The Bareknuckle Groom - Holly Bush Page 0,54
then he took a deep breath and put both hands on the arms of the chair. He stood, wobbling a bit, but walked toward the door of the sitting room.
“May I help you up the stairs?” Robbie McClintok asked as they walked slowly into the hallway.
James put a hand on the newel post. “I’m fine, son. Thank you.”
Lucinda climbed the stairs, one step behind him. He stood very still at the top of the steps, she thought to catch his breath, before continuing to his room. “You shouldn’t be up here with me, girl.”
“Your sisters and both of our aunts know where I am going.”
He sat down on the side of his bed after Lucinda helped him off with his robe. She propped the pillows against the headboard and laid a blanket over him.
“Would you like to finish your nap?” she asked.
“You should leave.”
“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, and then I will leave.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Talk.”
“I don’t know if you remember, but I was here the night of the match. I was because I’d wrapped you in my cape, and your sister Kirsty put a shawl around my shoulders and gave me a cup of tea. I’d only taken a sip when MacAvoy told me I had to come to your room. They could not get you to settle down long enough to tend you. I sat by your side while the doctor examined you, while they set your finger, while Aunt Murdoch stitched that cut over your eye.”
James looked at her. “Why did you stay?”
“I watched you fight. I was terrified and horrified too. I’d never seen anything so violent in my life,” she continued as if he had not spoken. “I was sick to my stomach with worry and revulsion. And I wondered why anyone would subject themselves to a fight like that and why anyone would care to see it. But the truth of the matter is that you were magnificent. Even tired, there was an elegance in how you moved and the power you wielded. You were prepared and diligent and ferocious. You never gave up, although I am so happy that Chambliss called a draw and it ended.”
James shrugged and looked out the window. “I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been. Jackson was the best fighter I ever faced.”
“Why don’t you think you were prepared?”
He was silent for a few long moments and then faced her. “I fired MacAvoy. I should have never done it. It was stupid and prideful. He’s the best cornerman and trainer there is. What a fool I was.”
“Please get well, James. There are people who care deeply for you,” she said as she stood.
He hitched one side of his mouth up, reminding her what a devastatingly attractive man he was. “And are you one of them, Miss Vermeal?”
She lifted one brow and went to the door. “Get your rest, Mr. Thompson.”
Chapter 13
“What do you need, Muireall?” MacAvoy said, coming through the kitchen door amid a whirl of snow.
“It was James who asked I send that message to you. He’s in his room,” she said and continued examining the shelves of the pantry beside the kitchen.
It had been six weeks since the bout with Jackson, and he’d not heard a peep from his very best friend. He was saddened by it to a degree he had not expected. He knocked on James’s door and heard a muffled “enter.” What he saw shocked him. James was on the floor of his room, bare to the waist, stretched out on his toes, pushing himself up off the floor with his arms—and every fifth one with just one arm. Sweat was dripping off of him. He jumped to his feet and pulled a towel around his neck.
“MacAvoy.”
“You’re feeling better, are you?”
“Much. Ribs are healed. Hand is healed. My head is clear. I’ve been training for the last two weeks. It was a slog the first few days, but I’m getting back in shape.”
MacAvoy turned his hat in his hands. “I’m glad to hear it, James.”
James looked down at his bare feet. This was the part that was going to be particularly hard for him as he had little experience with being contrite or regretful. But he had to do it. If he was ever to box again, he needed MacAvoy, and he needed him regardless. He’d not seen his best friend for nearly two months.
“The thing is, Malcolm, I fucked up.” He continued