A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,94
into the room, moving past the other occupant, and straight toward his bed. “I assure you I am reminded daily of what we Scots have lost. I don’t need any bleedin’ Sassenach to advise me.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, sounding alarmed, instead of angry. “Are you hurt?”
He was acutely aware that she moved behind him, her hand hovering behind his elbow as though he were some feeble old man in need of help. “I am fine,” he snapped. “Dinna fash yourself, my lady!”
“Oh, but you are not!” she insisted.
“Yes, I am,” Callum argued, although he wasn’t. Every bone in his body ached, and none more than his heart. The physician had said he was fortunate. Part of his femur had shattered with the impact of the ball, and, unfortunately, the doctor hadn’t arrived in time to remove it so the wound wouldn’t fester. By the time the bullet was extracted, he was left with a raging fever that persisted for weeks. However, he didn’t remember any of that.
Evidently, the wound in his shoulder had fared only a little better. At least it hadn’t gotten infected. Still, he reached for his shoulder as he sat upon the bed, grimacing, one hand on his leg, the other crossing his chest to clutch at his aching flesh.
Like some lady of the lamp, the woman advanced upon him, offering her hands to steady him as he sat, and some angry, raging part of Callum wanted nothing more than to seize her, drag her into his embrace and kiss her punitively—half out of some primal need to ease his ravaged soul, half out of a fierce desire to punish someone for the crimes of her countrymen.
And nevertheless… none of it was her fault.
He realized that as much as he did the simple fact that she was trying to help. And nevertheless, he said again, through gritted teeth, “I am fine.”
She stepped back to assess him, looking perfectly stricken although she knew him not at all. Nor did she know what injuries he’d sustained beneath his shirt and trews.
He looked up at her then, grateful that they’d switched places, because, at least now, he could no longer see her fine form limned by the light of the fire.
She was beautiful, certainly, although as fierce as she had been standing up to him, raging against Balthazar, her eyes were now filled with kindness and compassion, and it was nearly his undoing. God’s truth, any man would be fortunate simply to know her, much less wed her—a woman unfettered by her emotions, and brave enough to stand up to a stranger, yet tender-hearted enough to consider his wellbeing.
Suddenly, Callum was bone tired, ready to be home in his own bed, wishing he could forget the hell he’d encountered at Culloden and the pain of his injuries since.
For a long, long moment, he didn’t know what else to say… so he said nothing…
The man was clearly in pain.
There was nothing about his demeanor that decried this fact, and Elizabeth was utterly torn, both incensed that the innkeeper had let her room to some man not of her acquaintance, and now entirely horrified to find him at sixes and sevens.
“Please… won’t you allow me to help?” she asked, and before he could think to refuse her, she seized up the shawl she’d lain over her valise and rushed out the door, straight through the adjoining chamber, and into the scullery, fully intending to find the man a proper doctor.
“Pardon!” she said loudly.
A number of eyes flicked in her direction, although, considering the holiday crush, the majority returned to their given tasks, except for the young man who’d lit her hearth fire.
“My lady?” he said.
“Is there a doctor about?”
“No, my lady.”
“A midwife?”
“No my lady.”
“Well!” Elizabeth donned her most haughty demeanor, taking a cue from her aunt Celeste. No one ever dared gainsay Aunt Celeste, and come to think of it, if her Uncle didn’t appreciate strong women, he certainly surrounded himself with more than enough of them. “I would like to speak to the proprietor, at once!”
The young man scratched his head. “You mean, Balthazar?”
“Mr. Pitagowan. Balthazar—whatever his name is!”
“E’s—” The lad pointed, and never got the chance to finish his statement, because Elizabeth didn’t wait. She turned her back to the kitchen and marched into the adjoining room, where the innkeeper stood, once again, combing his infernal beard.
“Good sir,” she said. “There’s a man in my room who requires your immediate attention!”
The innkeeper looked confused, and said, “MacKinnon?”