Highland Surrender (14 page)

Fiona, left breathless by the wordless dismissal from her husband, nodded. She managed to swing her leg around and maneuvered downward. Her skirt caught up in the stirrup, and Darby gave it an overzealous tug. Had he not, she’d have met her new kin by giving them a view of her all and sundry.

His cheeks burned red as coals. “Come this way, my lady. I’ll find someone to tend to you.”

“Darby!” a feminine voice called. “Here.”

“Mother!” He ran toward the voice, and Fiona took one step to follow but stopped short, for never was there a more beautiful woman than Darby’s mother. She was dressed as fine as Marietta but was younger, with straight black hair and eyes so pale a blue they nearly seemed silver. Her smile was full as she raced to gather her son into her arms. Fiona felt that ping again, for the loss of a reunion she would never have.

“Darling, I’ve missed you so. My goodness, did you roll in the mud?” She hugged him again, paying no heed to the dirt he smudged on her finery.

“Not roll, exactly. But I slept in it a night or two. Come, meet Lady Fiona.” He pulled her by the hand, and she came willingly, stopping mere inches before Fiona. Slowly, those silver-blue eyes perused her, from filthy foot to ragged hair. Fiona had never felt more bedraggled in all her days. She braced for another look of hatred, the same as she’d received from Myles’s mother, but none came.

“You are Myles’s new bride?” There was a chuckle in her voice, and the hint of a French accent.

Fiona nodded.

“You look dreadful. What a journey you’ve surely had.” She reached out both hands to clasp Fiona’s. “Blessed Mother, your hands are like ice. Come with me, we’ll warm you up and clean you off. My nephew will have his hands full for a bit and won’t miss you.”

“Your nephew?”

The woman laughed. “Aye. Myles is my nephew, though we are nearly the same age. I’m Vivienne. Lady Marietta’s youngest sister.”

“You are his aunt?” Did she sound as addlepated as she felt?

Vivienne laughed again. “More like a cousin.” She motioned to a servant, who instantly came her way. “Tell my sister that I’m seeing to our guest, but she should send for me if she needs me. And bring me word of my brother-in-law’s condition.”

The servant nodded and rushed away. All around them, others scurried to unharness the horses and linger over their greetings. This beauty seemed unfazed by any of it. She smiled at Fiona once more and started walking toward a small set of wooden steps leading to a tower. Fiona followed.

“Mother, shall I come too?” Darby asked, trotting along beside them.

“Yes, we’ll set you to bathing in my chamber after we’ve gotten Lady Fiona settled.”

Darby frowned. “I’m not so very dirty. I could wait another day or so.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Today, my pet. And you shall tell me all about your grand adventure.”

’Twas anything but grand
, Fiona thought, making her way behind them, but at least they had arrived and the traveling was behind her. And it seemed she was to have a real bath. Praise be to God. The last had been only partially cleansing, and the memory
of it made her lips tingle at the thought of her husband’s kiss. She’d actually waited for him to return to her room. Wanted him to, even. But she’d come to her senses since then. ’Twas shameful what a simple kiss could do to a girl’s emotions, and she’d be certain not to make that mistake again.

They made their way up a narrow turret stair, which opened into a spacious corridor. Elaborate tapestries and portraits covered the walls.

Darby chattered to his mother, and Fiona wondered at Vivienne’s age, for certainly she could not be old enough to have a son of eleven.

“Here we are. This is your chamber,” Vivienne said, pushing open a mammoth wooden door and stepping inside.

Fiona hesitated on the threshold, gazing in wonder, for the room was so fine she feared it a mirage and she might fall through the floor.

The walls were covered in paneled wood, with medallions of the Campbell crest adorning each corner of the fireplace. To one side was an enormous bed, the posts carved with intricate vines and berries and draped with red velvet curtains. Dozens of pillows rested at the head, and opposite the bed sat two cushioned chairs beneath a mullioned window, with a table in between. The fireplace burned, cozy and bright, though night had not yet fallen. Never had she seen so fine a chamber. She stepped inside, glad to discover the floor and room were real.

“Darby, scoot back to the kitchen, would you, love? And get our Fiona a tray of food. Eat something for yourself too, if you’re hungry,” Vivienne told him.

“I’m famished,” he answered, clutching his belly.

She smiled and kissed him atop his messy hair. “Then eat, but hurry back with something for the lady.”

“Yes, Mother.” He smiled at Fiona and shot back out the door, quick as a mouse.

Vivienne looked after him, smiling.

“He’s a wonderful boy,” Fiona said, awkwardness overtaking her.

But Vivienne offered yet another smile, one warm and without guile. “Yes, he is. I’m lucky to have him.”

“You must have been very young when he was born.” She stepped farther into the room and lightly touched the velvet curtain. Her hand, with its soiled, broken nails and a pinky still tied to its neighbor with filthy cloth, looked like a hag’s against the sumptuous fabric, and she snatched it back to hide behind her skirt.

“He was born of another, the product of my husband’s rampant indiscretions. But when his mother died, we took him in, and he’s been mine ever since.”

“Then it’s he that’s fortunate.”

Vivienne tipped her head, graciously accepting the compliment. “We were both fortunate, for soon after he came to live with me, his father met with a tragic death, though one I’m sure was not nearly as painful as he deserved.”

A gasp of humor escaped Fiona at this woman’s bold words, and she eyed her more carefully. Beyond the expensive clothing and sweet smile lay something more. A resilient will. She’d not turn her back on this one, nor cross her. In that instant, Fiona knew they were destined to become either the dearest of friends or the most violent of adversaries.

They laid his father on the bed, and Myles noticed his father was not so large as he’d always thought. Suddenly, the earl looked frail and mortal.

Myles’s mother went to work cutting away her husband’s tattered garments. “Send for the surgeon, Tavish. And the priest.”

“Already done, Mari. They’ll be on their way soon.”

She nodded once and then gasped as she peeled away her husband’s shirt and bandage, revealing the long, angry slash along his torso. “We need more light. Myles, bring the lamp. The rest of you, give us privacy. But send up water and fresh bandages.”

“Aye, my lady,” one of them said.

The men filed out silently as Myles grabbed a lamp and lit it with a stick from the fireplace. He set the lamp upon the table and helped his mother and uncle finish stripping away the last remnants of his father’s clothing.

The bandages were red with seeped blood, and the earl’s broken arm was bruised from well above his elbow all the way to his wrist. Even his hand looked swollen and discolored.

’Twas his sword arm that was broken. Losing it would be worse than death.

Father Darius arrived along with a servant bearing supplies, and soon after, the surgeon joined them too. They worked in unison, bathing and rebandaging the wounds. Myles’s mother flinched each time his father made a sound.

At last, the surgeon wiped his hands on his apron. “The rest is up to God, my lady. I’ll cauterize the wound on his side in the morning, but the arm will have to mend itself. His fever is low, but we must pray it doesn’t rise. And that gash upon his head might cause some confusion when he awakens.”

Marietta pursed her lips, her face pale in the warm room. “Open the windows. We should cool this chamber.”

The surgeon nodded. “Let’s try to get some broth into him as well. He’ll need all his strength.”

“I’ll see to it,” Tavish answered before Marietta even had a chance to ask.

She clenched his arm in gratitude. “You and Myles have taken good care of him, Tavish. He owes you his life, I should think.”

“He’s my brother,” Tavish answered, as if that explained all.

She turned to Myles, eyes bright with fresh tears. “You’ve done well, Myles.”

He thought to argue. To tell if he had not lost his bride, perhaps none of this would have come to pass. But he kept silent his tongue and merely nodded.

He turned from her and realized with a start it was not her opinion of him that rankled. No, it was Fiona he worried over. His mother was shrewd and not without her own faults, prejudice being one of them. She’d been against this marriage. He knew this, though she had not shared her reasons why. And if she thought any Sinclair had been involved in this attack, his wife would bear the brunt of her resentment. So it must be he who shared the details of their journey, not Tavish or any other. For his bride’s sake, whether she be deserving or no, Myles would paint her in a better light than all the facts might lend to. His mother would make her own assumptions, but if he could pave an easier path for Fiona, he would.

CHAPTER 15

F
IONA SOAKED IN
the tub until the water cooled and her skin was wrinkled as a raisin. A maid had come, Ruby was her name, and she’d scrubbed Fiona’s hair, and feet, and even her hands, taking gentle care of her broken finger. She’d bustled around, built up the fire, and finally toweled off Fiona, bundled her in a dry linen sheet, and now worked to comb the snarls from her hair.

“’Tis a pretty color, m’lady. But Lordie me, what knots ye’ve got. We’ll get them out, though, don’t ye worry. I’ve a skilled hand with hair. Now, Lady Vivienne takes no more than a brushing to make her hair shine. I need a few more tricks with Lady Marietta.” Her cheeks flushed. “She’s a fine-looking woman, though. Don’t misunderstand.”

“Most of us are not so blessed as Lady Vivienne.” Fiona nodded. She’d not reprimand the maid for so small a slight against her mother-in-law, especially considering the welcome she’d received.

Ruby smiled, continuing with her monologue, which had begun the moment she’d entered the room and seemed in little danger of ending. No matter was too trivial or obscure, and though Fiona longed for peace and quiet, she knew the
information could only help acclimate to her new surroundings. Though the girl’s manner was nothing like her own Bess, somehow it soothed Fiona’s aching heart.

“Robert is serving at court right now. He’s three years younger than Lord Myles. A wicked scamp, that one. Could charm the feathers off a goose with just a wink. Then there’s Alyssa. She’s just turned fourteen.”

“Alyssa?” Fiona asked, her eyes watering from a particularly harsh tug of the comb.

“Aye, she’s the youngest. And a prettier little filly you never did see. Sweet as honey, too. You’ll adore her.”

Siblings? Fiona had never considered the idea that Myles had brothers or sisters. Even the fact that he had a loving mother was difficult enough to fathom, for back at Sinclair Hall, they’d often joked that Campbells were spawn and hatched from eggs. A foolish bit of childish humor, for certain, yet the thought they were a family just like her own gave her pause.

Homesickness washed over her, flooding her with a great longing to see Margaret’s face. Or even John’s. He’d betrayed her at the last, and yet she missed him still.

The maid prattled on, but Fiona drifted back to Sinclair Hall and a warm spring day when some lambs had just been born. Simon had brought one to the yard for her and Marg to pet and giggle over. They’d put the little thing on a lead and walked it round the orchard until their mother discovered them.

She’d scooped it up and took it away. “A lamb needs its momma,” she’d said.

How right she was, for she was dead a week later, leaving her own children to fend for themselves against Hugh Sinclair.

Simon had fared well enough, for he’d been a lad of fifteen and already matched their father boast for boast. He was not
bowled over by Hugh’s unpredictable temper. But John had suffered enough for the lot of them. ’Twas not long after when Hugh boxed his ears and damaged his hearing, and forever after treated him more as a stranger than a son.

Tears welled in her eyes at the memory, but she brushed them away.

“Am I pulling too hard, m’lady?”

“No, Ruby. It’s fine. But I’d like to dress and have you finish with my hair after.”

“Yes, m’lady. But I’ll have to go find your things. No one has brought your trunks yet.”

Fiona stood up, pulling the linen towel more tightly around her middle. “I have no trunks. They were left by the wayside when Cedric and his group were attacked. Just give me my old dress. I’ll don that.”

Ruby’s mouth formed a perfect circle. “Oh, no, m’lady. Ye canna wear that. ’Tis nothing but a filthy rag. I’ll borrow ye a dress from Lady Vivienne.”

“I’d just as soon wear my own dress.”

Ruby’s eyes flicked toward the fire.

Fiona looked to the flames and saw a scrap of brown muslin. “You threw my dress in the fire?”