Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,50
prepared the initial papers for the lawsuit. Of course the earl would want him gone at once.
The miracle was that Moira hadn’t.
“Oh no, you’re not,” Mrs. McAlvey exclaimed, pushing him back down. “You’ve had a bad blow to the head and you’ll open that cut in your side, you great daft git!”
He tried to sit up again, but she held him down, and she had the strength of the Titan, or so it seemed. “I have to go!” he insisted.
“Not yet! You know what the doctor said—or do you want to have a relapse, maybe even kill yourself? That’d be a fine way to thank the young lady!” Mrs. McAlvey declared as she examined the bandage at his side. “You have opened that wound! I’ll have to rebandage it. It’s going to hurt, but it’s no more than you deserve for disobeying the doctor, and me.”
Open wound or not, he had to leave.
“Stay still!” Mrs. McAlvey barked as she started to undo the bandage. “Whist, the blood’s dried and this is going to stick.”
And then she tugged. He yelped from the pain—and everything went dark.
Later that day, after Mrs. McAlvey told Moira that Mr. McHeath shouldn’t be disturbed but she could see him tomorrow, Moira rode along the road leading to her school. Since those two men and that dog hadn’t yet been found, she wasn’t alone; Jem and another groom rode behind her.
She wanted to survey the damage before she met with Mr. Stamford to decide what ought to be done next.
As they traveled through the wood, the sun peeked out from behind high clouds and the song of birds broke the quiet. It was so lovely here, away from the dust and grime of the city. And peaceful, too, when all was well.
In spite of recent events, she felt happy, and not just because Mr. McHeath was recovering. A brief note from her father had arrived while she was napping. Although all it said was that he had arrived safely in Peebles and would be back before the end of the week, she could take comfort from the fact that if he was with his cronies who led him astray, he wouldn’t have written at all.
She was also sure it would be better if he stayed away until Mr. McHeath was well enough to go to Sir Robert’s. Her father wouldn’t be pleased to have Mr. McHeath for a guest.
He would likely be even more upset to discover his daughter secretly wished she could change places with Mr. McHeath’s nurse. She wanted to be the one to lay a napkin over his chest before he ate, to change his bandages, to cover him, to talk or simply sit in silence as he healed.
A pony cart came into view.
A pony cart driven by Sarah Taggart, and she had her two friends with her. As usual, Miss Hornby had on a bonnet with far too much ornamentation, and too little in the way of flattering colors for her complexion. Miss Swanson had on a prettier ensemble of Nile green, and Miss Taggart’s pelisse was of superfine wool in a lovely shade of blue. If only her personality could be as nice as her taste in clothes!
Had Moira been alone, she would have ridden off the road into the trees to avoid them. Since she wasn’t, she had no choice but to remain where she was and be exquisitely polite.
“Good day, Miss Taggart, Miss Hornby, Miss Swanson,” she dutifully greeted when the cart came abreast of her horse.
“Good day,” Miss Taggart answered, apparently for all three. “Oh, dear, you have had a time, haven’t you? You look utterly done in.”
If ever wolfish derision was clothed in the sheep’s wool of sympathy!
“How is poor Mr. McHeath? I do hope he wasn’t too badly hurt!” Miss Hornby said, interrupting the chilly silence.
Moira had always thought Mabel Hornby would make a good friend if she weren’t a satellite of Sarah Taggart. “He was quite seriously injured, but he’s getting better, I’m happy to say.”
“So he’ll be leaving you soon?” Sarah Taggart archly inquired.
She made it sound as if Moira and Mr. McHeath would be ending an affair, and Moira didn’t doubt she meant it as a jab. Her arrow went far wide of the mark, though, for instead of making Moira angry, it elicited exciting images of being in bed with Gordon McHeath. Being naked with an equally naked Gordon McHeath. Being intimate with him. Touching and kissing and caressing.
“I said, will he be