Fergus had gone, leaving them alone. He went to the basin and soaked and wrung out a cloth, then brought it back to the bed and he offered it to her. She took it and wiped her hands and face.
“Thank ye,” she managed in a hoarse whisper. Even that made her cough some more.
Col sat on the side of the bed, wondering what to do. The language barrier was frustrating.
“Did you set fire to the mattress?” he asked with gestures. Not hopeful he would be understood.
She cocked her head and stared at him fixedly for a moment, then nodded.
“Why?” he put up his hands.
She smiled that twisted half-smile and put up her hands as if grasping the bars of her prison and shook them. Then she heldup her palm and made a walking gesture on it with the fingers of her other hand.
“Of course. Obvious.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
She grabbed his other hand, and, beseeching him with her eyes she said, “Please?”
Where she had learned that word he didn’t know, but the effect of her hoarse tone and her dark, red-rimmed eyes, combined with her touch, was powerful. Heat swarmed his groin again, and he shook off her hand, rising and backing away from her. She was afae, he was convinced, and she had ensorcelled him. There was no other explanation for the power she seemed to have over him.
He should let her go, yet if she could do this to him, what damage could she wreak against his innocent brother? What if she could tempt him away from his precious Hetty and destroy him and his happiness?Goddamn it to hell, he was not going to allow that!
He had to find some way to resist the lass and ensure she couldnae harm Merlow before he let her go free.
Another wracking cough from the bed brought his attention back to her. She was lying slumped against the pillows with her eyes closed, and her breathing was ragged.
“Ye didnae look in a fit state to be going anywhere right now in any case, lass,” he muttered.
Should he fetch the doctor to her? But what could a leech do for her? He’d rather not advertise the fact she was here. This was a small community, with everyone nosing out everyone else’s business. He didn’t fancy being the butt of more gossip than he already was.
If Merlow were here, he’d know what to do. Whatever his opinion of his brother as a Scotsman, he respected his medical knowledge; the man was a wonder. He wished for Merlow forother reasons too. He could speak the girl’s wretched language and sort out this coil. Perhaps the best thing was to write to him?
I’ll do just that.
Aihan seemed to have slipped into a doze, so he left the room and locked it behind him, heading down to his study.
He penned a long letter to Merlow, telling him as much as he could about Aihan and this Ming Liang. He omitted, of course, any mention of his seemingly uncontrollable physical attraction to the wench. That, Merlow didn’t need to know about. Letter written, he decided to take it to the mail office himself, as Fergus and the boys were busy with the cleanup, and Aihan was, for the present, safely locked in his room and hopefully asleep. Rest would do her the most good.
He returned an hour later and ventured back upstairs to check on his prisoner. He opened the door quietly and found the bed empty. And the leaves of the casement window were open, the curtains blowing in the breeze.Damn and blast!
He raced to the window and looked out.It’s a hell of a drop to the ground, how did she—then he spied the sheet tied to the central strut of the window.Of course, she is small enough to squeeze through one side of the window, and lithe enough to shimmy down the sheet. And drop the rest of the way to the ground from the end of it!
God, she could be halfway to Edinburgh by now! Not likely, unless she stole one of the horses.Were there any missing? He hadn’t noticed.
He was about to withdraw when he noticed something in the grass about fifty feet away.Shite!
He bolted out the door, down the stairs, out through the kitchen exit to the courtyard, and round the side of the house that his bedroom overlooked. He ran towards the flash of blue he had seen from above and found her lying face down on the ground.
He bent and turned her over gently onto her back. Her face was bloodless, her eyes closed. But she was breathing, with difficulty. Laboured breaths that rattled in her chest.
“Lassie, what have ye done to yerself?” he muttered, picking her up with care and carrying her back to the house.
She struggled a bit, but he just gripped her tighter to his chest and murmured, “dinnae fash yerself. I shan’t hurt ye, lassie.”
She subsided with something gasped out in Chinese.
He laid her back down on his bed, covered her with blankets and went to the window and shut it, frowning at it. Glancing back at her and trusting she wouldn’t venture out of bed again in the next ten minutes, he went in search of a hammer and nails.
He was right: she hadn’t stirred when he returned and nailed the window shut.It’s now a case of protecting the wee lass from herself. She seems determined to kill herself, and I’m having none of that! There’s been enough death in this house.
