Part 8 (1/2)
”My dear Coll,” Brigham said dryly, ”how should I know? ”
”You must have seen what was done with them.”
”I regret I can't help you there.” Brigham flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve and continued in the mildest of tones, ”Nor will I carry you back to your bed after you faint and fall from your horse.” ”The day a MacGregor falls from his horse-”
”I hasten to remind you you've already done so once.” When Coll merely swore and staggered to a chest to look for his clothing, Brigham clasped his hands behind his back. ”Coll,” he began, picking his way over tender ground, ”I sympathize, believe me. I'm sure it's miserable to be tied to a sickbed day and night, but the simple fact is you're not well enough for the journey.”
”I say I am.”
”Gwen says not”
Frustrated at finding no more than linen and blankets, Coll slammed the chest shut again. ”Since when does that slip of a girl run my life?”
”Since saving it.”
That silenced Coll, who stood naked as a newborn in the early-morning sunlight. He had allowed his beard to grow since leaving London, and the roughness it gave his face suited him.
”I have no doubt she did,” Brigham added. ”And I wouldn't care to see all of her hard work go for nothing because you were too proud to rest until you were able to be of use.”
”It's a black day when a Campbell stops me from riding with my father to gather the support of the clans for the Stuarts.”
”Oh, there will be time yet. It's just beginning.” Brigham smiled then, knowing that Coll's temper was easing, allowing him to see sense. He was much like his sister in the way that temper kindled as fast as dry wood. The pity was, Serena's didn't cool as quickly. ”And I'll have you remember, we're riding out today for nothing more than an innocent hunting party. It wouldn't do for it to be rumored otherwise.” ”I trust I can speak my mind in my own house,” Coll muttered, but subsided. It was a bitter pill, but he knew he was far from ready for the journey west. Worse, if he insisted on going, he would slow the rest of the party down. ”You'll meet with the MacDonalds and the Camerons?”
”So I'm led to believe. The Drummonds and Fergusons should be represented.”
”You'll need to speak with the Cameron of Lochiel. He's always been a strong supporter of the Stuarts, and his voice is listened to.” Coll dragged a hand through his mane of red hair. ”h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation. I should be there, standing with my father, showing I stand for the Prince.”
”No one will doubt it,” Brigham began, then stopped when Gwen entered with a breakfast tray. She took one look at her brother, standing naked and furious, and clucked her tongue.
”I hope you haven't pulled any st.i.tches out.”
”d.a.m.n it, Gwen.” Coll grabbed up a blanket and covered himself. ”Have some respect.”
With a gentle smile she set down the tray and curtsied to Brigham.
”Good morning, Brig.”
He touched a handkerchief to his lips in a futile effort to hide a grin.
”Good morning.”
”Brig, is it?” Coll sputtered. He knew that if he tried to stand five minutes more he'd embarra.s.s himself. ”You've become d.a.m.n familiar with my sister, Ashburn.”
Brigham nearly winced, thinking just how familiar he'd become with Coll's other sister. ”We dispensed with formality shortly after we mopped up your blood.” He picked up his greatcoat. ”I fear you'll have trouble with your patient today, Gwen. He's in a foul temper.” Gwen smiled again and moved over to tidy Coll's bed linen. ”Coll never gives me any trouble.” She fluffed his pillows. ”You may feel better after your breakfast, Coll. If you're up to taking a short walk, I'll go along with you. But I think you might dress first.”
Stifling a chuckle, Brigham sketched a bow. She might not have the bite of her sister, but Coll's little angel knew how to get her way. ”Now that I see you're in good hands, I'll take my leave.”
”Brig-”
Brigham merely laid a hand on Coll's shoulder. ”We'll be back within a week.”
Too weak to argue, Coll let himself be led back to bed, ”G.o.d go with you.”
Brigham left them with Gwen tugging a fresh nights.h.i.+rt over Coll's shoulders. He started for the staircase, then stopped short when he saw Parkins waiting for him, stiff backed, thin lipped and carrying a valise.
”Decided to return to England, Parkins?”
”On the contrary, my lord, I mean to accompany you on your hunting trip.”
Brigham gave him one brief, incredulous look. ”I'm d.a.m.ned if you do.”
Parkins's pointed chin came up, the only sign of his agitation. ”I will accompany your lords.h.i.+p.”
”Don't be daft, man. If I wanted to take someone along, I'd take Jem. At least he'd be of some use with the horses.”
Though he gave an inward shudder at being compared to a lowly groom, Parkins remained resolute. ”I'm convinced Lord Ashburn will have need of me.” ”I'm convinced I won't,” Brigham responded, and started past.
”Nonetheless, I will accompany you, my lord.”
Slowly, almost certain he had misunderstood, Brigham turned to see Parkins standing, a figure of righteousness, at the top of the stairs. ”You are ordered to remain,” he said in a very quiet, very dangerous voice.
Parkins's stomach lining turned to ice, but he remained unbroken.
”I regret that your orders fail to persuade me that my duties are not best carried out in your company, my lord. I will accompany you.”
With his eyes narrowed, Brigham ascended a step. ”I'm of a mind to dismiss you, Parkins.”
The pointed chin quivered. ”That is your lords.h.i.+p's prerogative. That being the case, I will accompany you still.”
”d.a.m.n your eyes, Parkins.” Exasperated, Brigham stormed down the steps. ”Have it your own way then, but you won't care for the pace or the accommodations.”
”Yes, my lord.” Fully satisfied, Parkins smiled at Brigham's back.
Surly, Brigham strode out of the house and toward the stables to have a word with his groom. Barely dawn, he thought, and already he'd been engaged in two arguments. He flung on his greatcoat as he went, his long, purposeful strides eating up the frosty ground. G.o.d, it would be good to get in the saddle and ride. Away from here, he thought, glancing back and homing in unerringly on Serena's window. Away from her, he corrected, almost savagely.
She had managed to avoid him all through the evening. Or when she could not, Brigham remembered with some fury, she had spoken to him in a voice as frigid as the ground he was treading on.
He could hardly blame her, after his treatment of her. He did blame her, completely.
It was she who had raged and ranted at him until his temper had snapped. It was she who had fought him like some kind of h.e.l.lcat until his pa.s.sions had torn loose. Never, never in his life had he treated a woman with any form of physical violence. In lovemaking he was known to be pa.s.sionate but never harsh, thorough but never forceful.
With Serena he had barely restrained himself from ripping the clothes from her back and plunging into her like a man gone mad.
She was the cause. If he had managed to make it to midway through his third decade without ill-treating any woman save one, surely that woman was at fault. She goaded him, he thought viciously. She taunted him.
She fascinated him.
d.a.m.n her. He kicked a pebble out of his way-the mark on his lords.h.i.+p's gleaming boot would distress Parkins severely-and wished Serena could be dispatched as easily as the stone.
He would have the better part of a week away from her. When he returned, this madness that had taken hold of him would have pa.s.sed. He would then treat her with cordial respect and disinterest, as befitted the sister of his closest friend.