Page 39 of To Wed an Heiress
“How many more should I do?”
He studied his arm. “About six more, I think.”
For the next few minutes she didn’t speak. She bit her lips, focused on pulling his skin closed, trying to pretend that it was cloth she was stitching, or leather, not Lennox’s arm.
“You’re doing well. I couldn’t have done better myself.”
She’d never thought to be praised for performing such a terrible task, but then she’d never been in this situation before. Her life had been carefully prescribed and she’d never ventured beyond its boundaries. Her journey to Scotland had been the first time and stitching up Lennox’s arm the second.
“How are you going to explain why you’re drenched?” he asked, the white line around his mouth the only sign of his discomfort.
An idea had occurred to her, one that was slightly shocking but less so than appearing at Macrory House in her current condition.
“Could I prevail upon your kindness, Lennox? And Connor’s as well? Would it be possible for him to go to Macrory House and ask Mrs. West to fetch one of my dresses? I can’t imagine going back there looking as I do. I think Mrs. West would keep the matter private. Only Flora is up and about until late afternoon, but she’s excessively curious and wouldn’t hesitate to tell everyone.”
If her grandmother learned about Mercy’s actions this morning, Ailsa would dedicate hours to telling her how disgraceful she was and how much shame she’d brought to the family. She’d probably be restricted to her room until such time as she and Ruthie left Scotland.
“You dispensed with the bandage, I noticed,” he said.
“Someone recommended that I do so.” She gathered up the squares of cloth then began to put the other items inside the leather bag. “There was my vanity to consider, after all.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “I apologize.”
She glanced at him. If anyone should be vain it was him with his impressive chest and striking face. And those eyes. She felt like he could peer inside her with that direct blue gaze.
“I appreciated the advice. Besides, it was a relief to get rid of all that wrapping around my head.”
“Bend down,” he said.
“What?”
He reached out, grabbed her arm, and gently pulled her to stand in front of him. “Bend down so I can see your head.”
She felt exceedingly strange doing so, but his touch was gentle around her wound.
“You can hardly see it,” he said. “But you should bathe it with whiskey after being in the loch. Would you like me to do it or would you prefer to do it yourself?”
She opted to do it herself, sitting and blotting sparingly. It didn’t matter, the whiskey still stung.
“In a few days, you can have McNaughton remove your stitches.”
She’d attempted to avoid the crusty butler for the past week. However, McNaughton was everywhere. When he looked at her it was always with disapproval, especially the morning after she’d removed her turban-like bandage. She’d ducked into Aunt Elizabeth’s room rather than endure a lecture from the man.
“I’d much rather come to you,” she said. “That way I don’t have to endure McNaughton’s sniffing.”
“He doesn’t approve of you?” he asked, smiling.
“I don’t know if it’s because I’m an American. Or a woman. Or the fact that I was foolish enough to get myself injured. Or that I arrived at Macrory House in your carriage.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think McNaughton approves of anyone. He’s been a crusty old codger since he was young, or so I’ve been told. He and Irene once stepped out together.”
She put down the whiskey-soaked cloth and stared at him. “Surely you’re jesting.”
He raised his right hand, palm toward her. “On this I don’t jest. Evidently, it was quite a serious romance.”
“What happened?” A moment later she waved her hand in the air as if to erase the words. “Never mind. It’s none of my concern. I shouldn’t engage in gossip.”
“Then you’re doomed to boredom in the Highlands,” he said. “There aren’t that many of us still here. We have a tendency to talk about each other. You should hear what they say in the village.”
