“You have a fever. I will deal with that, don’t worry.”
“I hurt—all the smacks and blows from those bloody boulders. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll deal with that, too. Now, I want you to lie as quietly as you can for just a moment, not more than three more minutes. Can you do that?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that. Just try to breathe deeply. I’ll be right back.”
It was a bit longer than three minutes, but then he was beside her again, his sleeves rolled up. He’d lit a six-branch candelabra and set it near the bed. He was surrounded by shadows, but the lines of his face were strong and calm and intent.
“I’m going to wipe you down with cold water. My nanny did it to me several times when I was a boy. It knocked the fever right out of me. I’ve done it to my own children. First, here’s some laudanum to ease the pain.”
He lifted her, and she drank the water laced with laudanum. “Good, you drank it all.” He added as if to himself, “I must remember to keep you drinking.” He paused a moment, his hand on the covers to pull them back. When he’d examined her before, she’d been unconscious. But now she wasn’t. “Please just think of me as a physician, all right?”
&n
bsp; “No, I can’t,” she said, and shuddered. “You’re Tysen. You’re something else entirely. This is very difficult.”
“I know, but I won’t hurt you, ever. Please trust me, Mary Rose.”
“I trust you,” she said, then closed her eyes. She didn’t move.
He’d felt people’s trust in him before, felt it as a burden or as a pleasure or as a simple obligation or duty.
It was not at all uncommon a thing, but those words coming from her mouth, words he knew she meant to her soul, made something shift deep inside of him, something that was warm and boundless, something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It should have scared him to his toes, but it didn’t. “All right, then,” he said, and pulled the covers off her. He carefully eased her out of his nightshirt. Then he turned her onto her stomach and began wiping the wet cloths down her back and hips, over her legs, even to her arched feet. One of her toes was crooked. She’d obviously broken it many years before. His fingers closed over that toe for a moment.
Over and over he swept the wet cloth down her, then up again, feeling it grow warm from the heat her body was giving off. He dipped it into the basin of cold water once, twice, more times than he could count. He had to keep it cold. When he turned her onto her back, her eyes were open. She was looking up at him, saying nothing, just looking at him. He saw no signs of pain on her face, no fear, just that limitless trust. He smiled at her, covered his hand with the cloth, and began rubbing it up and down her body. Over her breasts, her belly. He closed his eyes. She was ill. He was a man of mature years, not a randy boy. He could deal with this. He knew well the demands of control. He would not dishonor her, would not shame himself by allowing his body to harden with lust. But of course his body did just that. He wondered briefly why God wasn’t helping him here, but then he wanted to laugh at himself. Why would God concern Himself about a man’s simple and inevitable reaction to a woman’s body? Dear heavens, but she was beautiful. No, he wouldn’t think like that. He kept rubbing her down. Wiping back up her body, he found, was harder. He tried closing his eyes, but it just didn’t help.
The hair at the base of her belly was a deep red, just beautiful, a bit darker than the rich red hair on her head. He looked at her knees, very nice knees, then quickly brought the cold, wet cloth over them and rubbed them longer than necessary, staring at them, just at her knees, nothing either north or south of them.
He wasn’t in good shape. But he was a man, not an immature boy. He would deal with this. He continued rubbing her down until he touched his palm to her cheek and she was once again cool. Thank the good Lord. Then she turned her cheek into his palm and for a moment, just a brief moment, he held her there. He quickly fetched another nightshirt from the ancient armoire and put her in it, smoothing it down over her legs, over her white feet.
He rolled up the sleeves so her hands would be free, covered her to her nose, then rose. She was still looking at him.
“Do you feel better?” He was actually surprised she was still awake, what with all the laudanum he’d put in that glass of water. He took a step away from the bed and prayed that a woman couldn’t see the lust in a man’s mind.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice slightly slurred. “I’m sorry, Tysen.”
“Be quiet.”
He couldn’t believe the harshness of his voice, but she simply smiled at him. “That’s the first time you’ve ever shown impatience with me. Meggie told me that my uncle came here. She said you didn’t have to lie to him because you didn’t realize that I was indeed here, in Meggie’s bed, until she helped me into the laird’s bedchamber. She was afraid her bedchamber wasn’t private enough, that anyone felt free to walk in on a child, but not on you, the laird. That’s why I’m here. I’m s—”
Tysen just waved away her words. “Yes, Sir Lyon was extraordinarily upset that you weren’t here. He knows you didn’t drown, since Erickson searched until he saw that your mare was gone. He assured me that stream was too shallow to drown a goat. Did you ride home and see MacPhail there?”
“Yes. I saw his horse. I didn’t know where to go. I hadn’t intended to come here, truly, but then Primrose just galloped right to your gate. Meggie was out there and she brought me in. Up the back stairs so Pouder wouldn’t see us.” Suddenly she grinned. “I’ve always thought it remarkable that Pouder doesn’t collect dust, since he’s always there.”
“He was collecting dust at a great rate until he realized that I, the new laird, did not have a valet. Since he only has two teeth left in his mouth, his smile at this discovery rocked me back a bit. You see, he’s wanted to be a valet all his life, and now he had his opportunity.” Tysen shook his head. “Only when he said that, he didn’t say ‘valet,’ he said he’d always wanted to be a ‘varlet.’ It took me a while to figure all this out. Now I will find him at the oddest times in this bedchamber rearranging my cravats and straightening my razor and brushes.”
She wanted to laugh, but she was afraid it would hurt too much. “He’s a very nice old man.”
“Yes, he appears to be. He also appears to be very proud of himself. I have told him that we would take his varlet training slowly so as not to disrupt his other, more important duties.”
“You are very kind to him. Tysen, I know you don’t like it, but I am sorry for causing you difficulties. I was thinking that tomorrow morning I can leave and—”
“Oh? You wish to leave? May I inquire as to what you would wear? I chanced to see the remains of your clothes in Meggie’s bedchamber. Did you perchance intend to squeeze yourself into one of her gowns?”
“I will think of something,” she said, his light dose of sarcasm floating through her mind. Her chin went up, a hard thing to do since she was so tired. “It’s possible that Mrs. MacFardle would have something I could borrow. Oh dear, I feel so very tired.”