Ghosts of Culloden Moor 18 - Watson by L.L. Muir

Author:L.L. Muir [Muir, L.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-03-02T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Esme heard Mr. Peebles’ voice before the door ever closed behind the Scot, so she made her way back to the bed and managed to climb upon it without too much trouble. She’d felt stronger after being upright for a wee while, but she was quickly wearing down. And by the time she stretched out on the hanging bed, sleep sounded like a right grand idea. If she held with the doctor’s plan, she should be playing the role of unconscious patient if anyone made it through the door. And at the moment, it sounded as if Mr. Peebles wanted just that.

It felt a bit cowardly to pretend, but she hadn’t the strength to argue with that frightened part of herself, the part that wanted to hide from the world until she was safely arrived in Boston. Her very heart hurt to think that someone truly wanted her dead—even though it wasn’t Esme Forsyth they wished to harm. And it brought tears to her eyes to think her attacker had been someone she’d been interacting with for over a month.

Were people so capable of hiding wickedness? Should she truly trust no one?

She was certain, if she entertained a wicked thought, everyone would know the instant she thought it!

Something hard slammed against the cabin door so violently, it sounded like a pistol shot. She sat up, prepared to investigate, but then she heard voices again. Low voices. Not too alarmed. So she eased back to the pillow again. When the latch lifted, she had her eyes closed before the door had a chance to open.

A single set of footsteps. She only hoped they were the doctor’s. When they didn’t come directly to her, she peeked through her lashes.

Tremayne Watson rifled through her trunk, pulled out a long stocking, and began wrapping it around his hand—his bloody hand.

“Ye’re bleeding!” She sat up quickly, prepared to help, but the room began to spin.

“Haud yer wheesht,” he hissed, then gave her a wink. “A wee cut is all, lass. Dinna get up.”

She nodded and rested back on the pillow. Speaking to the ceiling while he washed his cut with water, she asked why Mr. Peebles had come. She and the man had been assigned to the same group for meals, so she’d known his voice well enough, she explained. “And with his sore foot and cane, I would have remembered if he’d come up behind me on deck, aye?”

The doctor nodded and neared the bed drying off his cleaned wound with the same stocking. “Mr. Peebles isn’t our man, then. He came to see if I had any medicines for his pain. Poor blighter is so desperate, he pulled a pistol.”

“I don’t understand. Why are ye smiling then?” She glanced at his hand, but couldn’t see the cut.

“I grabbed the weapon and he pulled the trigger, though he never meant to. He’s quite contrite about it. Willing to do anything to earn my forgiveness. So I have ordered him to keep an eye out for our villain—for any suspicious happenings among the passengers and crew.

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