Page 50 of The Wrong Bride
Riona barely kept her mouth from sagging open. The ale keeper had studied at university—as had Hugh? She should no longer be surprised by anything she heard about Hugh’s past, but he just kept surprising her. And Donald—for a literate man, he seemed reduced to hard circumstances in this out-of-the-way village.
“We spent several years there after the Rising,” Hugh was saying, grinning at his friend.
“And the times we had,” Donald added, shaking his head. “The women—” He flushed and glanced at her, donning an apologetic expression. “Forgive me, my lady. Those might have been exciting years, but then your betrothed decided he could serve his county better in Parliament. And I went off to improve my fortune, and ended up losing it.”
Hugh’s smile faded. “Donald . . .”
“Nay, none of that. I invested unwisely. Your family gave me another chance here, Hugh, and I won’t forget it.” He clapped his hands together and looked from Hugh to Riona and Samuel. “My wife has a delicious soup heating in the back. I’ll bring ye some.”
He went to refill drinks at another table before going behind the bar. Riona kept staring at Hugh. Donald brought tankards of ale for Hugh and Samuel and set a surprisingly delicate glass goblet before her, brimming with rich red wine. He bowed again to her and disappeared into the back room.
“Ye look surprised, lass,” Hugh said in a low voice, forearms folded on the table. “Ye have questions?”
“So many, but . . . it must be difficult for yourfriend to have been so wealthy that he went to university, and now . . .” She looked around at the plain stone walls and thatched roof.
“Here in Scotland, no one thinks less of people in reduced circumstances,” Hugh said matter-of-factly, then added dryly, “Not so in England.”
“You are right about that. So much for Scotland being uncivilized.”
Hugh nudged Samuel. “Did ye hear that? We’ll bring her around yet.”
Ignoring their teasing, she sipped the wine. “This is very good.”
He slammed the tin tankard into Samuel’s as if in toast to each other. “’Tis glad I am that Donald was able to make a life here. Many young men fell on hard times after the Rising and had to leave, never to return. The American colonies are the recipients of too many of our good young clansmen.” He eyed her with amusement. “I’ll be able to help many people with your tocher, lass. Don’t be thinking I’ll spend it on myself.”
The wine suddenly tasted bitter in her mouth. She couldn’t let herself think of how these poor people might be waiting in anticipation for the tocher they’d never get, so she let barbed words distract her. “Your people don’t exactly seem to trust you. Will they trust you to spend such a sum wisely?”
“They have nominated me as their chief,” he said, full of confidence, “so that means they trust me.”
“Or they want the money,” she said in an overly sweet voice, “which is tied toyou,not a random chief.”
Hugh’s smile didn’t lessen as he let her words bounce right off him. Donald returned then, along with a young woman, carrying bowls of soup and platters of fresh bread. He introduced her as his wife, Rachel, and she shyly retreated to the kitchen without saying a word.
“Are your parents still here in the village?” Hugh asked, when Donald sat down on the bench next to Samuel.
Donald’s smile faded. “My da died a few years back, and my mum is in frail health. Consumption.”
Riona looked up in surprise, and felt a surge of sympathy for the family.
“Sorry I am to hear that,” Hugh said.
She hesitated, then found herself saying, “My sister has consumption. I’ve nursed her for many years.”
“Ye’re a Duff, aren’t ye?” Donald asked, but with curiosity, not dismissal.
“I am, but I’ve spent my life in England, much of it in London. My sister saw many physicians there.”
Donald leaned toward her. “Maybe ye would visit my mother? See what ye think?”
“I—I’m not a healer myself,” she demurred, uneasy, though she didn’t know why.
“But ye know more about modern treatment thanwe do. In Stirling, all they wanted to do was bleed her, and that seemed to make her much worse.”
“Yes, it is the same with my sister,” Riona said. “Of course I will see your mother.”
Hugh had the glint of pride in his eyes again, and she deliberately looked away. She couldn’t cure the woman—there was no cure. But some people lived longer than others, and their lives could be extended with knowledgeable care.
She was rather surprised by her own eagerness to be of help. She’d spent much of her youth closeted in a sickroom with only Bronwyn’s gratitude, while her parents had acted as if anyone would give up their daily activities to nurse.Theyhadn’t, she remembered. And she also remembered Bronwyn’s guilt that Riona had been forced to spend so many hours with her. No one was forcing Riona now. She might not be able to help herself escape Hugh’s plans, but perhaps she could do something for another woman’s suffering rather than dwell on her own plight. It felt good to be able to make her own decision for once, because seldom in her life had she had such a chance.
