Page 78 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
The air left him in a whoosh, but he wasn’t done yet.
He hadn’t learned how to fight by the Marquess of Queensberry rules. Instead, he’d learned from the boys in Edinburgh who’d shown him a few dirty tricks. What they hadn’t known about fighting was a waste of time anyway.
He turned his back, and when the bastard rushed him, used leverage to force him off his feet and over his shoulder. As he flew past, Macrath dug his elbow into the man’s midsection. This time when he landed, he didn’t get up fast. Instead, he slowly shook like a wet dog, rising to his hands and knees.
Macrath planted his boot in the middle of his arse and shoved.
“Where is she?” he repeated.
The maid, who hadn’t moved, dropped her toweling and pointed to a door.
He stepped over the man’s body. Feeling his ankle gripped, Macrath kicked out and freed his foot, going to the door.
Two knocks later Virginia’s maid opened it, and upon seeing him, immediately closed it again. He heard the lock engage and shook his head.
Nothing could be easy today, could it?
What was her name? Sally. Sarah. Hannah.
He knocked on the door again. “If you don’t open it, Hannah,” he said, his voice deliberately mild, “I’ll just have to break it down.”
Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, he turned just in time to get punched in the head. A bright red flash filled his vision just before the pain hit, traveling across his forehead and down the back of his neck.
He was getting tired of this.
He balled up his fist, connecting with the other man’s nose, lifting him in an almost graceful arc before he crashed to the floor.
Macrath stood there a moment, shaking his hand, wondering if the idiot was going to get up again.
Satisfied, he stumbled back to the door.
“Hannah, open the door.”
A second later he heard the key turn in the lock, but she only cracked open the door a bit.
“It’s not safe for you, sir. My mistress is ill.”
“Is it smallpox?” he asked, hoping the answer was negative.
“Yes, sir,” Hannah said. “She’s had a hard time of it, but she’ll live.”
Bracing his hands on either side of the door, he wondered what would convince her to allow him to see Virginia.
Before he could speak, she said, “You needn’t worry about the child, sir. We’ve all been very careful. He isn’t sick, and there’s no sign of illness.”
“The child?” he asked slowly.
He’d evidently been hit too hard. The words made no sense.
Hannah nodded. “We check on him every day, sir. He’s a sturdy little mite.”
He placed his hand flat against the panel of the door. “Where is he?”
“He’s in his nursery, sir. Upstairs, on the third floor.”
He looked back the way he came. The stairs ended at the second floor. He turned to the young maid who was still standing frozen at the end of the corridor.
“Take me to the nursery,” he said. She only nodded repeatedly. Was he that alarming?
