Page 35 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“I’m… I’m perfectly fine,” she said stubbornly. “I only need to get home.”

“Take my arm,” Hamilton told her. “Lean on me and just put one foot in front of another. I’d carry ye and with pleasure, but the town will be gabbing about it before sun sets if I do.”

“You will do no such thing,” she retorted, with a glimmer of her usual fire and Hamilton had to smile.

“Ach, dinnae pretend ye would nae enjoy it,” he told her, before holding up a hand and shaking his head when she glared at him. “Nae, dinnae say it. I ken very well. I promised I wouldnae vex ye. I take it back, aye. I’m sorry.”

She let out a sigh and took his proffered arm, leaning heavily on him. “If you want the truth, I should dearly love to let you carry me, you odious creature, for it seems a very long way.”

“It’s nae far now, lassie,” he said gently, simmering with frustration for he wanted to carry her, wanted to sweep her up and take her home and see she was tucked up in bed and that she was warm and comfortable and taking her medicines as she ought. The sudden urge to do something so cosy and domestic as taking care of a woman who looked a shocking sight and was suffering from a disgusting cold, startled Hamilton into silence and he held his tongue the rest of the way lest he say something appallingly stupid.

They had turned onto the street where the vicarage stood when Clara stopped, closing her eyes and simply leaning against him. Hamilton caught her as her legs gave out, sweeping her up into his arms.

“Oh, but…” she protested weakly as he carried her swiftly along the road.

“There’s nae a soul about, dinnae fash,” he told her soothingly, kicking open the back gate and then using the toe of his boot to knock on the kitchen door. Mrs Macready snatched it open a moment later, her mouth open to reprimand him for making such a racket, and then she saw Clara.

“Holy mother!” she exclaimed in shock, pulling open the kitchen door so he could carry her in.

“Is the reverend in?” Hamilton asked, relieved when Mrs Macready shook her head.

“Nae, it’s old Mr Brodie’s funeral today and—and just where do ye think ye are going?” she demanded, as Hamilton carried Clara out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

“I’m taking her to her bedroom, unless ye reckon ye can carry her up yerself?” Hamilton replied. “And dinnae start making a fuss, for I’m doing it, so ye had best lead the way and see propriety is served, aye?”

“Good heavens!” the lady said in outrage, bustling by him. “Ye are the most—”

“Aye, aye, I ken it well enough, stop ye blethering and show me to her room.”

“You are a dreadful man,” Clara told him, her head resting against his shoulder, yet her arms had curved about his neck, and he could feel her fingers toying with his hair, tickling the back of his neck. “An unrepentant rogue.”

“Aye, lassie, ye have that right,” he told her, feeling an odd sensation kicking about in his chest.

“How dare you set foot in my bedroom,” she added weakly, though he felt she said it because she ought, not because she gave a damn. He suspected she didn’t care about much past the fact she was utterly wretched, and that made him feel anxious and irritable and so out of sorts he didn’t know what to do. Instead, he stood in her bedroom like a lummox, holding her in his arms and quite unwilling to let go.

“Well, don’t stand there like a numpty, put her down on the bed, ye great gowk,” Mrs Macready scolded him, forcing him to relinquish his hold on her and settle her gently on the mattress.

She sank into the eiderdown with a soft moan, turning her blazing cheek so it rested upon the cool cotton of the pillow.

“She’s burning up,” Hamilton said in alarm.

“Aye, she’s caught herself a lovely fever and she’ll be sick as a dog for a day or two, but it’s just a nasty cold, same as Miss Fleming,” Mrs Macready said, her voice soothing this time, and Hamilton looked around at her, surprised to see her expression had softened.

She was looking at him rather oddly and it made him at once defensive for reasons he was uncertain he wished to consider. He opened his mouth to make some scathing remark, found he couldn’t and looked helplessly back at Clara, who had closed her eyes.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, knowing he was only adding fuel to Mrs Macready’s obvious speculation but too worried to care.

“Nae, laddie. I’ll take good care of her, dinnae fash. She’ll be right as a trivet in no time, I promise.”

Hamilton frowned, feeling too big and out of place in Clara’s bedroom. Not that it was a pretty room or contained any feminine accoutrements of the kind he might expect. Moyra’s bedchamber was stuffed full of luxurious fabrics and pretty pillows and silk wall hangings, but then she had the money to indulge in such things and no husband to tell her she couldn’t. Hamilton supposed the vicar must disapprove of anything that smacked of vanity and indulgence, and that made him suddenly wretched. Clara was a beautiful young woman, and she ought to be cosseted and spoiled and surrounded with pretty things that made her smile and gave her pleasure to look upon. But that was not something he could do, not without causing speculation from more quarters than just Mrs Macready. What’s more, it would lead Clara to have expectations of him of the kind he could not allow.

Why?

The question popped into his brain, startling him. For all the reasons he knew very well, was the immediate answer, and he forced any further speculation away, telling himself not to be such an eejit.

“Right, well, I’ll be off, then,” he said briskly, though his feet seemed rooted to the floor. “You’ll let me know if ye need anything, aye?”

“Aye,” Mrs Macready replied, a knowing glint in her eyes as she smiled at him, which made him unaccountably irritated. She glanced at Clara, saw she had fallen asleep and lowered her voice as she turned back to Hamilton, looking far too pleased with herself. “Ye can stop by in the morning if ye like and I’ll tell ye how she goes on. Flowers always make a lass feel better too, when she kens a fellow is thinking of her. Missing her, even,” she added, quirking an eyebrow at him.