Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (10 page)

“Now, with regard to that medicine,
I can assure you this has been tried and proven to be highly effective. Before he left London, I increased his dosage several drops per day, and I believe he is
responding well to my treatment.”

“With all deference to your
knowledge and experience, Dr. Parker, I see no—”

“M’lady,” the physician said,
holding his hand up again. “You must trust in that medical knowledge and
experience. His lordship’s life is far more pleasant than the lives of many who
are similarly afflicted with the same melancholia. And I am ministering to his
affliction with the most effective treatment known to medicine.”

“I’m certain you have Lord Aytoun’s
best interests at heart, sir, but—”

“Now, you can do your part by
concerning yourself with his diet. You must have your people take great care to
keep the stomach of the patient settled, furnishing him with light meals,
and…well, I have directed his manservant as to the importance of regular
digestive function. And in the meantime, I shall continue to advise you as to
the state of his mind. Now, I must say good day to you, Lady Aytoun. I have
tarried here far too long. Far too long.”

****

Lyon clamped his mouth shut and
turned his face away as John, his valet, tried to feed him a spoonful of soup. 

“’Od’s truth, m’lord, ye might help
me here. Yer losing too much weight, and Dr. Parker says we have to force ye to
eat more.”

The man continued to talk, but Lyon ignored him. He was growing so accustomed to the cramping in his stomach that it was
becoming almost tolerable. The intense nausea, however, which he’d been feeling
since early this morning, before the pompous physician arrived, was something
new. Or was it yesterday morning? The days were beginning to blur in his mind. Lyon tried to focus on which day it was but soon gave up. What did it matter?

The bloody doctor. He was just
another lily-handed, potbellied charlatan who practically jingled with coin
when he walked.

Lyon glared at John and turned his
face again at the proffered food.

While Parker examined him, Lyon had said nothing to the man. He had mentioned nothing of the spasms of strength that
every now and then ran through the muscles of his right arm, causing his
fingers to curl and straighten. He had made no mention of the pain in his
joints and had not asked the question of why it was that sometimes he was
capable of actually bending his knee and not other times. He’d had no desire to
prolong the bugger’s stay. He hated the doctors and their prodding and poking.
He abhorred their all-knowing attitude.

More to the point, though, he
admitted inwardly, he was tired of wondering which one of them would finally
persuade his family to have him sent to Bedlam. Not that very much persuasion
would be needed once the dowager passed away. Lyon tasted bile in his throat
and felt cold sweat breaking out on his brow.

The spoon touched his lips again.
He jerked his head away irritably and tried to focus on the chaise that he
could see through the window. As he watched, the fat doctor appeared and
stepped into the carriage.

“We’re only asking for a wee bit of
help, m’lord.”

Lyon recognized Gibbs's voice. The
man was back…finally.

“Bed.” He closed his eyes, wishing
for the oblivion that so often surrounded him these days. 

“Aye, but not before we’ll be
getting some food into ye.”

The spoon was again at his lips,
and Lyon slapped the annoying object away with his left hand. “Put me back in
bed. Now.”

The room was too hot. He felt his
chair being turned around. He tried to focus on the face of John, still shoving
a spoon at him. Beyond the valet, Gibbs was approaching with a crystal glass.
The medicine. There was someone else behind him. Long Will, no doubt.

“Give him this only after his
lordship has some food in him,” Gibbs ordered, placing the cup on a table near
him. “I’ll be coming back shortly, now, so ye two mind what I say.”

Lyon watched Gibbs move across the
chamber and go out the door. He wanted to scream after the man to take this
pair of imbeciles with him. But the bitter taste was still in his mouth, and he
could feel himself shaking uncontrollably.  

“We’ll make it quick, if ye please,
yer lordship. Eat jist a wee bit o’ this, m’lord, an’ we’ll have ye back in yer
bed in no time.”

This time Lyon successfully dashed
the bowl out of the man’s hand, sending it crashing to the floor.

“Bloody hell,” Will said from behind
him, realizing his error as soon as the words had left his mouth. “Beggin’ yer lordship’s pardon, sir.”

“The medicine,” he managed to say.
Oblivion. This was the only thing left to him. Opium and brandy. Laudanum. He
started pushing himself out of the chair with his one good arm. “The medicine.”

He didn’t know which of the valets
brought the glass to his lips, but the taste of it managed to push down the
bitter bile. His stomach, though, cramped fiercely as soon as the liquid
reached it. Lyon felt himself fighting back the involuntary desire to retch. As
he tried to breathe, though, one of the two morons was trying to push bread
into his mouth while the other held his shoulders pressed against the back of
the chair. He reached out desperately to push the food away.

“Do
not
force him,” a woman
said sharply.

Through a haze of illness and
frustration, Lyon watched her cross the chamber from the open doorway.

“’Slordship ain’t eaten not a bite
all day, m’lady,” John explained, the bread in his hand.

“We give ‘im the medicine already,
Lady Aytoun,” the other one explained. “But Dr. Parker himself told us to mix
it with ‘slordship’s food.”

He tried to focus on her face, but
it was all a blur. Her fingers were icy cold when they touched his face and
brow.

“Take the food away,” she ordered.
“And bring that washbasin quickly. Give it to me.”

His gut twisted painfully again and
bile rose into his mouth. Lyon felt her arm wrap around his shoulder and lean
him forward at the very moment that everything inside of him spewed out.

It was sympathy and not revulsion
that washed through Millicent as the harsh smell of his sickness surrounded
them. She wrapped her arm tighter around him and tried to give him some of her
own strength. His left hand desperately clutched the basin on his lap. Streams
of sweat dripped down his brow and blended into his dark, matted beard. She saw
him close his eyes, and she wished she could soothe his suffering
somehow.        

“Get a towel and a clean bowl of
water,” she ordered the short valet.

Aytoun’s wide shoulders shook as he
continued to retch spasmodically.

“You! Give me another basin,” she
said to the one called Will.

As she was replacing the basin on Lyon’s lap with a clean one, Gibbs swept into the chamber.

“Och! By the…” The manservant was
at her side in an instant. “Forgive me, m’lady. A minute ago when I left, his
lordship wasn’t in such straits.”

“Just support his shoulders like
this, Mr. Gibbs,” Millicent directed. She took the towel and clean water from
John. She knelt again beside the earl’s hunched, shuddering body, and started
wiping his face and the corners of his mouth with the towel. He continued to
heave, though nothing but bile was left in his stomach.

“This is not really the place for
ye, Lady Aytoun,” Gibbs said. “We can be doing all this if ye wish to—”

“I’m staying.” She did not look up
but dipped the towel into the water again and wiped her husband’s face. “Does
this happen often, Mr. Gibbs?”

“Nay, m’lady. The laird has been
sick to his stomach twice or thrice over the past few months, but never like
this, mum.”

“What has he eaten today?”
Millicent saw Gibbs look up at John and followed his gaze. The man answered
with a shake of his head. “And last night?”

“A wee morsel. If that, m’lady.”

“What about the medicine?”

“His lordship had a healthy dose of
it last night,” Gibbs told her. “But none yet today.”

Will cleared his throat
uncomfortably, and John reluctantly spoke up.

“Beggin’ yer pardon. We give him
more this mornin’, but only because ‘slordship forced us,” he admitted in a
small voice. “And some more jist now. Only but a wee taste, though, an’ not a
minute before ‘er ladyship come in.”

Millicent fought back the urge to
scold the men for their carelessness. The poor man could have been poisoned.
She knew, though, that the fault lay not with them, but with her. She had
freely married this man. She had signed papers, stood beside his chair before a
bishop. She had accepted his family’s generosity in paying her debts, and she
had vowed to care for him. But other than providing him with a set of rooms,
she had done none of what she had promised.

Aytoun appeared to be improving
slightly. The heaving was subsiding. She gently unclasped his fingers from the
basin and wiped his mouth and face with the towel as Gibbs leaned him back in
the chair. His eyes remained closed. His face was pale.

“Would you be kind enough, Mr.
Gibbs, to put his lordship into the bed?”

She stood back while the three men
skillfully followed her direction. She waited until he was settled before
turning to them.

“I am very grateful for the care
that you have been giving his lordship. From now on, however, I should like to
be kept abreast of everything that is given to him, and you will tell me
before
it is done.” She met the men’s gazes directly. “If his lordship does not feel
well, I will be told. If he has no appetite and misses a meal, you will tell
me. I shall make a change in my own routine from this point forward. I am
planning to spend much more time here than I have previously. Nonetheless, if
Lord Aytoun is ailing and I am not here, I want you to find me. It is my
express wish that you interrupt whatever it is I am doing. Is that clear,
gentlemen?”

The two valets exchanged a glance
and then nodded.

“Thank you. Would you be kind enough
to clear these things away?”

With a bow, they quickly gathered
up the dirty dishes and basins and left the room.

“Ye do not know what ye are asking,
m’lady.” Gibbs’s quiet comment drew Millicent’s attention. “’Tis not without
reason that his lordship has gone through so many surgeons and doctors since
the accident. The pain is unceasing, mum, and the requirements of his care
constant.”

Millicent recalled the Scotsman’s
firm hold on Aytoun’s shoulders, the concern that he showed for his master. She
looked at the earl. His eyes were closed. He appeared to be asleep. She stepped
away from the bed while the steward went about closing the curtains.

“I am not being critical of you in
any way, Mr. Gibbs. I understand what you have done. I understand the pressures
you must have faced watching over him all these months. He trusts only you.
When he needs something, he asks only for you. This would put a great deal of
strain on anyone, no matter how dedicated they are.”

“Ye shall not be hearing any
complaints from me, m’lady.”

“I am certain of that.” The last
thing Millicent wanted to do was to hurt this man’s feelings and lessen the
care that Aytoun was already getting. “I only wish to be of assistance. Perhaps
I can ease your burden a little, and do some good, too. This is what I think
the dowager had in mind for me. Perhaps it is what she would do if she were in
my position and in good health.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Good
health or not, m’lady, I think the dowager would have sent Dr. Parker running,
with his tail between his legs, if she had seen him here today. Ye will have to
excuse my way of talking, for I was reared in the Highlands, where we speak
plainly.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gibbs. I appreciate
your candor.” Aytoun stirred, mumbling in his sleep, and she looked across the
chamber at him. “Why do you say that her ladyship would have been displeased?”

“The good doctor had more interest
in his meal than in his patient. Why, he barely looked at the master, and when
he did, the rogue even had the nerve to complain about his lordship being but
half-awake.” He snatched the glass off the table, saying angrily, “And then he orders us to give him more of this poison.”    

“The solution to this is quite
simple. I shall send a letter to London, telling him that we no longer require
his services. It was clear to me that he had no interest in coming out here
anyway.”

Gibbs cocked a bushy eyebrow at
her. “Would ye do that, to be sure?”

“Indeed I shall. But we must find another right away. Someone better.”

“None of them are any good,
m’lady.” He sent a thoughtful glance in the direction of the sleeping earl.
“Most of them will press ye to have him bled till he comes to his senses or
dies. The others will tell ye to purge him till he has no strength to fight. And those are the good ones, m’lady. The rest of them are charlatans and only after the money.”

“I suppose you would include Dr.
Parker among the last sort.”

Gibbs shook his head. “I’ve no mind
to be deciding any such thing. But I can tell ye that ye would have no trouble
at all forming a line of his type from here to Bath. All he wants is to be
doing one thing: keep his lordship sedated from now till doomsday and send his
bill on to the family bankers once a month.”

“You’ve been with his lordship
since before the accident. Do you think he would have been content to live this
way?”

“Not for a minute,” the steward
said passionately. “I know if he could do it, he would have ended his life long
before now. I think his refusing to eat is part of it. ‘Tis the only thing he can
control. If we let him, his lordship would starve himself to death as sure as
we’re standing here.”              

“We cannot let that happen.”