The Scarred Heir Read online

  As his thrashing lessened, he became quieter. Eventually, she was certain he’d fallen back to sleep and the fever seemed to have gone down.

  She dropped the cloth back into the basin and pulled the sheet up. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest heartened her. She arched her back, stretching cramped and sore muscles.

  “You’d better not die after all this,” she muttered.

  Getting to her feet, she picked up the basin, took it back to the washstand, and hung the cloths over the edge to dry. Moving around the room, she straightened a chair and picked up more broken mug pieces. She found her scarf and tied it around her neck. There was no use putting it back over her hair. He wouldn’t see it anyway.

  She blew out two of the candles, then going back to the bed she set the third one down on the bedside table and sat beside him, watching him sleep. She didn’t understand her sudden interest in the man who had contrived with her uncle to steal her inheritance. In repose, he seemed vulnerable. Human. Even the stubble across his cheeks and chin couldn’t disguise the fullness of his lips, or the high, sculpted cheekbones. He was still as handsome as ever, with a face that would make a girl’s heart beat faster. Although his lids shielded them from view, she hadn’t forgotten the deep gray of his eyes.

  A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead and she smoothed it back, checking for a return of the fever as she did so. She breathed a sigh of relief that he was still cool.

  “I’d better get back to my room,” she muttered. “I’m only going to get a few hours of sleep as it is.”

  She stood and straightened the sheet, tucking it around him.

  “There, that should do it.”

  As she reached to pick up her candle, a hand suddenly shot out and wrapped itself around her wrist.

  Chapter Two

  Startled, Sarah fell back on the bed, and found herself sprawled across the hard, muscled chest she’d just been admiring. She looked up into Royden’s face. His eyes were still closed in sleep, but trying to extricate her arm proved useless. Even asleep, he had a grip of iron.

  Now what? Her mind searched for an answer and found none as tiredness began to overtake her. He was warm, and she was not uncomfortable. Shifting herself so she wasn’t putting any weight on his injured leg, she rested her head on his chest.

  Maybe if I just relax, he’ll do the same and I can get free.

  The steady thump-thump of his heart was soothing.

  I’ll rest. Just for a moment.

  Max was dreaming again. Strange how this dream seemed so real. He could feel Lola’s soft warmth draped over him, her breath gently streaming across his chest in sleep. Lifting his hand, he stroked the silky softness of her hair. Another part of his body stirred as his fingers sifted through the strands.

  “Mmmm.”

  Max’s eyes popped open. Sunlight streamed through a window he couldn’t see. The ceiling above him was of rough-hewn timbers with no adornment. He wasn’t in his apartment in France. Nor was the woman draped across him Lola. He shifted and pain shot up his left leg, effectively dousing his budding desire. He sucked in a breath as he remembered the events of the night before. He was back in England.

  His ship had arrived in Edinburgh just a few days ago and he’d been met by his longtime friend, Lionel Cantrell, now Viscount Lanyon. They had been fast friends while serving in the army, drawn together by their interest in military history and their status as second sons. If it wasn’t for Lion, he might have died after Waterloo.

  He glanced down at the head resting just below his chin. Definitely not Lola. Unless she’d managed to change her hair color from brown to almost white. A whiff of lemon drifted to his nose. Absolutely not Lola.

  He closed his eyes as he leaned back against the pillow and tried to remember the events of the night before. He’d left Lion that morning and headed south, heedless of his friend’s warning that a storm was blowing in. The coach had been waylaid by a highwayman. He’d been shot in the leg, but he was certain he’d killed the brigand. It was fortuitous Lion had loaned Max his coach. Lion always kept a loaded pistol aboard in a special compartment. Remembering had saved Max’s life yesterday.

  None of that, however, explained how he’d gotten here, in this room, with such a cozy bedmate.

  The woman moved and lifted her head. He opened his eyes as she stilled.

  He had a fleeting glimpse of pale blue eyes widening in horror before his warm cover scrambled to her feet. The loss of her heat was like a dash of cold water.

  “Who are you?” He smiled and kept his voice even, trying not to frighten her off before he gleaned some needed information.

  Frantic hands reached up to her hair, hiding its brightness from view. She stared at him in shocked silence for a moment before replying.

  “J-Jessie.” She began backing away. “I-I’m sorry if I disturbed you. You-you had a fever and I…”

  “Then I must thank you for your assistance,” he replied quickly, hoping she wouldn’t flee.

  “Would you remind me of just where exactly I am?”

  She stopped retreating and dropped her hands to the scarf she wore around her neck. “You’re at the Old Road Inn northwest of Newcastle. You arrived last night with a gunshot wound to your leg. The doctor said you’d lost a lot of blood, but you would mend. You have to stay off it for at least a week.”

  “I see.”

  He could still sense her nervousness, but she hadn’t retreated farther, so he was heartened by that. “I suppose I should introduce myself,” he began.

  “I know who you are, my lord.”

  The sudden hostility in her voice stopped him cold. Curiosity compelled him to ask, “And who am I?”

  She arched a pale eyebrow and her hands dropped to her hips. “There is no need to play games, Lord Royden. I suppose I ought to be thankful it took you this long to find me.” Then she spun around and headed for the door. It swung open as she reached it.

  “Jessie! Whut is you doin’ here?”

  “M-Ma,” she stuttered. “I-I…this isn’t-isn’t…I-I…that is, he had a fever in the night.”

  A thick, pale gold braid hung down her slender, blue-clad back, its end easily reaching the top of a sweetly rounded derriere.

  “I thought you was gonna help me with the bakin’ this morn?”

  A large woman entered the room and deposited the tray she carried on the table beside the door, looking him over as she did so.

  “I am, well, I was, but-but he had a fever in the night and I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I-I came down to see what I could do to help.”

  “Did you, now?”

  “I-I…the fever’s gone now.” A fiery blush crept up her neck.

  “Then I guess you done all you ken.”

  Her head bobbed nervously and she nearly ran from the room without a backward glance. The woman approached the bed.

  He was at a disadvantage lying down. A position he didn’t like. Pain shot up his leg again as he struggled to sit up.

  “Here now, don’t go hurtin’ yerself.” The woman helped him into a sitting position. “I brung you some breakfast.” She bustled around the room and picked up something off the floor. “Mr. Merriweather will be up in a bit to see if’n you need anything else. Doc says you s’posed to stay put fer at least a week.”

  He grimaced. He didn’t want to stay put for a week. He’d go mad first.

  Before she left, she put the tray on the bedside table within reach and collected what looked to be pieces of broken crockery. He sniffed appreciatively.

  Coffee. Who would have expected a little backwater inn in Northern England would have coffee?

  As he ate the toast, eggs and ham, and sipped his coffee, his thoughts strayed. It wasn’t every day that he woke up with a beautiful woman sprawled across him. What had she said? He’d had a fever in the night and she’d come to help.

  He vaguely remembered being bathed with cool water, but thought he’d dreamed it. He also remembered seeing Millie. She�
��d stared at him accusingly. He’d called to her, telling her he wasn’t responsible for her death.

  Millie’s face was suddenly replaced by wide blue eyes in a perfectly oval face. Jessie. He frowned. She didn’t look like a Jessie to him.

  Mistaking him for David, however, was a stroke of luck. He grinned suddenly, wondering how and when she’d met his brother. He wouldn’t have thought David would have ventured this far north for any reason. But wait. What had she said? I ought to be thankful it took you this long to find me.

  Why would David be looking for her? Had she done something to him, or did she have something David wanted? And how would he find out?

  She hadn’t imagined it. Sarah knew she’d seen surprise, and something else, in Lord Royden’s eyes when she revealed she knew who he was. And, he hadn’t been toying with her when he asked her name. He had not recognized her.

  She hadn’t changed that much over the last two and a half years, had she? And her hair was an unusual shade. How could he forget the humiliation she must have dealt him?

  Mrs. Merriweather looked up as she entered the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, Ma. I truly meant to get up early enough to help you with the baking.”

  “You know it’s no trouble if’n you don’t. But I thought you was gonna stay away from the stranger’s room.”

  “As I said,” Sarah replied, “I heard noises in the night and his room is just below mine. When I went down to investigate, he had fallen out of bed and was tangled up in the sheet. And he had a fever. I don’t think he would have even known I was there, but just as I was about to leave, he grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let go. I think he was dreaming about someone, but I couldn’t get free, so I sat beside him while he slept. Then I fell asleep.”

  “We-e-ll, I don’t think there was any harm done, but you might wanna be careful around him whilst he’s here.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  The morning after a storm was one of her favorite times. The air was crisp, the grass and trees sparkled as if washed and scrubbed to a bright shine, while the sun seemed to smile benevolently down on the countryside, spreading its warmth liberally.

  “So you think he found you, my lady?” Betsy’s nervous question echoed Sarah’s disturbing thoughts.

  “There’s no doubt he’s found me, but I’m not certain he was looking for me. I think his stopping here was mere chance. Because he was injured.”

  “Then it was just bad luck.”

  She nodded. “Very much so.”

  Seated in Betsy’s cozy cottage, Sarah watched her former lady’s maid pour some water from a pitcher into a kettle and set it over the fire. Then she got down two mugs from a shelf and set them on the table.

  “What do you plan to do, then?”

  “Truthfully, Bets, I don’t know. In less than two months, I’ll be twenty-one and able to claim my inheritance. I was going to write to my father’s solicitor next month.”

  “You don’t think he’ll still try to force you to marry him, do you?”

  The memory of the last time Lord Royden tried to marry her made her smile.

  “I don’t think so, but he might write to my uncle and tell him where I am. That would be disastrous.”

  “Maybe,” Betsy said. “You know you’re welcome to hide out here. And I would think the Merriweathers would be willing to delay anyone who comes looking for you long enough for you to think of something else.”

  “I didn’t plan on that something else to be leaving before you birthed that babe. I expected to hold the little one before I left.”

  Betsy glanced down at her extended belly and grimaced.

  When Sarah and Betsy arrived at Betsy’s family home, Betsy had become reacquainted with her childhood sweetheart. Six months later the two were married with her blessing. She was very happy for Betsy and Will and fully expected to be around to greet their first child next month. Now it looked as if she might have to disappear again. Life just was not fair.

  Sarah scooped tea leaves from a small jar into the teapot Betsy set in front of her. Betsy filled the teapot from the now boiling kettle then sat down heavily opposite Sarah.

  “If the doc said he was to stay off his leg for at least a week, then you could find out if he sends a letter to someone.”

  “Now why didn’t I think of that?” Sarah snapped her fingers. “I’ll just make certain that any letters he might want to send don’t get sent—especially if they are to my uncle. I’ll have to remember to ask Da if he asks to send any letters. Betsy, you’re wonderful.”

  Betsy’s grin was infectious. “That’s what my Will says too.”

  The rest of her visit was spent discussing the baby and the preparation for its advent. She helped Betsy with some laundry then stayed for a light lunch of bread and cheese. By the time she left Betsy’s cottage, Sarah was still concerned over Lord Royden’s unexpected intrusion into her life again, but resolved to put it in perspective.

  She would keep an eye on him, and monitor any letters he might send out. She wasn’t sure she believed he didn’t remember her, either. It would be too easy to let down her defenses because he seemed harmless. It didn’t help that he was still disturbingly handsome.

  The inn was quiet when she returned. It was the lull during the day when most of the villagers were either tending their land or working at home, and the stagecoach hadn’t arrived yet with passengers who might need a room for the night. This was the time of day when she helped with the cleaning.

  Entering the large tap room, she pulled an apron off a nail in the wall and took up a cloth and bucket. The Merriweathers appreciated her willingness to work, just as she appreciated their willingness to hide her. Entering the kitchen, she found Mona peeling vegetables at the worktable.

  “Where’s Ma?”

  “She’s upstairs cleanin’ rooms. Where you been?”

  “I went to see Betsy. Soon, I think.”

  Mona shrugged as Sarah went through the back door to empty the bucket. Mona had no interest in Betsy’s baby, even though she and Betsy had grown up together. Was Mona jealous of Betsy’s connection to the Merriweathers? They’d never had children of their own, but Mona had come to work for them as a teenager and they treated her like family. It was unfortunate she didn’t return the favor.

  As she worked the pump on the well near the back fence and waited for the water to fill her bucket, she glanced up at the second floor. All the windows, except one, were wide open with bedding hanging out to air. Was Lord Royden lonely—or bored?

  Water gushed from the pump and filled her bucket to overflowing, wetting the hem of her dress and drawing her attention. She shook her head. She didn’t need to think about Lord Royden. He probably had a servant or two to take care of him. And the Merriweathers would see that he was well cared for. He wasn’t her responsibility.

  The taproom was empty. Although there were two good-sized windows open at the far end of the room, it was still dim inside. She lit two lanterns and hung them from hooks in the wall to provide a little more light. There were four huge wooden wheels hanging from the ceiling that held candles for the evening, but she didn’t feel the need to light them now.

  As she wiped down tables and benches, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from straying to Lord Royden. How had he been shot? The doctor had told Mr. Merriweather that he’d lost quite a bit of blood but would recover. She wondered now if the doctor had been to see him today. Perhaps he was with Royden now.

  “Stop thinking about him!” she admonished herself. “You’ll just end up feeling sorry for him and then where will you be?”

  As if she conjured him up, Dr. Kiley came down the stairs, black satchel in hand. He smiled when he noticed her. “Good day, Miss Jessie.”

  “Good day to you, Doctor. How is the patient today?” If she could have taken the words back, she would have.

  “Itchin’ to be on his way,” the doctor replied. “But I told him he has to stay off of that leg for at least a week. He’s lucky
the bullet went clean through, but it’s still a hole that needs to heal.”

  “Did he tell you how he got shot?”

  “Said it was a highwayman. Held him up just as he come over the border from Scotland.”

  The doctor put his bag on a table and draped his greatcoat over it.

  “Oh my. I hope the brigand didn’t follow him.” Sarah dropped the cloth into the bucket of water and went behind the bar. The doctor liked a particular whiskey and Mr. Merriweather kept a bottle just for him. Pulling it out, she got down a small glass and splashed some into the bottom.

  “Says he’s certain he killed him. The coach he was riding in belonged to a friend who always keeps a loaded pistol inside.”

  Sarah approached and handed him the glass.

  “Ah, lass, you’re wonderful to remember an old man.”

  Sarah grinned as he drank the golden liquid. “You’re just fortunate I know where Da keeps your favorite drink.”

  He finished the drink and smacked his lips in appreciation. “I’ll wager your guest could use a drop or two of that. Wonderful stuff, that is.”

  Sarah took the glass from him. “I’ll tell Da when he returns.”

  The doctor’s kind old face beamed. “You do that. But for now, the patient needs some water. I left him some laudanum to take for the pain, but I noticed his water glass was empty. I told him I’d send someone up.”