Page 14 of The Last Debutante
More shouting from the back made Daria jump what felt like a foot off the ground.“Mamie!”
Mamie suddenly grabbed Daria’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “Please, for God’s sake, do as I ask! I will be back before nightfall, I swear to you. But we cannot let his wounds fester—he could lose a limb!” She let go of Daria’s hands, picked up the big blunderbuss that was leaning up against the door, and slid the bolt open. “Lock the door,” she warned Daria, and slipped out.
Daria gaped at the closed door. Her grandmother had just left her alone to clean the wounds of a strange man while another one roamed about outside.
“The bolt!” she heard her grandmother call.
Daria scurried forward to slide the bolt and lock the door, then dashed to one of the small windows to look out. Her grandmother was marching toward the path that led to the road, the gun on her shoulder, the dog trotting behind her.“Mad,”Daria muttered. “She’s gone quite mad.”
The man shouted again, causing Daria to jump again. She tried to breathe deeply to calm her racing heart, but it was no use.
“Bloody hell, where have you gone?”the man bellowed in English.
Daria whirled around and looked at the closed bedroom door. All right, then. There was no use crying over it. She squared her shoulders, then picked up the bandages and the bowl.
How was she to do it?How could she remove the bandages from his naked body, touch his flesh, and then wrap the bandages around him again? It was beyond anything she knew. She was quite happy to be courted and wooed by men, but she realized that she didn’t reallyknowmen. Lord Horncastle had kissed her once and left her feeling cold. Mr. Reston, who had come down last summer, had courted her intently and had kissed her more than once, his hands wandering her body in a rather pleasant interlude. But Daria had felt nothing but his arms and shoulders beneath his proper shirt and coat. She had never, in all her life, touched a strange man’s skin. The memory of that stranger’s kiss, that mad, drugged kiss, slipped down her like warm milk.
Another string of the Scottish language shook her; Daria paused to grab a cleaving knife from the shelf and tucked it up under her arm. Her hands were shaking, she noticed with chagrin. So she drew another breath to steady herself and marched down the hall.
Six
JAMIE HAD RALLIEDenough that he could feel his fury beginning to strengthen him. He shouted once more in Gaelic, since ladies shouldn’t hear what invective he said, even if they were evil.
At last he heard footsteps coming down the hall, and he could tell from the delicate tread that it was the younger one.Daria.Seated upright with his back to the stone wall, he watched the door slowly open, creaking loudly on its hinges.
A head of honey-gold appeared. Her gaze met his, and her eyes widened slightly.
Jamie did not speak; he could not trust himself to speak civilly.
“Ahem.” She stepped into the room. Her eyes skated over his bare chest and arms and his hair, which had felt matted and rough when he’d touched his head earlier. She was holding a bowl and some rags, both of which shook. And tucked up under one arm was a rather large knife.
He smirked at that, which seemed to unnerve her; she suddenly moved and put everything down on a small table, then grasped the knife, holding it down by her side, her fingers curling around the hilt. “I have come to change your bandages,” she announced grandly.
Jamie couldn’t help a small smile or the cock of his brow.
She lifted her chin. “And I will not tolerate any foolishness.”
An interesting thing to say, given that he was the one who had suffered all the foolishness in this house.
She stood as if she were expecting him to agree to her terms, and when he did not, her grip on the knife tightened. “Why do you not speak?”
Jamie could see every frayed nerve in her, every quiver, every shortened breath. He looked pointedly at her knife, then lifted his gaze to hers again. “Do you fear me, then, lass?” he asked quietly.
Color began to seep from her cheeks. “It’s rather a big knife,” she said, as if he hadn’t noticed. “Should you not fear me?”
Foolish chit. If Jamie ever had a daughter—and God help him if he did, for he found females to be the most exasperating and confusing creatures on earth—he would explain in no uncertain terms that if a man wishes to subdue a woman, he will. There is nothing—no knife, no club—that will stop him. Not even a one-legged man with a hole in his side and a wee bit of renewed strength could be stopped from subduing her if necessary.
“I mean only to change your bandages,” she added, as if he might believe she was accosting him. “The wounds must be kept clean.”
Jamie shrugged. “Then change them.”
The chit pressed her lips together and frowned at his bandages. The witch had wrapped them around his torso and his thigh, knotting the ends together. This one would have to crawl onto the bed to change them, since he was sitting up. He could see that she’d worked that out for herself, and he almost chuckled at her expression. An English rose, as fresh as the morning dew, unhinged by the sight of a man. “I’ll no’ bite, if that’s what gives you pause.”
Her gaze flew up to his; her cheeks were stained an appealing shade of pink.
“Come, then. Have done before I expire.”
She drew a breath so great that her shoulders lifted with it. She moved hesitantly to the edge of the bed and stood, clearly expecting him to move, to put his legs over the side and give her room to work. But Jamie was in no mood to help her. To her credit, she did not demand it. She put the knife on a pillow—just beyond his reach but well within hers—then hiked up the hem of her gown to give her a bit of leg room and put one knee on the bed. Then the other. She still wasn’t close enough—she tried to lean over and untie the ends of the cloth, but she couldn’t leverage her body at that distance. She sat back on her heels, her hands on her knees, examining the situation.
