Myriah Fire (16 page)

She ignored him and smiled at Billy to coax, “Do you think you can manage this, Billy?”

“Aye … give me the dratted witches’ brew.”

She turned to Kit. “Really, my lord, I am not a doctor, and he needs one—now.”

“No doctor!” Billy shouted hoarsely as he tried to sit up.

“No, Billy! Relax, do … I won’t fetch him if you do not like, but I so wish you would.”

She turned to Kit, wondering why he didn’t take a hand in this decision, and found him deep in thought. All at once he spoke to his young brother. “I am leaving you in Miss White’s care, and if she needs to bring in the doctor … so she shall—do you hear me, William?”

“I hear you,” Billy said on a low voice.

Kit turned to Myriah. “Would you allow me a word …?”

She nodded and followed him into the hallway, where he reached for and held her hand. She didn’t want to, but she pulled her fingers from his and looked squarely into his gray eyes. His hands dropped to his side.

* * *

This was not how he wanted to begin, with her pulling away from him. Damnation! Her blue-green eyes drove him to distraction. Such ‘speaking’ eyes … one fancied himself hearing her thoughts … and yet … there was a lie hanging about her he could not penetrate.

“Miss White …” he started lamely.

“Miss White, is it? Not … ah … what did you call me …?”

“I am a heathen fool … forgive me. I have no excuse for my poor behavior and don’t know how to make it right, other than offer my deepest, most heartfelt apology.”

Well done
, she thought to herself, but to him she said, “You called me a tart because you hold one standard for a man and another for a woman. I take exception to that.”

“It is not I that holds the standard, but society …” He wanted to kick himself. What was wrong with him? He was again making a mess of it.

“Ah, of course … and so it is not you who calls me a tart, but society?”

“Damnation, Myriah!” he snapped. The word
tart
hurt his ears. How could he have called her that, feeling as he did about her? “What would you have from me?”

“Nothing, my lord—I want nothing I must ask for,” retorted the lady hotly. She gave him her back and started towards her bedroom.

Kit wanted to grab her and take her into his arms. He shouldn’t feel what he felt—he shouldn’t want her as madly as he did—but the fact was if he weren’t required elsewhere, he would not have let her move off.

He did call after her, “Very well, madam. If you will excuse me, I have business in town and shall not be home for dinner.” He turned and walked towards the stairs.

Myriah turned on him. “Just a moment, my lord!” she called indignantly. “Your brother lies here ill with fever …
and you are going out
?”

Kit’s eyes troubled over, “It cannot be helped, madam, and I know Billy is in good hands—the best in fact. If I know
nothing else
about you, that much I do know.”

“He needs a doctor. Shall I send Fletcher?”

“Fletcher will be with me. However, do send for a doctor if his fever doesn’t break within the hour. I know your groom will be discreet, and I will see that he is well paid.”

She stomped her foot at him, and he had to restrain the smile that crept to his face as he turned and left her standing there.

* * *

An hour later, Myriah leaned towards Billy, her face puckered with concern. How could Kit have left at such a time?

She set aside her plate of unfinished dinner and touched Billy’s forehead. He was still hot—too hot.

She had already sent Tabson to Hastings to fetch the doctor, as this had gone on too long. He needed medicine she didn’t have, basilicum for one.

She got up, prepared a basin of water, added the rosewater to it, and dipped the cloth in it. She then placed it on Billy’s forehead for a few moments before lifting it off.

He moved fretfully in his sleep and knocked his arm about. It was beginning to bleed again, and Myriah wanted to collapse in a heap and cry.

Time played with her pitilessly as the minutes dragged by and Tabby hadn’t returned yet with the doctor. She realized that in their short time together, she already adored Billy as a brother, and the thought she could lose him to infection set her to wringing her hands.

“Never say the she-devil don’t feel quite the thing …” Billy said weakly.

She felt her neck snap she looked around so quickly, and she jumped over and nearly hugged him to death in her relief to see him out of his delirium. “Billy, you odious creature …”

“Aye, but all this … not precisely m’fault.”

“Yes, it is. If you hadn’t been shot in the first place—” she started.

He cut her off, saying, “It was worth it just to make the acquaintance of a she-devil.” He smiled.

She touched his cheek. “Silly pup!” She sighed and added, “I have sent Tabby to Hastings to fetch a doctor.”

“Hastings? Not far enough—we are too well known.”

“Yes, but Tabby is not.”

“Point to you.”

“Yes … once the doctor is here, we will make certain he is honor-bound not to prattle about you or your wound.”

A heavy thumping at the front door startled them both, and Myriah eyed him questioningly. He shrugged, and she offered, “Well, I’ll just go play butler and send the scalawag off. Calling at such an hour!”

Billy beamed but then frowned. “Don’t like this, Myriah … best stay here with me and we’ll ignore it.”

“No … doesn’t sound like they mean to be ignored.” Myriah sighed, picked up a glass-encased candle, and made her way below stairs. She set the candle down on a nearby table and pulled open one of the double doors, afraid it might be Sir Roland on the other side.

Facing her was a wiry man clothed in dark superfine and an old-fashioned, low three-cornered hat.

“Yes, sir, may I help you?” Myriah inquired cautiously.

“No, ma’am, my business is with Lord Wimborne,” said the gentleman.

She frowned, for the man spoke with a note of authority, and his voice held a hint of London in its inflection. “I am sorry … he is not here at the moment.”

“And who might you be?”

“I am a relative … his cousin,” Myriah offered hesitantly.

“Right then, miss, tell him if you will that Mr. Dibbs needs to see him … as soon as possible.” And then as an afterthought, he asked, “Would young Mr. Wimborne be at home?”

Myriah eyed him with misgiving. What the deuce was all of this? “He is … but he is unwell and resting in bed.”

“Would you be so kind as to advise him that I need a word with him? Perhaps … I could come up?”

Myriah wasn’t sure about all of this, but she did in fact tell Billy that a Mr. Dibbs wanted a word with him. Billy’s face brightened, and he said, “Myriah, please … send the fellow up.”

She hovered in the background as Mr. Dibbs entered Billy’s room and made his greetings.

“Confound i
t,
young William … sorry I am to see you laid so!” the small man offered with a shake of his head, “but ain’t the
time to mull over it now. Need to see his lordship … must … get back.” He jerked his head in the direction of Myriah. “Could we be having a bit of privacy?”

“Never mind, what you can say to me can be heard by Myriah,” said Billy, staunchly loyal and making Myriah f
eel
a queen.

“Eh? Very well. You know … it is very important I speak with your brother before I head back. Where is he, do you know?”

“He has a meeting at the Mermaid tonight. You can find him there,” Billy said, frowning.

“No, I can’t! Don’t want to be seen in public
with
him—wouldn’t do!”

Myriah’s delicate brows went up. What sort of individual was he that he mustn’t be seen with Kit in public? This was more than
interesting, and she studied the man carefully.

“Must send someone for him,” Dibbs said.

“Can’t—there is no one here, and I am afraid she-devil here won’t let me budge out of bed. Nothing for it, Dibbs. You’d best risk it and go there.”

“Just a moment! I can fetch Lord Wimborne home if
you
like,” Myriah offered.

“No,
you can’t, stoopid!” Billy replied disdainfully.

“You are a woman!” Mr. Dibbs stuck in, obviously shocked. “Can’t go into the Mermaid at this time of night—wouldn’t do and wouldn’t be safe.”

“As to not being safe Kit will be there, so
it
couldn’t
be safer,” Myriah suggested.

“No, Miss. Besides, ’twould draw too much attention to his lordship … don’t want to create a stir,” Dibbs said.

“But it would be all right for a lad to go and fetch him … so I will just have to turn into a male,” Myriah said, crossing the room to Billy’s wardrobe closet.

“Ha! Listen to her … she-devil that she is … change into a man … ha,” twittered Billy, falling limply against the pillows.

“Hush, Billy, or you shall start bleeding all over again! Just wait!” With that she disappeared into the dressing room armed with an assortment of Billy’s clothing.

When she reappeared some ten minutes later, she was wearing a brown riding jacket that hung loosely about her shoulders, a linen shirt, brown baggy breeches, and her own knee-high riding boots. She dove once again into his closet and produced an old brown hat of sorts and stuffed her hair into its crown before turning to face them.

Billy’s roar of laughter ended in a fit of coughing, bringing down Myriah’s rebukes upon his head. However, Mr. Dibbs rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Tell you what, Miss—sling a greatcoat over your shoulders and hide the fit of the jacket, and you just might do.” He rubbed his chin. “That is, if no one looks too closely …”

~ Eight ~

MYRIAH DIDN’T WASTE any more time. She bade them farewell, passed Tabby and the doctor at the front door, saying as she clasped the doctor’s gloved hands, “Thank you, I think the fever has passed … thank you for coming,” and leaving him to wonder who the strange boy was.

Tabby stood with his mouth agape, as he had no choice but to lead the doctor indoors and so could not follow her.

She headed for the stables, slipped on her tack, led her stallion outdoors, and nimbly mounted him. “Come on then, Silkie … I have missed being on your back.”

He nodded his head as though in agreement and made a short whinny noise advising her he was pleased to have her there, and off they went at a slow trot.

Clouds made an eerie frame about the moon, and their jagged lengths formed a dimming mist, allowing only a hazy glow to soften the blackness of the night.

Myriah had only sketchy directions, but it was easy enough to follow the main road once she got to the fork in the road and the fingerpost sign.

The village streets were only a five-minute trot down the pike, and all was quiet by the dim light of a torchlight on either side of the Lands Gate entrance to the ancient town.

In spite of her earlier bravado, Myriah was suddenly tense, and her gut was telling her to be on the ‘lookout’ for anything untoward. Good Lord—what would her father say now? What
wouldn’t
h
e
say?

She slipped off her horse and spoke to him gently, soothing herself as well as him. “Now then, love … easy, sweet darling … come then … that’s it … come with Myriah …” She tugged at his leading rein, and he objected to the pull by bobbing his handsome black head powerfully in an up-and-down motion that caused her to giggle and reprimand him. “No, Silkie, no—this is no time to balk … be my good darling.” So saying, she urged him up the cobbled slope towards the Land Gate entrance to East Cliff Street.

They passed through the medieval archway, and she eyed the stone-pillared towers that flanked both sides of the street. Land Gate dated back centuries, and there were many tales in its moss-covered stones—a wealth of them—but this was not the time for such musings, she told herself.