The Lord’s Highland Temptation

She blew out a pained breath. ‘My father’s finances are...’ she paused ‘...a bit challenging at the moment, a fact we certainly do not wish the world to know.’

He held up his palm. ‘My word. I will not tell.’

She shook her head. ‘I can see it plainly. If you make it to the inn—or are found in this ditch—our family will be the talk of the village. The Baron of Dunburn turned out a fevered traveller.’ Her voice was mocking. ‘We do not deserve that sort of gossip.’

No, they did not. Families experiencing financial difficulties never desired the speculation of others.

It was one thing to toss away his worthless life, quite another to hurt the people who’d rescued him.

And this woman who’d nursed him back to life.

He dropped his head in his hands. ‘Very well. I will return with you.’

He felt her straighten her spine. ‘And you will stay the ten days the doctor ordered? Longer if you are still ill?’

He did not answer her right away. ‘On one condition.’

‘What condition?’ Her voice turned wary.

He lifted his head and faced her. ‘No one waits on me.’ Not her. Not her brother. ‘I take care of myself. Your cook can fix me a plate for meals, but I will walk down to the kitchen and carry it back myself. I’ll take care of my clothes as well. And anything else.’

Her clear blue eyes searched his. He fought an impulse to look away.

Finally she nodded. ‘Very well.’

‘Let us go, then.’ He attempted to stand, but his legs threatened to buckle. She bounced to her feet and held his arm, helping him up.

He lifted her hand away. ‘I am able to walk.’

She fell in step with him, walking close enough, he suspected, to grab him if he became unsteady. After a few steps he wiped his brow.

‘You still have a fever, do you not?’ she accused.

‘Possibly,’ he admitted.

It was some effort to walk at a normal pace, but he had enough pride left to prove to this lady that he could have made it to the village.

She broke the silence between them. ‘Why are you in Scotland, Mr Lucas? Why were you wandering in the hills on my father’s land?’

‘I do not know why I was on your father’s land,’ he told her. ‘I do not remember much about that day.’ He’d begun to feel feverish when he’d left that last inn. He’d medicated himself with whisky, he recalled. A lot of whisky.

‘Where were you before that?’ she asked.

‘What town, do you mean?’

She nodded.

The towns and villages were all the same to him. ‘I do not recall the name.’

‘Why are you in Scotland?’ she pressed.

‘Travelling.’ If you called running from life travelling.

She stopped and gazed at him a long time before starting to walk again. The silence between them returned and he was grateful she did not force him to say more about himself. He wanted to forget himself. Even these few questions brought back the turmoil inside him, but, just as when he’d been delirious with fever and her voice had been the one thing he could cling to, her presence next to him held him together even better than a bottle of whisky.

They finally reached the gate of the property, marked by a wrought-iron arch made out to spell Wallace. Lucas’s legs were aching with fatigue, but he pressed on.

When they came to the door, he opened it for her. She glanced at him as if surprised he could do such a gentlemanly thing.

As they stepped into the hallway, she turned to him. ‘Do you need anything?’

He raised a finger. ‘Remember our agreement. I take care of myself.’

‘I could tell Cook to fix you breakfast,’ she persisted.

‘I will do it.’ Later. After he’d rested. ‘Go on to your other tasks.’ He suspected there were many.

‘I will say goodbye, then,’ she said.

He was reluctant to part from her, but bowed and walked directly to the butler’s room. Once there he removed his topcoat and sank into the upholstered chair, placing his feet up on the nearby stool.

He closed his eyes and felt a fog in his head from the fever and the exertion. He did not need her company. He did not deserve it.

He shifted in the chair. He’d keep to himself. He could do that. It was only ten days.

* * *

Lucas rested that day and the next. All traces of his fever had gone by that second day and there was nothing reminding Lucas of being unwell but an occasional cough. He’d been blessed with a strong constitution and always bounced back quickly from any illness or injury.

As agreed, Lucas had been left to care for himself, merely needing to visit the kitchen when hungry and carry his food back to the butler’s room. He would have done very well in the village inn—Miss Wallace’s sacrifice had been totally unnecessary, but he’d made his bargain with her and, unless she freed him from it, he would honour her wishes.

* * *

Upon waking this third day, Lucas felt restless. The four walls of the butler’s room were closing in on him and the prospect of further inactivity was intolerable. His window looked out on to the yard and, from what he could tell, it seemed to be a fine sunny day. It almost made him believe in hope.

He picked up his breakfast tray and carried it back to the kitchen.

Cook looked up as he appeared in the doorway.

‘Another excellent meal, Mrs MacNeal.’ The woman always looked so harried. He felt sorry for her. ‘Where shall I put the tray?’

‘Ah, Mr Lucas.’ She gave him a tense smile as she chopped bright orange carrots, tossing the pieces into a brass pot. She inclined her head. ‘In the scullery.’

He carried the tray to the scullery, which was laden with dishes needing to be washed. He returned to the kitchen and asked, ‘Where is the scullery maid?’ He’d become used to seeing the young girl there.

‘Evie is helping Mrs Cross today.’ The cook wiped her brow with the back of her hand. ‘Mrs Cross told me I must wash the dishes today, but I dinnae ken how or when!’

Lucas shrugged. ‘I’ll wash your dishes for you.’