happen. I think we will still be here in town. I’ll have to talk my father into accompanying me,” Young said.
“I’ll send you two tickets,” James said with a wry smile.
“That would be capital! Just capital!” Young said with a boyish smile and a punch in the air.
The conversation was making her nauseous in addition to having a pounding head. She could not get the picture of him, bruised and bleeding, fighting his sisters and aunt on the night of the last match, out of her head, yet she could not bear to think about it.
“My concern is Miss Vermeal’s health,” James said and turned to her, pinning her with his eyes. “Are you feeling better?”
She was breathless suddenly and could feel a flush climbing her neck. She could not allow him any advantage. “I am going to lie down. Good day, Papa, Mr. Young, Mr. Thompson,” she whispered and hurried through the door. She heard shouting behind her and forced herself to continue on to her rooms, to safety, to peace.
Dinner that evening was its usual loud affair, James thought as he ate the carved turkey on his plate. Kirsty and Payden were arguing, and Muireall was describing MacAvoy’s wedding to Aunt Murdoch as she’d been feeling poorly with chills and a stuffed head and had not attended.
“Miss Vermeal was running from you as if a pack of wild dogs were at her heals today,” Kirsty said as she waved her fork at him. “What have you done?”
He shrugged as if it was no concern of his when all the while he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Or that Young boy sniffing around her. “I really don’t know. I went to her new house last week, and she told me to leave and never come back.”
“Girls are stupid,” Payden said.
“What did you say to her, James?” Kirsty asked.
“We were talking about different things, everyday matters, you know,” James said, unwilling to share his declaration that he had plans for the two of them with his chatty family. He would never hear the end of it.
“I’m interested to hear your plans, boy,” Aunt Murdoch said. “Have you even been looking for a job?”
“I’ve got some savings.”
“I’m sure you do. But you’re a man, and you need a worthwhile profession. Otherwise, your pride would suffer, although pride is not something you’re in short supply of,” Aunt Murdoch continued with a laugh and then a cough.
“True enough,” he said. “And anyway, I can’t work a job while I’m training. MacAvoy’s got me working out six or seven hours a day.”
Kirsty’s silverware dropped to her plate. “What did you say?”
“About what? Your fork handle is in your gravy.”
“Is the fight scheduled, then?” Payden asked, leaning across the table.
“What are you training for, James?” Muireall asked, staring at him in her most prim fashion, her lips pursed and her fingers tight around her glass.
“The rematch. It’s scheduled for the twenty-fourth.”
Aunt Murdoch was shaking her head. “I’ll not do it, boy. I’ll not patch you up this time.”
“I’ll never speak to you again! Do you hear me? Never, ever!” Kirsty said with tears in her eyes as she ran out of the room.
“What’s gotten into her?” he asked.
“Payden, please go help Mrs. McClintok with the dishes and the cleaning up,” Muireall said.
Aunt Murdoch stood and got her cane from where it was leaning against the sideboard. She shook her head. “I won’t do it, James,” she said as she left.
“What has gotten into everyone?” he asked. “It’s not like you didn’t know this day would come. I was never going to let a draw hang over my record.”
“I am so angry with you right now I can barely speak,” Muireall whispered hoarsely. “No wonder Miss Vermeal has nothing to say to you.”
“Do you think she’s upset about me fighting?”
“You’re a fool, James. She cares deeply about you, as do all of us. We watched you struggle to breathe, be stitched up, with Payden and Robbie seeing to your most personal needs for weeks.”
James flushed. “There’s no need to bring—”
“There is every need. Will you commit her or myself or Kirsty to caring for you for the rest of your life? Will you have us feeding you and wiping your bottom and relying on Payden to lead the family before he is ready?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, anger building in his gut. “You’re saying I’ll lose this match? That Jackson will pummel me until I’m a blabbering idiot?”
She shook her head. “Do