Malcolm sighed a heavy sigh. “But that isn’t the way of the world.”
Chapter Four
“How is he?” Davy asked.
“Still cold and thirsty, but better, I think,” Arabella said, leaning heavily with exhaustion against the door frame. “He was awake and speaking for a time. But now he’s sleeping again.”
Davy stooped to stoke the fire. “When he was awake, what did he say?”
“Not much.”
Davy nodded. “Even when he’s uninjured, Malcolm is a man of few words.”
“Well, he had words enough to tell me I ought to be glad to be alive,” she said, with a sigh. “Even if I’m a fallen woman now…”
Davy winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, he isn’t wrong.”
Arabella had nothing to say about that. Dark night had fallen and she was so weary she thought she would drop to the floor. But she was hungry, too, and when she heard Davy’s stomach growl, she found a sack of oats to make some porridge.
To her surprise, Davy took the bowl from her.
“They’re not cooked yet,” she murmured.
“I’ll do it, lass. You sit a spell. You have run yourself ragged.”
Startled by the gallantry of his offer, she asked, “You can cook?”
He dimpled her a smile. “How hard can it be? Some hot water, some oats, and a wee bit of salt, am I right?”
She was bewildered by a man whose pride would let him fix his own meals, much less cook for a woman. “Thank you. But you must be tired and hungry yourself.”
“Aye, but there weren’t any flowers in the field so this is the best I can do to make an impression on a bonny lass.”
In spite of herself, she felt her pulse skip at his flirtation. “You’re trying to make an impression upon me?”
“Aye. That was neat work you did with the needle and thread today,” Davy said, with admiration. “I thought you’d swoon away, but you were magnificent.”
Magnificent. No one had ever called her that. And she tried not to flush at his praise. “Wouldn’t have done any good to swoon away.”
Davy grinned. “Nevertheless, I thank you.”
“You needn’t,” she said, sinking down into the chair by the fire. “It’s the least I can do for you both, given what you risked for me. Not that you needed to risk. The poison was already doing its work.”
“I suppose you had the situation well in hand,” he said with a smirk. “And even if you didn’t, well, you have my word that I’ll say you did.”
Arabella’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that the story you told your betrothed about how they didn’t have the chance to swive you…you can count on me and Malcolm to support it.”
“It wasn’t a story,” Arabella argued. “They didn’t—I wasn’t—”
Davy held up his hand. “Alright, lass. You don’t need to convince me that Donalds are limp-pricked bastards who canna accomplish anything they set their minds to, no matter how evil.”
Arabella drew her knees up under her chin and hugged them, wondering if it was only her anger about everything that was keeping her upright. If she stopped being angry, would she simply fall asleep on the spot? No. There was no chance of that with Davy chattering. “Did I ever tell you about the time that Malcolm and I won a bet using a salt fish we’d hidden in a pond?”
Davy told this, and a number of other funny stories while they waited for the porridge to be done. He was trying to lift her spirits. He was a sanguine sort with a love of adventure if his stories were to be believed. Arabella thought he might stretch the truth here and there, but he had her laughing, truly laughing, by the time the porridge was cooked.
She could only get Malcolm to take a few bites, but when he drifted again to sleep, it seemed not as fitful and deadly as before. When she returned to the main room, she found Davy stretched out on the floor with his back to the door.