Almost a Countess by Jenna Jaxon
Chapter 4
With a fluttery feeling that almost made him ill, Finn struggled toward consciousness. A stabbing ache in his head made him wince. The pain was reminiscent of his twenty-first birthday when his uncle had plied him with whisky until the wee hours of the morning. Hopefully, this ache wouldn’t make him as violently ill as he’d been then.
Cautiously, Finn opened his eyes to slits—no need to give the inhabitants notice that he was awake. But a quick look told him the room was empty. Opening his eyes wider, he took in the massive mahogany bed with its dark burgundy and gold trappings, the grand fireplace where flames licked the logs, the casement window with drapes open allowing the bright afternoon sunshine into the chamber. All in all, a well-appointed room, if a little grandiose for his own tastes. Still, wherever he’d ended up, the owner had spared no expense with his creature comforts. So where the devil was he? And who was the woman who’d found him and brought him here?
He shifted in the bed, and a sickening pain shot up his leg from his ankle. “Jesus!”
Panting against the ache, he slowly shifted again and managed to sit up without further agony. Moving slowly, he peeled the covers off his legs, dreading what he might find. But his legs both looked normal, no broken bones in evidence, although his left ankle seemed swollen and a little bruised. Still, it could have been much worse.
His boots had been removed, of course, and he glanced at the floor, but they weren’t in evidence. Neither were his clothes. Worse luck. Currently, he was clad in an old-fashioned chemise, good quality linen that had been worn seldom, with lace at collar and cuffs. Gently, he ran his hand down his leg to his ankle, needing to confirm his initial impression. The swelling was slight, which meant a sprain. Unfortunately, he’d aggravated the initial injury by walking on it God knew how far. It would hurt like hell for a week or more, making further escape difficult, if not impossible, although, apparently, he could still sit a horse. He distinctly remembered leaping onto the blond woman’s horse, but not much else. Such a limitation could end up being deadly for him.
Finn pulled the coverlet back over his legs, perusing the room once more. A very masculine room, unlikely to belong to the woman who’d rescued him. Her image appeared in his mind, the bright blond hair, porcelain pale skin, lovely red lips making him sigh and grin. A spirited woman as well as beautiful. Was she perhaps the mistress of the house? Its eldest daughter? He hoped the latter, although he couldn’t entertain thoughts of anything but escape at this point if he wanted to live. The soldiers were scouring the countryside for him. He must focus on them and how to elude them at all costs.
The door latch clattered. Finn dove down in the bed, snapping his eyes shut and sucking in his breath at the pain the movement caused. Biting his lip, he opened his eyes to slits once more, determined to take the measure of the person, be they maid or mistress.
The tall golden-haired woman who’d rescued him stepped into the room, so soft-footed she might’ve been a cat. She pulled the door closed with a quiet click and turned to survey the room. She’d changed the sodden pale blue riding habit for a dark red gown that suited her better. This one made her skin fairly glow.
She went directly to the small chest resting on a chair at the foot of the bed, opened it, and rooted around in it. At last, she withdrew something and turned to a pitcher and ewer sitting on a nearby table. She poured water into the bowl and dropped something into it. A competent, no-nonsense woman, to be sure. She’d struck him as less so out by the burn, but the situation had been so out of the ordinary he didn’t blame her for being a bit scatterbrained. All that mattered, then and now, was her willingness to help him.
Carrying the bowl of water, she approached the head of the bed, and Finn closed his eyes all the way, making himself relax in order to feign sleep. But at the touch of a warm, wet cloth to the cut on his forehead, he couldn’t help flinching. The wound was new enough it still smarted a bit. Had his movement given him away? Perhaps not. Certainly, a man might wince in his sleep if something pained him. At any rate, he’d continue to pretend to sleep and hope to discover more about the lass.
She quickly replaced the cooling cloth with another heated one, and Finn had to repress a groan of pleasure. The heat soaking into his aching head felt good indeed. The woman’s touch was light as she rubbed the cloth over his tender skin. She patted it with a dry cloth then daubed the wound with something that felt sticky and smelled of sweetness and lavender. Honey, most likely. His own mother had used that for his cuts when he was a lad.
Lost in that memory, Finn almost opened his eyes in surprise as the woman lifted his head from the pillow to wind a bandage around his forehead. She covered the wound neatly and tucked the tail of the cloth in at the front then laid him back on the pillow. Finn breathed a sigh of relief, to have her hands no longer on him. That innocent connection had begun to stoke a not-so-innocent response below. Hopefully, now she’d leave him to rest and devise a plan to allow him to continue on his way.
To his surprise, however, the woman drew the cover off his body, and Finn’s attention snapped back to her—and more importantly, to his groin, where his interest in the lass had become rather apparent. What the devil was the woman planning to do with his manly parts so exposed? Just the thought of her looking at him, even clothed in the long chemise, made the situation with his member dire. If she touched him again, he feared his desires would be more than evident.
Her firm hands seized his ankle, and it was all Finn could do to keep from crying out. The pain did take care of one problem as neatly as a dash of cold water would have. The woman continued to feel his swollen ankle with deft hands, causing a fierce pain to shoot up the affected leg. He shifted and bit back a moan. If she intended to treat the sprain, he might have to abandon his ruse. Finn wasn’t one for complaining about a bit of discomfort, but he’d had sprains before and tending them hurt worse than if the foot had been broken.
Gritting his teeth, Finn steeled himself for the worst. But the woman surprised him again by rubbing some sort of salve lightly on the swollen, aching flesh. Thank God for the lass’s light touch. No sooner was the prayer given than the woman lifted the leg and held it immobile under her arm. Finn burned to open his eyes and discover what the devil the woman was doing. A soft piece of cloth was passed around his ankle and a moment later, a garbled groan was forced from his lips as the cloth tightened unmercifully around his aching flesh. The woman continued to bind the ankle tightly, sending wave after excruciating wave of pain throughout Finn’s leg. He bore it as best he could until he lost the tenuous battle for consciousness and descended into darkness once more.
****
Coughing at the sharp stink that assailed his nose, Finn sat bolt upright in bed, instinctively shoving the vial of smelling salts away from him. He glared at the woman hovering right in front of him and snorted to get the foul reek out of his nostrils. “I’ll thank ye never t’ dae that again, woman.”
“If you’d stop fainting on me, I’d be happy to oblige.” She grinned at him, a wicked twinkle in her eyes, and recapped the vial. “Larkin just brought up a tray for you, and I thought hot food would be preferable to cold.”
Finn eyed her, impressed by her fearlessness in standing up to a stranger. Her jaw, while pleasingly rounded, still had a granite set to it. And her eyes met his with a no-nonsense stare. He returned her grin. “In that, my lady, ye are correct.”
“I’m not ‘my lady.’” She set the tray on the bed, and the smell of a hearty broth replaced the noisome stench of the smelling salts handily.
“That smells good enough tae eat.”
“You have me to thank for that.” The woman handed him a napkin, and when he’d settled that under his chin, gave him a large spoon. “Cook was adamant you should be put on an invalid diet of water toast and tea.”
Finn grimaced, although even that meagre fare sounded a feast to him.
“But I told her I believed you needed some good food and plenty of it.” She laughed and edged the tray closer. “So instead, you have beef broth, bread, and cheese. I may have told her that her broth could bring a man back from the dead, just for good measure.”
“I am forever in yer debt.” He dipped the spoon in and took a cautious sip. It was hot and meaty and shot straight to his empty stomach, which growled in appreciation. The savory broth was the first food he’d had in three days. The last morsel to pass his lips had been a pie he’d filched from a farmhouse as it sat cooling on a windowsill. He’d enjoyed the gooseberries, although he’d wished it had been a meat pie instead. Still, he’d been truly grateful to the housewife who’d filled his belly for two days.
Finn groaned in pleasure and gulped down another spoonful of his present feast. And another.
“Wait! You’ll make yourself sick if you take it so fast.” The woman grabbed his hand and stilled the spoon.
Reluctantly, Finn allowed her to take it. She was right. If he ate too quickly, he’d simply embarrass himself by casting up his accounts in front of his savior. No way to repay a kindness. He met her gaze and smiled. “Ye may have spoken truth at that. That broth has brought me back tae life.”
“I’ll convey your thanks to Cook.” She shoved a piece of the country bread into his hand. “Dip this into the broth before you eat it. You’ll go slower that way, I think.”
Finn gazed into her face and, finding genuine concern there—something he’d had precious little of from English faces recently—nodded. “Thank ye…” Och, she’d given him her name, but it escaped him. “Miss…?”
“Miss Harper. Dora Harper.”
“Miss Harper.” Finn made an awkward attempt at a bow. “I am truly in yer debt.”
He dutifully dipped the slice of bread into the bowl and shoved the dripping end into his mouth. The flavor exploded on his tongue once more, and he paused briefly to savor it before dunking the rest of the bread in to sop up as much broth as possible. When the bowl was empty, he lay back on the pillows, exhausted but sated for the first time since his nightmare had begun. “Ye’ve saved my life twice noo, Miss Harper. And although I dinna think I’ll be able tae repay yer kindness sufficiently in the present, rest assured I will dae sae as soon as possible.”
Miss Harper’s brows dipped down toward the bridge of her nose. “I wouldn’t dream of holding you to such an obligation.” She looked at him earnestly. “I couldn’t let a fellow human being die in a ditch or have him starve to death before my eyes.” Her smile was warm, gentle, with the right corner of her mouth lifting a little higher than the left. “I am truly glad you seem to be on the way to recovering, Mr.…uh?”
Her question put Finn in a quandary. Dare he tell her his true name? There was peril for her either way, especially as the British soldiers would likely be calling on her shortly. If he embroiled her further in his troubles, he’d be risking her life even more. Still, she had taken him in, and he owed her honesty, at the very least. And deep down, for reasons he’d rather not admit, he wanted her to know who he actually was. “I am Phineas, a member o’ Clan Macdonald, and the Earl o’ Aberfoyle.” He bowed his head. “At yer service, Miss Harper.”
His hostess’s eyes widened then narrowed. “Lord Aberfoyle, is it?” She took up the tray and set it on a nearby table. “A rather distinctive title, is it not? One a young lady would surely remember had she heard it in Society. Yet I have been out for over a year and have not heard a word about you, my lord.”
Finn crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no’ had occasion tae travel t’ England in several years, Miss Harper. I have remained on my estate near Aberfoyle tending tae it and my other properties. I’ve had nae need for the frivolities o’ London Society.” He fixed her with a keen eye. “Noo, had ye traveled t’ Edinburgh in search o’ a husband then we surely would have met.” He looked her up and down. “A woman o’ yer beauty and intellect would no’ have gone unnoticed by any red-blooded Scotsman within fifty miles.” As he stared into her round blue eyes, Finn’s stomach did a strange flip. “Especially not by me.”
Her cheeks pinkened, like the sun had suddenly come out and kissed them. The thought of kissing her flashed though Finn’s mind, and he had to hold his breath.
His gaze must’ve spoken volumes to her, for Miss Harper staggered back. “You’re a Scottish laird, then?”
Finn gave a sharp shake of his head. “I’m the thirteenth Earl o’ Aberfoyle, which is a title in the Peerage of Scotland, created in 1603 by the then newly crowned James I o’ England. Sae I am Lord Aberfoyle, no’ a laird o’ a clan. They’re different, ye may be assured.”
“I see.” With her mouth in a straight line, Miss Harper looked as though what she did see wasn’t at all to her liking. “You are an earl by English decree, yet you eschew English society?”
“As I am no’ one o’ the sixteen Scottish representative peers o’ the House o’ Lords, I have nae good reason tae spend time in London, Miss Harper. The British having done my family little good in the past and absolutely none in the present.”
Her brows puckered, making her face even more charming. “What do you mean?”
Finn sighed, weighing his options once more. Would explaining his family history make Miss Harper more sympathetic to him? She was English through and through, it seemed. Still, he’d chance it. “My father was killed in 1745, during the Jacobite Rebellion at the Battle o’ Prestonpans.”
“He was a Jacobite?” She had stilled, eyes wide as she glanced at the door.
“Nae. Well, no’ really.” Finn sighed. The family politics had always been complicated. “Being Scots, the Macdonalds o’ Sleat were sympathetic tae the Jacobite cause, but my father and many o’ the clan members chose tae join a Highland regiment that fought for the British army. That’s why, when he died, I was able tae inherit his titles and properties. His loyalty tae the king was rewarded that much. All the Scots who fought against England lost everything. Sae I became the Earl o’ Aberfoyle at the age o’ eight.” Finn looked at Miss Harper, whose very expressive face had softened. “My uncle was my guardian until I reached my majority four years ago and life has been quite pleasant, almost dull, until recently.”
“When, according to you, you were arrested for wearing a kilt.” Suspicion had reappeared in Miss Harper’s eyes. “They certainly can’t arrest you simply for wearing a piece of clothing.”
He smiled ruefully. “Actually, Miss Harper, they can.”