Page 13 of A Gypsy in Scotland
Chapter 4
Lash Ruthven came to awareness in a burning haze of pain. His entire body felt as if someone had lit a match to it and then shoved him down a cliff. Had death claimed him? No, he would be at peace and not in so much agony if he were dead.
His first instinct was to open his eyes, but the same instinct warned him first to take stock of his environment. Pushing the pain aside, he focused on his surrounding elements. No biting cold nipped his skin, and his back molded into softness. His senses reached out more, and he inhaled the scent of charred wood, heard the light crackle of a fire.
His entire body stiffened in high alert.
Lash cursed his luck. He was in a bedchamber, comfortable—agadjo’shome. He would have been better off shoved from a cliff.
They must have found him after he collapsed from his fever.
Danior.
His brother.
The pain of his betrayal throbbed almost as much as his wound.How could he look me in the eyes and stab me?They werefamilia. Their troubled past aside, some lines ought never to be crossed. Danior had crossed them all.
Oblivion beckoned once more.
“What do you mean to do when he wakes, Honoria?”
Wait!He pushed at the darkness, fighting his way back to awareness. The softly spoken words were so unexpected, they reached into his chest and clamped tightly over his heart.
An angelic voice answered, “I mean to nurse him back to health, Isla. Hugh is under the idiotic impression that when his eyes open, his legs march out the door.”
“And when the man is healed?” The other woman asked. “He still needs to be gone by the time our brothers return.” There was a pause. “What do you hope to gain?”
“Best not ask questions you do not want the answer for, Isla.”
The gentle burr of the angel’s voice stroked over his skin like rippling water. A whisper of a memory hovered at the back of his mind, so close and yet still unreachable. He was fairly certain he was trapped in the home of a privilegedgadji.
“I don’t intend to ask.”
Lash’s heart skipped a beat as he waited for the angelic voice to caress his senses. Like a flare of light, the soft drawl of her words beckoned him.
Say something, anything.
But her murmur was muffled by a dark veil as he lost the battle with darkness and sleep overcame him once more.
When he next woke, Lash managed to open his eyes. He was alone. He sensed it before his eyes adjusted to the warm glow of the chamber, a solid wood canopy suspending above him. Twisting his head, he took in the bedchamber with great care.
Plush rugs decorated the floor, he noted with unease, his gaze flicking over the interior. Oak paneling covered the walls with the exception of the fireplace, matching the single chair and writing desk. Numerous quilts of rich fabric were strewn over the bed, another sign of wealth. A huge stag head mounted on the wall above the door.
Distaste left an acid taste in his mouth.
He did not believe in killing animals for sport and instantly disliked the chamber. He felt caged, as though he too would be slaughtered and mounted.
A sudden image of a woman with long, flowing black hair entered his mind, her eyes wide with sadness.
Syeira.
His eyes shut against a new pain spreading across his chest. She was the reason he had come to Scotland. He had almost lost everything by underestimating Danior. But someone had saved him and brought him here, wherever here was, and kept him from death’s clutches.
He lifted his hand to settle over his bandaged wound.
He owed his life to agadji.
A sudden urgency gripped him. He did not like being confined to this chamber with the stag head mounted like a trophy. He had to leave. He had to find Syeira.
