What was to come? Nothing good, he feared. His heart heavy with disquiet, he made his way to bed.
Chapter 4
“I’m very pleased with you, lassie,” Dr. Higgins said with a smi
le, as he mixed a draft over by the dressing table in Fiona’s airy room.
Yesterday she’d been too sore and tired and frightened to appreciate her surroundings. This morning, no trace remained of the wild weather that had brought Colin’s boat to grief. The windows opened on a warm summer’s day, and sunlight poured into the large chamber with its pretty chintz fabrics and graceful old walnut furniture.
The day was so warm in fact that sweat prickled her skin under the tartan shawl she’d draped around her shoulders for the sake of modesty. Hard to recall how she’d shivered with cold in yesterday’s howling wind.
“I’m glad,” she said from where she sat up in the bed.
The doctor shot her a humorous glance from his sharp gray eyes. She liked Dr. Higgins, who was tall and spare and sinewy, and looked like a horse with his long nose and big teeth. Liked and feared—he might practice at the back of beyond, but even yesterday, she’d recognized that he was a perceptive man. Under that observant gaze, she wasn’t convinced she could maintain the pretense that she’d lost her memory.
More reason to be on her way as soon as possible.
“You don’t believe me, I can see. I know this morning you’re still feeling like you’ve been pummeled every which way, but you’re bright and alert, and you managed some sleep. The bruises will fade, and your strength will return if you give it time.”
She wanted to retort that time was something she didn’t have, but that would blow the myth of her amnesia sky high. And while she might be desperate, she wasn’t a fool.
This morning she was purple with bruises, the worst and most painful in a band across her stomach where she’d gone over the side of Colin’s boat. Her muscles had seized up, too, so every movement, even something as simple as lifting a cup of tea to her lips, hurt.
If she could, she’d rise out of this soft, cozy bed and run a hundred miles. But given she needed help to reach the chamber pot—she still blushed to remember her clumsiness in front of Mr. Mactavish last night—she acknowledged she wasn’t going anywhere for the moment.
“But she still cannae remember anything,” Mr. Mactavish said from the window seat, reminding her, should she require it, of her most powerful reason for needing to leave this house.
He’d been kind last night, and he’d been a gentleman. Those competent hands hadn’t encroached any further than was necessary to attend to her needs.
But Fiona had learned in a hard school to recognize masculine interest. Despite his gentle touch, he wanted her, and that terrified her.
She came to believe that Diarmid Mactavish was a good man, as far as that went. He’d treated her well, and she could see that the people here loved and respected him. At Bancavan, sullen resentment and constant fear infected the atmosphere, whereas here at Invertavey, the ease in human relations spoke volumes for a fine and capable master.
But the laird was a man, and she couldn’t trust him. When a man wanted something, he took it. She needed to be away from Invertavey before his hunger broke free of his principles.
“Och, I’m sure her memory will come back soon enough,” Dr. Higgins said. “There’s a reason she can’t remember. Some shock. Perhaps the shipwreck itself.”
“But people will be worried about her,” Mr. Mactavish said. How she wished he’d leave the subject alone. “I should write to the papers in Glasgow and Edinburgh, perhaps even London, and place advertisements to see if we can locate her kin.”
“No!” Fiona said sharply before she could stop herself. Shaking hands tangled in the sheets, and a towering wave of terror made her head swim. If her host traced her family, she was lost—and so was Christina. She struggled up against the pillows and with difficulty forced her tone back to its usual level. “That’s too much trouble.”
Those clever black eyes fastened on her with alarming interest. “Och, nae trouble at all.”
“I’m sure I’ll remember who I am. I’m trying.” Which was an out-and-out falsehood.
Dr. Higgins frowned, as he carried the glass of medicine across to her. “That’s just what you mustn’t do. Turmoil and worry will only delay your recovery.”
“But surely the lassie will do better with people she knows and loves, rather than remaining a nameless waif among strangers, however well intentioned,” Mr. Mactavish said, that impressive jaw setting in stubborn lines.
She plucked nervously at the bedcovers gathered around her waist, then made herself stop when Mr. Mactavish focused on the betraying action. “I don’t want my private troubles made public in the world. I’m a lady. A lady doesn’t make a spectacle of herself.”
The angle of those expressive black brows told her that he found her argument unconvincing. “At least ye remember that much, then.”
Dr. Higgins cast a disapproving glance at the man who was clearly his friend. “Diarmid, don’t badger her. After the wreck, she’s lucky to be alive. Rest and quiet are essential for her recovery. If the lady…” He emphasized the word. “…finds the idea of a notice in the papers distressing, you need to respect that. I believe her memory will return of its own accord.”
“And what if it doesnae?” Mr. Mactavish asked in a deliberately neutral voice. “Is she to become a permanent resident in my guest bedroom, like a family ghost?”
Fiona hid a wince. She couldn’t blame her host for his frustration. If only she could tell him that she’d be gone the moment she was capable of travel, but that, too, would bring her lying story down around her ears.