The Lass Wore Black (18 page)

He didn’t want Catriona to do the same.

But he knew this journey had less to do with being a physician than being a man.

After loving her, he’d lain beside her, waiting for her cutting remarks. Instead, she wept, then denied it. Her grief had bothered him, and gnawed at him still.

He wanted to know her, to understand her, and perhaps that was the real reason he’d decided to come to Ballindair.

A person was known by those who surrounded him. A person’s character was revealed by those he loved. What better source to learn about Catriona than her sister?

“I
’m sorry, miss, but I haven’t seen him. Mrs. MacTavish says he’ll be gone several days.”

“Thank you, Elspeth,” she said.

The maid put her tray on the table, then stepped back.

“Is there anything I can do for you, miss?”

“No, thank you,” she said.

The girl looked at her strangely before leaving, closing the door softly behind her.

Catriona walked into the bedroom and stood looking at her carefully made bed.

At Ballindair, Jean fussed about the pillows, wishing the earl had spent more money for the comfort of his servants. Now that her sister was a countess, had she thought of such things?

Where was he?

Had he quit?

Her stomach clenched.

Had he been so disgusted by bedding her that he’d left? Dear God, what if he had? What if she never saw him again?

Her life would be blessed by that fact.

She’d never again be bothered by that foolish man arguing with her at her meals. She wouldn’t have to fuss with trying to eat while wearing her veil. Nor would she be distracted by his appearance.

She took a few steps toward the bed, reached out and smoothed the pillow with her left hand. He’d slept here for a few hours.

A man with his appearance had to have women lusting after him. How many women had he bedded? How many of them were foolish enough to yearn for him? How many were stupid enough to feel sadness at his absence?

Surely she wasn’t the only one?

A
ndrew’s secretary was an able-bodied and intelligent sort, who had the added benefit of being curiously uncurious. Not once had the man ever asked the reason for his whereabouts. His secretary merely forwarded his mail, performed his assigned duties, and kept his discreet mouth firmly shut.

Simply put, the man did as he was told.

Now, if he could only convince his wife to do the same, his life would be a great deal more enjoyable.

He studied Elizabeth’s latest letter, the third he’d received in less than a fortnight. Any of his other correspondence was of more import than this missive of complaint. He’d never known Elizabeth to be so quarrelsome, and her pettiness couldn’t come at a worse time.

The roof was leaking.

She needed a new gardener.

The children were misbehaving and neither the nurse nor the governess could discipline them.

The tutor for the oldest boy had unexpectedly quit.

Where was he? Why hadn’t he answered her letters?

Had the silly woman forgotten their last parting? Perhaps another reminder of Morgan MacCraig’s divorce might be adequate enough to silence her.

He contemplated that thought while staring through the front window of his bedroom, the only chamber he’d equipped to any degree. Since he’d be selling the house soon enough, there weren’t any plans for more furnishings. The bed was comfortable, the fire adequate, the reading chair the equal of any of his furniture in London. The bench beside the window held his most prized possession, his rifle.

The fireplace was large enough to warm the room, and the wooden floors were polished to a shine. The town houses of Charlotte Square were in great demand. This house’s only drawback was that it didn’t provide a view of Catriona’s home. Even so, he’d paid half again as much as the place was worth.

His plans were firming up, his knowledge of Catriona’s schedule increasing each time he met with that insufferable maid. He knew, exactly, when the deed would be done. This time he wouldn’t miss. This time he wouldn’t have to contend with fog. This time he’d do what he set out to do nearly a year ago.

The knocking on the kitchen door was loud enough to set the neighbors to gossiping.

He bit back an oath and descended the stairs. His need for secrecy had resulted in only hiring one servant, a part-time maid with some culinary skill. She wasn’t here now, so he was forced to open the door to the artless Artis.

She thrust herself into the kitchen with the grace of a lust-ridden bull.

“She’s no better than she should be,” Artis said. “That Miss Cameron pretends to be all ladylike, but she’s in heat like the rest of the animals.”

Andrew held himself still. “What do you mean?”

“Her and the footman. I saw her leave his room the other night. She, with her airs of being better than any of us. Telling me what to do and how to treat others.”

He took a deep breath and walked across the room, the sound of his boots echoing against the floor.

“Tell me about the footman,” he said casually, opening one of the shutters over the kitchen window.

“Him, he’s as bad as she is. He comes and goes as he pleases, and Mrs. MacTavish thinks he’s better than cream.”

“He’s new?”

“Aye,” she said. “New and unskilled. I’ve yet to see him do anything around the house. All he does is talk to Mrs. MacTavish, spend time with her in her room, and he set Isobel’s arm. He doesn’t even sleep where the rest of us do. Instead, he has a room over the carriage house.”

He turned to face Artis. The woman’s face was twisted in an expression that mirrored her disgust with the world. Did she ever smile? He doubted it, and he didn’t care.

“She goes to his room?”

She nodded.

“Saw her come out of it myself the other night. Sneaking around like the rest of us wouldn’t know.”

He tried for a smile and failed.

“They all watch me now after the accident.” Her chin firmed and her eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t my fault the stupid girl fell. I don’t know how much longer I can stay there.”

Returning to his bedroom, he opened the strongbox and retrieved some coins. Once back in the kitchen, he didn’t drop the money into her extended hand until she was looking at him.

“I’d like you to stay for a few more weeks,” he said. “As always, in a confidential capacity.”

Her glance faltered at his look, but she nodded.

“A few weeks,” she said.

Now his smile was genuine.

Chapter 16

J
ean Cameron MacCraig arranged the throw around her lower body, hoping that she looked presentable enough to see Dr. Thorburn. As a physician, surely he was familiar with the sight of a female in the family way, even one as far along as she.

She’d read somewhere that an elephant carries her baby two years before it gives birth. Right now she felt an affinity for a female elephant. She lumbered when she walked, and when she sat in certain chairs, she required the services of two people to help her rise. She’d lost the ability to see her feet, but her ankles felt swollen. Each morning, Morgan helped her on with her slippers, and each morning, he teased her before bending to kiss her protruding belly.

The room in which she sat was called, prosaically, the Garden Parlor. She had nicknamed it the Yellow Room, for the abundance of yellow in every fabric, from the silk draperies on the tall windows to the flowered upholstery fabric. The yellow theme was even replicated in the large round carpet, with blowsy yellow flowers blooming along the edge.

All in all, it was a cheery room, and a warm one even in the depths of winter. Morgan had been profligate in insisting that a fire blaze in every room she occupied. For the sake of their finances, she remained in the Yellow Room, the library, or in the Countess’s Suite.

Morgan had been foolish there, too, insisting they move out of the Laird’s Tower and back into the main part of the castle, since he was concerned about drafts. She hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings by telling him that all of Ballindair was drafty to some degree. As long as he was with her, she agreed to reside in the Countess’s Suite until their child was born.

After that, however, they were going to occupy the Laird’s Tower again. To offset Morgan’s complaints, she’d ordered new, heavier curtains and directed the carpenter to install shutters on all the windows of the tower.

Contrary to custom, she was going to raise their child herself, not turn him over to a nurse. She’d converted a corner of their bedchamber into a small nursery.

When she’d said as much, Morgan only kissed her and held her, making her once again think that the world was a great and wondrous place, as long as he was in it.

She wished he were there right now, but he was supervising the snow removal from the outer buildings. Otherwise, a few of the roofs might collapse.

Wiggling into a better position was difficult, but she managed it. For some reason, she couldn’t remain in the same place for more than five minutes.

She couldn’t pray that the time passed quickly, because such an entreaty might harm their child. She simply had to be patient. For that reason, when she learned that Dr. Thorburn had arrived last night, she’d been delighted.

Any diversion was welcome, even if it came from Edinburgh.

No, especially if it came from Edinburgh.

Dr. Thorburn had been given the famous Ballindair hospitality, installed in one of the guest suites, and warmed and fed. The same had been done for his driver, and the horses that bravely carried them through the snow.

This morning she’d sent word that she would like to speak to him, and Aunt Mary had arrived a moment ago, saying that he would attend them both soon.

“He gave me this,” Mary said, handing her a letter from Dina MacTavish introducing the doctor.

Dr. Thorburn has been caring for Catriona, but has questions I cannot answer. I trust you will welcome him as he proceeds with his inquiries.

What questions did he have? What did he want to know?

Her letters from Catriona, although always eagerly welcomed, didn’t tell her much. What Catriona decided to divulge to her was one thing; the truth was another.

When the knock came, she wiggled into another position, then nodded to her aunt, who went to the door and opened it, standing aside and ushering Dr. Thorburn into the sitting room.

“Dr. Thorburn,” she said, holding out her hand. He took in her appearance in one glance and smiled as he approached her.

She had always thought Morgan was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. But this man was nearly so. She was to be excused if her heart beat faster. Even in her condition, she was female, and no female could ignore Dr. Thorburn’s masculinity.

“This is my aunt, Mrs. MacDonald,” she said. “Mrs. MacTavish says you have questions for us.”

He nodded, smiling. “If you have the time.”

“Of course. But first tell us about Catriona,” she said. “Is she well?”

He waited until her aunt was seated, then took a chair opposite her.

“How is she?” Aunt Mary asked.

Dr. Thorburn looked as if he were struggling for words. They both waited. Was her aunt feeling as impatient? She wanted answers, and it was all too obvious the physician was attempting to be tactful rather than prompt in his response.

“I have seen improvement in her,” he said.

“Is she eating?” Jean asked. “The letters from my husband’s aunt were troubling. They made it sound as if Catriona had not only lost her appetite, but her spirit.”

“She is eating,” he said. “As well as regaining some of her spirit,” he added with a smile. “Although I’ve never seen the lack of it.”

“That is indeed good news,” Aunt Mary said. She looked down at her hands, then back at the doctor. “But if she is improving, may I ask why you’ve come all this way?”

“I’ve discovered that sometimes the best way to learn about a patient is from his friends or family.”

“I’m not sure Catriona has many friends,” Jean said. “Other than me.”

“Why is that?” he asked.

“Perhaps I misspoke,” she said. “Catriona had a great many acquaintances. People wanted to be around her. She’s personable when she wishes to be.”

He didn’t say anything, merely concentrated on his hands, draped in front of him.

“I take it Catriona has not shown her personable side to you, Dr. Thorburn?”

He smiled, the expression making her heart beat faster.

“Your sister and I have had a great many disagreements about a great many things,” he said. “She hasn’t had an opportunity to be charming.”

That was surprising. Normally, Catriona charmed everyone, especially a handsome man.

“She’s been a different person since London,” she said. “It must be difficult for her. She has always been the most beautiful creature.”

“Have you seen her since the accident?” he asked.

She nodded. “I traveled to London to be with her.”

“Is there much scarring?”

Surprised, she asked, “Have you not examined her yourself?”

He smiled again. “That is only one of the points on which your sister and I disagree.”