felt weak and weepy and tired to the bone.

“Yes.” Brigham’s mind had shifted suddenly, completely, from the man in the bed to the woman by the window. The first hints of dawn were behind her, and she stood in shadow and in light. Her night robe cloaked her as if she were royalty. Her face, pale with fatigue, was dominated by eyes that seemed only larger, darker, more mysterious, for the faint bruises beneath.

Her blood began to tingle below her skin as he continued to stare at her. She wished he would stop. It made her feel … powerless somehow. Suddenly afraid, she tore her gaze from his and looked at her brother.

“There’s no need for you to stay now.”

“No.”

She turned her back. Brigham took it as a dismissal. He gave her an ironic bow she couldn’t see, but stopped when he heard the sniffle. He paused at the door. Then, dragging a hand through his hair and swearing, he moved toward her.

“No need for tears now, Serena.”

Hurriedly she wiped at her cheek with her knuckles. “I thought he would die. I didn’t realize how afraid I was of it until it was past.” She swiped a hand over her face again. “I’ve lost my handkerchief,” she said miserably.

Brigham pressed his own into her hand.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he managed when she handed it back to him crumpled and damp. “Better now?”

“Aye.” She let out a long, steadying breath. “I wish you would go.”

“Where?” Though he knew it was unwise, he turned her to face him. He only wanted to see her eyes again. “To my bed or to the devil?”

Her lips curved, surprising them both. “As you choose, my lord.”

He wanted those lips. The knowledge stunned him as much as her smile did. He wanted them warm and open and completely willing under his own. Light broke through the sky and tumbled like gold dust through the window. Before either of them were prepared, he reached out so that his fingers dug through her hair and cupped her neck.

“No,” she managed, amazed that the denial was unsteady. When she lifted a hand in protest, he met it, palm to palm. So they stood as the new day began.

“You tremble,” he murmured. Lightly he ran his fingers up her neck, kindling small fires. “I wondered if you would.”

“I’ve not given you leave to touch me.”

“I’ve not asked for leave.” He drew her closer. “Nor will I.” He brought their joined hands to his lips, dropping a soft kiss on her fingers. “Nor need I.”

She felt the room tilt and her will drain as he lowered his head toward her. She saw only his face, then only his eyes. As if in a dream, she let her own eyes close and her lips part.

“Serena?”

She jerked back, color flaming into her face at the sound of her sister’s voice. Shaken, Serena gripped her hands together as Gwen stepped into the room. “You should be resting yet. You’ve only slept a few hours.”

“It was enough. Coll?” she asked, staring toward the bed.

“His fever’s broken.”

“Ah, thank God.” Her hair more gold than red, curtained her face as she bent over him. In her pale blue night robe she looked very much like the angel Coll had described. “He sleeps well, and should for a few hours yet.” She glanced up to smile at her sister and saw Brigham by the window. “Lord Ashburn! Have you not slept?”

“He was about to retire.” Serena moved briskly to her sister’s side.

“You need rest.” Gwen’s face puckered into a frown as she thought of his shoulder. “You’ll do your wound no good else.”

“He does well enough,” Serena said impatiently.

“For your concern, I thank you.” Brigham bowed pointedly to Gwen. “As it appears I can be of no further use, I will seek my bed.” His gaze swept down Serena and up again. Beside her sister she, too, looked like an angel. An avenging one. “Your servant, madam.”

Gwen smiled after him as he strode out, her young heart fluttering a bit at the sight of his bare chest and arms. “So handsome,” she sighed.

With a sniff, Serena brushed at the bodice of her robe. “For an Englishman.”

“It was kind of him to stay with Coll.”

Serena could still feel the determined press of his fingers on the back of her neck. “He’s not kind,” she murmured.

“I don’t believe he’s kind at all.”

Brigham slept until the sun was high. His shoulder was stiff, but there was no pain. He supposed he owed Serena for that. His lips curved into a grim smile as he dressed. He intended to pay her back.

After he had pulled on his breeches, he glanced at his torn riding coat. It would have to do, as he could hardly wear evening dress. Until his trunks arrived he would be roughing it. He ran a hand over his chin after shrugging into the coat. His stubble was rough and his lace far from fresh. How his valet would have cringed.

Dear, dour Parkins had been furious at being left in London while his lord traveled to the barbarous Scottish Highlands. Parkins knew, as few did, the true purpose of the trip, but that had only made him more insistent about accompanying his master.

Brigham tilted the shaving mirror. Parkins was loyal, he thought, but hardly competent to do battle. There was no finer—or more proper—gentleman’s gentleman in London, but Brigham hardly needed, or wanted, a valet during his stay in Glenroe.

With a sigh, he began to strop his razor. He might not be able to do anything about the torn jacket or the drooping lace, but he could manage to shave himself.

Once he was presentable, he made his way downstairs. Fiona was there to greet him, an apron over her simple wool gown. “Lord Ashburn, I trust you rested well.”

“Very well, Lady MacGregor.”

“If you’re a man such as I know, you’ll be wanting to break your fast.” With a smile, she laid a hand on his arm and began to walk. “Would you care to sit in the parlor? It’s warmer than the dining hall, and when I have a solitary meal I find it less lonely.”

“Thank you.”

“Molly, tell the cook that Lord Ashburn is awake and hungry.” She led him into a parlor where a table had already been set for him. “Shall I leave you now, or would you prefer company?”

“I always prefer the company of a beautiful woman, my lady.”

With a smile, she accepted the chair he held out for her. “Coll said you were a charmer.” Apron or not, she sat as gracefully as any drawing room miss Brigham had known. “I wasn’t able to thank you properly last night. I’d like to make up for that now and give you all my gratitude for delivering Coll home.”

“Would that I had delivered him under better circumstances.”

“You brought him.” She offered her hand. “I owe you a great deal.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Aye.” She squeezed his hand briefly. “So he’s told me. That doesn’t lessen the debt, but I won’t embarrass you.” Molly brought in coffee and Fiona poured, pleased by the opportunity to make use of her china. “Coll asked for you this morning. Perhaps after you’ve eaten you would go up and speak with him.”

“Of course. How does he?”

“Well enough to complain.” Fiona’s smile was maternal. “He’s like his father, impatient, impulsive and very, very dear.”

They spoke idly while his breakfast was served. There was porridge and thick slabs of ham, portions of fresh fish with eggs and oatcakes and numerous jams and jellies. Though he chose coffee over the breakfast whiskey, it occurred to him that, while remote, this Highland table could easily rival one in London. The lady sipped her coffee and encouraged Brigham to eat his fill.

He found her burr charming and her conversation direct. While he ate, he waited for her to ask him what he and her husband had discussed the night before. But the questions didn’t come.

“If you’ll give me your jacket this evening, my lord, I would mend it for you.”

He glanced at the ruined sleeve. “I fear it will never be the same.”

Her eyes were sober when they met his. “We do what we can with what we have.” She rose, bringing Brigham to his feet. Her skirts swished quietly into place. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Ashburn, I have much to see to before my husband returns.”

“The MacGregor has gone?”

“He should be home by evening. We all have much to do before Prince Charles makes his move.”

Brigham’s brow lifted as she left. He’d never known a woman to take the threat of war quite so complacently.

When he returned upstairs, he found Coll a bit pale and shadowed around the eyes but sitting up and arguing.

“I won’t touch that slop.”

“You will eat every drop,” Serena said threateningly. “Gwen made it especially for you.”

“I don’t care if the Blessed Virgin dipped her finger in it, I won’t have it.”

“Blaspheme again and you’ll wear it.”

“Good morning, children.” Brigham strolled into the room.

“Brig, thank God,” Coll said feelingly. “Send this wench on her way and get me some meat. Meat,” he repeated. “And whiskey.”

After crossing to the bed, Brigham raised a brow at the thin gruel Serena held in a bowl. “It certainly looks revolting.”

“Aye, that’s just what I said myself.” Coll fell back against the pillows, relieved to have a man on his side. “No one but a thick-skulled woman would expect anyone to eat it.”

“Had a rather nice slab of ham myself.”

“Ham?”

“Done to a turn. My compliments to your cook, Miss MacGregor.”

“Gruel’s what he needs,” she said between her teeth, “and gruel’s what he’ll have.”

After a shrug, Brigham sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve done my bit, Coll. It’s up to you.”

“Toss her out.”

Brigham fluffed his lace. “I hate to disoblige you, my dear, but the woman terrifies me.”

“Hah!” Coll set his chin and eyed his sister. “Go to the devil, Serena, and take that slop with you.”

“Fine, then, if you want to hurt little Gwen’s feelings after she nursed you and took the time and trouble to make you something fit to eat. I’ll just take it down and tell her you said it was slop and you’d rather have nothing than touch it.”

She turned, bowl in hand. Before she’d taken two steps, Coll relented. “Hell and damnation, give it to me, then.”

Brigham caught her smirk as she swept aside her skirts and sat. “Well done,” he murmured.

Ignoring him, she dipped the spoon in the bowl. “Open your big mouth, Coll.”

“I won’t be fed,” he said just before she shoved in the first bit of gruel. “Curse it, Serena, I said I’ll feed myself.”

“And spill gruel all over your clean nightshirt. I’ll not be changing you again today, my lad, so open your mouth and be quiet.”

He would have sworn at her again, but he was too busy swallowing gruel.

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast, Coll.”

“For mercy’s sake.” He grabbed Brigham’s wrist. “Don’t desert me now. She’ll yap at me, nag and bluster and set me mad. I—” He glared as Serena pushed more gruel into his mouth. “She’s the devil of a female, Brig. A man’s not safe with her.”

“Is that so?” Smiling, Brigham studied Serena’s face and was rewarded by the faintest rising of color.

“I haven’t thanked you for getting me home. I’m told you were wounded,” Coll said.

“A scratch. Your sister tended it.”

“Gwen’s an angel.”

“Young Gwen had her hands full with you. Serena bound me up.”

Coll looked at his sister and grinned. “Ham-fisted.”

“You’ll be swallowing the spoon in a moment, Coll MacGregor.”

“It takes more than a hole in my side to devil me, lassie. I can still put you over my knee.”

She wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin. “The last time you tried you walked with a limp for a week.”

He grinned at the memory. “Aye, right you are. Brig, the lass is a Trojan. Kicked me square in the—” he caught Serena’s furious look “—pride, so to speak.”

“I’ll remember that if I ever have occasion to wrestle with Miss MacGregor.”

“Beaned me with a pot once, too,” Coll said reminiscently. “Damn me if I didn’t see stars.” He was drowsy again, and his eyelids drooped. “Fire-eater,” he muttered. “You’ll never catch a husband that way.”

“If it was a husband I wanted to catch, so I would.”

“The prettiest girl in Glenroe.” Coll’s voice wavered as his eyes shut. “But the temper’s foul, Brig. Not like that pretty Frenchie with the gold hair.”

What pretty Frenchie? Serena wondered, sending Brigham a sidelong look. But he was only grinning and fiddling with the button of his jacket.

“I’ve had the pleasure of discovering that for myself,” Brigham murmured. “Rest now. I’ll be back.”

“Forced that gruel on me. Nasty stuff.”

“Aye, and there’s more where that came from. Ungrateful oaf.”

“I love you, Rena.”

She brushed the hair from his brow. “I know. Hush now, and sleep.” Serena tucked him up while Brigham stood back. “He’ll be quiet for a few hours now. Mother will feed him next, and he won’t argue with her.”

“I’d say the arguing did him as much good as the gruel.”

“That was the idea.” She lifted the tray with the empty bowl and started past him. Brigham had only to shift to block her way.

“Did you rest?”

“Well enough. Pardon me, Lord Ashburn, I have things to do.”

Instead of moving aside, he smiled at her. “When I spend the night with a woman, she usually calls me
by my name.”

The lights of war came into her eyes, just as he’d hoped. “I’m not some golden-haired Frenchie or one of your loose London women, so keep your name,
Lord
Ashburn. I’ve no use for it.”

“I believe I have use for yours … Serena.” She delighted him by snarling. “You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”