Pleasured (21 page)

20

M
eg whirled and ran to
her dresser, shedding her robe as she went. She jerked open a drawer and pulled out her sacque dress, just throwing the loose dress on over her nightgown and tying the sash. Leaving her hair as it was, she wrapped her hooded cloak around her and stepped into her slippers, then hurried to her cabinets.

Damon still stood in the doorway, taut and still, out of the rain but not really entering the room.

“What is wrong with her?” Meg took out a small chest. “What are her symptoms?”

“She is burning with fever.” He ran a hand back through his hair, looking as if he was trying to collect his scattered thoughts. “And coughing. She had terrible coughs when she was young.”

“What are they like?” Meg grabbed up supplies as she talked, stuffing them into the small chest. “Dry? Wheezing?”

“Not like when she was young.” His eyes focused more
sharply. “Not those deep, barking sort of noises. But not wheezing either. She sounds . . . as if she is drowning.”

Meg continued to ask him questions as she filled the case; it seemed as if answering them settled him a bit, pushed back the lurking terror in his eyes. After a final glance around, Meg tucked the box under her arm and followed Damon out of her cottage.

Damon lifted her onto his horse and swung up behind her. His arms went around her as he gathered the reins in his hands, and he bent his head toward her, his voice low and unsteady. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said simply.

The path through the trees was too dark to ride quickly, particularly with the rain turning the track to muck, but when they reached the clearing, Damon dug in his heels, and the horse leaped forward. Meg let out a squeak and grabbed at his shirt.

Damon wrapped his arms tightly around her. “It’s all right. I have you.”

Clutching the small chest to her with one arm, Meg leaned into him, closing her eyes. She relaxed, and for those few moments there was only his warmth and solidity against her, the well-remembered scent of his skin, the encompassing strength of his arms around her. Nothing else—neither the swift pace of the horse nor the rain soaking her, not even the fear in the pit of her stomach—mattered. When they clattered onto the stones of the drive in front of Duncally, a waiting groom raced out to take the horse’s reins. Damon dismounted and hauled Meg down, then, tucking the small chest under one arm, he pulled her up the front steps. The heavy door opened before them, the butler standing aside.
Meg did not waste time taking off her cloak and handing it to the man, just ran with Damon toward the stairs. The butler bustled after them, keeping up surprisingly well.

Candles burned low in sconces along the wall, lighting the massive hallway. Damon strode through an open door with Meg on his heels. A small, brown wren of a woman sat beside the bed, her hands clenched in her lap. Her eyes were closed and she mumbled under her breath. At the sound of Damon’s entrance, her eyes flew open.

“Oh, my lord. Thank heavens you are back. She—she is unchanged.” Tears sparkled in her eyes and spilled over. She moved out of Damon’s way, wringing her hands. “Oh, dear, poor girl, poor man.”

Damon went to the bed, reaching down to take his daughter’s hand. Lynette looked small and frail lying there. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair lay damply against her head; her breath rasped in the silence.

“Lynette, sweetheart. Look who has come to see you. It’s Meg.” Damon’s tone was gentle as he laid his other hand on her forehead, brushing back her hair. His hand, Meg saw, trembled faintly.

Meg reached up to untie her cloak, and as she took it off, she was surprised to find the butler behind her, whisking it away. She moved forward, and Damon stepped back to give her room. As he did, the butler wrapped a blanket around him, saying, “Here, sir. I’ve sent for hot drinks for you and Miss Munro.”

Damon nodded absently, and a shiver ran through him. Meg felt Lynette’s forehead, then bent to lay her head against the girl’s chest. As Meg straightened, Lynette’s eyes opened hazily. “Meg! Have I missed—” She lost the thread of what
she was saying, her gaze drifting beyond Meg. “Papa. I don’t feel well.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry.”

Meg heard Damon’s choked breath behind her, speaking of his pain more eloquently than any words. Hastily Meg said, “No reason to be sorry, pet. We all get sick. I’ll warrant even your papa has run a fever a few times in his life.”

“Yes,” Damon agreed, forcing a light tone. “Dozens of times. Blandings will tell you.”

“Your papa brought me here to help you get better,” Meg went on. “So that is just what we are going to do.”

“Good . . .” Lynette’s voice trailed off on the word, her eyes fluttering closed, but her mouth curved up faintly.

Meg went over to the dresser, where the butler had set her box, and poured a bit of brown liquid into a little tin cup. Sliding her hand beneath Lynette’s head and lifting it, she coaxed her to drink, then wet a rag and wiped down Lynette’s heated face and throat. Rearranging the pillows to prop Lynette up, Meg turned to Damon. She could see that he was braced for what she would say, his face like stone.

“That should help her breathe, and I have given her something for the fever. She should rest a little easier. Now I must go down to the kitchens and make a few things for her.”

Damon nodded numbly and followed her out the door, reaching out to take Meg’s arm. “Can you help her? Please tell me if—”

Meg wrapped her hand around his wrist and stared straight into his eyes. “I will do everything I can to help her. I promise you. Now you should go change into dry clothes.”

“I cannot leave her.” He turned back toward the room.

“Damon.” Meg kept her voice crisp, letting none of the
emotion she felt show in her face. “You will be no help to Lynette if you come down with a fever as well. Put on some dry clothes, and then you will be able to help me when I return.”

“I shall see to it, miss,” said a voice. A man she had not seen standing on the other side of the hall stepped forward, the servant who had delivered Damon’s invitation to her that first day. No snobbery was in him now, nothing but concern as he turned to Damon. “Come, sir, I have clothes laid out for you, and we’ll have you back in a trice.”

“Yes, very well.” Damon shoved his wet hair back again and, with a last glance toward Lynette’s room, went with the valet.

Meg followed the butler down the back stairs and into the large kitchens. The cook, sitting in a chair and dozing, awoke with a snap at their entrance and rushed forward.

“Och, this is a terrible business, Meg. I was so glad when I heard he went to fetch you. Can you help the poor child? What can I do? I’ve been giving her warm teas with a bit of thyme, but I dinna ken what else to do.”

“No doubt that helped,” Meg assured her. “Right now, I need to make an infusion as well as a cough syrup. Have you any raspberry vinegar for the syrup? And honey. Hot water for the infusion.”

“Of course. The kettle’s on; I’ll fetch you the vinegar and honey. Bowls?”

“Aye.” Meg opened her chest and began to lay out herbs on the worktable. “I’ll need cool water, too, as cool as you can get it.”

“I’ll draw up a bucket and put it in the cold cellar.”

Meg worked quickly and carefully, measuring out fennel, hyssop, and elfwort. She made a decoction, pouring a
small amount of hot water over the ground ingredients and setting them aside to soak. She put more herbs together into a small sack and mixed yet another batch into a small jar of oil. When Sally brought her the raspberry vinegar, she added honey and poured in the strained decoction of herbs to complete the syrup.

Followed by a maid with a kettle of steaming water, Meg carried her remedies up the stairs, where the waiting valet hurried forward to take Meg’s bottles. Damon was inside the room, now clad in dry clothes, sitting in the tall wingback chair beside Lynette’s bed. His head rested against the back of the chair, and Meg saw that he had fallen asleep as he waited for her. Meg tiptoed to the bed to check on her patient, and Damon stirred, opening his eyes blearily.

For an instant, a smile touched his face, an expression so open, even boyish, that Meg’s heart turned in her chest. “Meg,” he said softly, and reached out to take her hand, pressing it against his cheek. His eyes cleared, and he released her hand and stood up. “I beg your pardon.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I—thank you for coming. For helping Lynette.”

“Of course I came. Did you really think I would not?” She looked at him searchingly.

“No. I hoped—I counted on your heart.” He glanced away. “But I feared you might refuse. I know how you feel about me.” He shrugged as if shoving the topic aside. “What can I do to help?”

Knowing he needed to be useful, she told him to raise his daughter to a sitting position. He hastened to do so, lifting Lynette as if she were a fragile piece of glass. Meg coaxed the girl into taking a spoonful of the syrup, though Lynette’s
mouth twisted at the taste, then stuffed more pillows behind Lynette so that she lay at a steeper angle. Next, Meg rubbed some of the pungent-smelling oil on Lynette’s chest, covering it with a piece of wool. Pouring out a small handful of her dry mixture into a bowl, Meg placed the bowl on the table beside the bed and poured hot water over the herbs. Aromatic steam rose from the bowl.

“That will help her breathe,” she told Damon. “It will also help her to cough, which is all to the good.”

He nodded and gave the waiting servants a brief nod of dismissal. What must it be like, Meg wondered, to have such authority? It was no wonder that he carried such an air of arrogance. Or that he did not understand the position of his crofters, who had so little power, even over their own lives.

“Blandings should go to bed,” he said, glancing around vaguely. “But he will not, of course.” Damon rubbed his hands over his face.

“What about you?” Meg asked. “How long have you been up?”

“It seems forever. Lynette took ill Sunday, and then she began to cough. She was restless, could not sleep well for the coughing, so I sat with her last night. She just got worse all through the night and today.” He paused. “I guess that was really yesterday now, wasn’t it? It must be the middle of the night.”

“Yes. And you have apparently not slept for a day and a half. You should get some rest. I will look after her.”

“I cannot.” He cast a glance toward the bed. “I cannot leave her alone.” Damon pushed his fingers back through his hair in the same weary, restless gesture as before. “I feel so
bloody useless! I sent for the blasted doctor; I never dreamed there would not be one for miles and miles. I was a fool to bring Lynette up here. We should have gone back to the Hall or stayed in London, where we could get a doctor. I should at least have brought her old nurse. She is the one who always cared for her in her illnesses. Miss Pettigrew is worse than useless.”

He paced away, then back, caught up in his wretched regret. “I should have thought Lynette might come down sick. But she seemed so much better. I told myself it was just Amibel’s hysteria. That she was so enamored of her own fragility, she sought it out in her daughter as well. I flattered myself that Lynette would be better with me. I let her do too much. I was sure it was good for her to ride and walk and be outdoors.” He turned tortured eyes to Meg. “I was so arrogant, so foolish, so certain I was right.”

“Aye, you were arrogant, I’ve no doubt, and you are that way still if you think you should have known the future. Are you so godlike? All-seeing, all-knowing?”

His mouth thinned and his expression turned annoyed. “You are certainly a dab hand at making one feel better.”

“I am not here to make you feel better,” Meg retorted. “I’m here to help Lynette, which I can tell you true I’ll do as well as any of your doctors, who would likely decide it would help to leech her or some such nonsense. She may be small, but Lynette is a sturdy girl for all that, and she has a lot of spirit. She’ll fight for every breath, and so will I. And anyone here will tell you that there are few as stubborn as Meg Munro.”

“I am well aware of that,” he murmured, his features lightening a little.

“You could not have known Lynette would fall ill here and now. It is not as if you took her into some pestilence-ridden area. It may be that Lynette would not have been ill if she had not come here, but it also may be she would have gotten sick in any of those other places as well. She told me herself that she coughed more in London than she did here. Lynette loves it here! She has been happy to be around you, to go riding with you each day, to have you treat her as if she is not a fragile, useless creature.”

“Do you really think so?” Hope pierced the pain in his eyes.

“I know so.” Meg gestured firmly toward the chair. “Now, if you will not sleep, at least sit down. It will be a long wait.”

“No. You sit here.” He stepped aside politely. “’Tis more comfortable.”

“Mayhap. But I do not think this other little chair is meant for someone your size.” Meg pulled out the dainty chair in front of the vanity and carried it to the other side of the bed. “I will do quite well here, and it is closer to the water, in any case.”

Lynette’s fever continued to rage through the night, and Meg and Damon kept watch. Now and then Lynette was racked with spasms of coughing, and Damon would hold her until the spell passed. Blandings made frequent trips downstairs to replace the kettle with another steaming one and fill the pitcher again with cold water from the cellar so that Meg could renew the aromatic steam and continue to bathe the girl’s feverish face.

Meg’s back grew tired from bending over the bed, and her eyes grew heavy. Once she jerked upright to find that
she had fallen asleep beside the bed, her head resting on the mattress.

“Meg?” Damon’s hand was on her shoulder. “Meg, wake up.” He leaned over his daughter, gently wiping Lynette’s face with the cool, wet cloth. “She is hotter, and her breathing—her breathing’s changed.” He turned to Meg, his face tight with tension, his eyes deep wells of pain. “I cannot lose her, Meg.” His voice was thick. “I have always had whatever I wanted—but none of it is worth a damn if Lynette . . .” He pressed his lips tightly together, as if to prevent the word he dreaded from even slipping out.