Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,46
the butler tell someone she wasn’t at home. However, Mr. McHeath was Robbie’s guest, and Robbie deserved to know that his friend was here, as well as his condition. He also had to be told that Mr. McHeath must stay where he was until the doctor said otherwise.
As she went down the stairs, it occurred to her that Robbie might have been worried about Mr. McHeath’s whereabouts last night. He might have spent several anxious hours wondering where his friend was or what had happened to him—although if that had been the case, he should have had men searching for him, and clearly he had not.
Her suspicion that Robbie hadn’t been overly concerned about his friend’s absence proved unfortunately correct, for instead of finding Robbie anxious and upset, the young aristocrat stood by the drawing room windows with legs planted, arms akimbo and his expression angry.
One look at his face and she could guess where he’d spent the night. His eyes were bloodshot, his complexion pasty and he was swaying enough to suggest that if he hadn’t been drinking already this morning, he’d had enough last night to keep him semidrunk today. His clothes looked as if he’d slept in them, as perhaps he had, and he smelled like a brewery.
“What’s happened to Gordon?” Robbie demanded as soon as he saw her. “One of the lads from the village said he saw him in a wagon heading this way with his head in your lap.”
As if she and Mr. McHeath had been involved in some sort of illicit activity, and as if that was worse than Robbie’s apparent neglect of his friend’s safety, letting him go back to McStuart House alone. “He was attacked and left for dead near what is left of my school.”
Robbie stared at her as if he couldn’t quite comprehend.
“You do know about the fire? Mr. McHeath came upon men setting fire to my school and tried to stop them. He was beaten and stabbed.”
His mouth gaping, Robbie felt for the end of the sofa and sat heavily. “Of course I heard about the fire. Everybody was talking about it,” he whispered hoarsely, as if it hurt his throat to speak. “And then the boy told me about Gordon. I thought he’d gone to help put it out and gotten too much smoke. But you say he’s been beaten? And stabbed. He’s not…he’s not…dying?”
Seeing his genuine distress, her heart softened a little toward him. “No, thank God.”
Robbie covered his face with his hands. “I never should have let him leave alone!”
No, he shouldn’t, but that couldn’t be changed now. “Fortunately, he’s awake and coherent and getting the best of care, so I think he’ll be all right in a few days.”
Robbie raised his distraught face to look at her with pleading eyes. “You mean that?”
As if she would lie to him about such a thing. “Aye. The doctor said there’s good reason to hope he’ll recover.”
“Thank God, thank God!” Robbie muttered as he leaned forward and clasped his hands in a prayerful attitude.
“I assume he has family in Edinburgh who should be informed of what’s happened and that his return will be delayed.”
“What? Oh, no, Gordon’s parents are dead and as far as I know, he doesn’t have any other close relatives. There’s Mitford, who’s handling his business in his absence—Gordon told me that when we were playing chess. I’ll write to him.”
“Thank you, Robbie.”
Robbie sighed and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have stayed in the tavern last night. I should have gone home with him or insisted he take my carriage.”
Yes, he should have, but that was not what was most important, and she had to ask, even if she doubted she’d get an honest answer. “You didn’t know about the fire before it was set, did you?”
Robbie straightened as abruptly as if she’d punched him. His eyes narrowed and his face flushed. “You think I had something to do with that? You honestly think me capable of such a thing?” He leaped to his feet before she could answer. “Good God, if you believe that, no wonder you broke our engagement!”
His arms crossed, he continued to glare at her. “I assure you, my lady, that whatever you think of me, I had nothing to do with that fire, or the attack on my best and dearest friend. And it’s not as if there aren’t plenty of other people to suspect. There are several I could name who might have decided that setting fire to