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“So much so that I would be grateful for another—”
The door swung open and Angus stomped in, carrying a stack of mail. Royal had to clamp down on his impulse to leap across the room and throttle him. The old fellow had an infallible knack for intruding at the worst possible moment.
“Ah, here ye be,” said Angus, inspecting him with a concerned eye. “What did that old sawbones have to say? Is all well?”
“Dr. Baker feels there is no lasting damage,” Ainsley jumped in before Royal could reply. “But he’s to rest for at least a week and not strain himself.”
Angus shook his head. “That canna be right. The limp seems fair nasty to me.”
“We’re going to try massage again,” she said. “The doctor said that will be helpful.”
“Aye, that makes sense. Brody sent down a new ointment for Royal to try. Mutton fat, mustard paste, and camphor, rubbed three times a day into the bruises. Works like a charm, Brody said.”
Ainsley wrinkled her nose. “That sounds quite awful.”
“He won’t be smellin’ of roses, I grant ye, but if Brody—”
“I don’t give a hang what Brody says,” Royal interrupted. “I am not rubbing blasted mutton fat on my thigh. And may I remind you both that I am actually in the room? You needn’t act as if I’m invisible or deaf.”
“Sorry,” Ainsley said with an apologetic smile.
“Of course we ken yer in the room,” Angus said. “Do we look like a pair of jinglebrains?”
“You might not want me to answer that,” Royal said.
“Now, see here, laddie—”
“No, Grandda, you see here. I am perfectly fine,andperfectly capable of looking after myself.”
“Not with rushin’ home like ye were. Canna be good for yer leg, all that stompin’ about.”
Hell.“Who told you I was rushing home?”
“Young Willie. I asked him to keep an eye out for ye. He saw ye come home just now, cuttin’ through the park instead of takin’ a hackney.”
“Splendid. A network of spies tracking my every move,” Royal said, trying to ignore his wife’s huff of outrage. “This is getting to be ridiculous.”
“Well, at least now we have the truth instead of an out-and-out fib,” Ainsley retorted.
He waggled a hand. “I didn’t really fib, my love.”
Her violet eyes narrowed to irritated slits. “You just failed to tell the truth.”
“A small omission. So as not to worry you.”
Her answering scowl suggested that a massage—with or without mutton fat—was out of the question for the foreseeable future.
“I think we’ve discussed my leg quite enough for one day,” Royal said. “Now, would someone please tell me how Tira is feeling? She was still sleeping when I left this morning. Have the sniffles improved?”
“Och, the wee lass is as right as rain,” Angus said. “It’s the teethin’, that’s all.”
Ainsley shook her head. “The poor dear hasnotimproved, in fact. I’m convinced it’s another cold.”
“Yer daft, woman. She’s no more got a cold than I do.”
Naturally, that launched a fractious debate about Tira, who Royal was convinced was fine. But at least Ainsley’s ire was now directed at Angus instead of at him.
“Why don’t you give me the mail to sort while you two insult each other,” he said to Angus.
