The Pride of Lions by Marsha Canham

Author:Marsha Canham [Marsha Canham]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780307568106
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-02-14T13:00:00+00:00

14

“Sweet merciful heavens, where have you been?” Catherine paced back from the window embrasure as Deirdre came through the doorway. “And how dare you leave me to fend for myself while you chase after that … that criminal.”

“I’m sorry, mistress,” Deirdre said contritely. “But I did check on you several times, only to find you were still asleep. And Mr. MacKail is so dreadfully weak. I … I cannot help but feel responsible for him somehow.”

“Responsible? What utter nonsense! You didn’t get him shot.” In a bristling temper Catherine paced to the window again and glared back at the girl, but Deirdre looked so worn and weary herself that the anger turned swiftly to concern. “You haven’t slept a wink all night, have you?”

The dark brown eyes remained downcast. “I … think I did, mistress. Here and there.”

Catherine chewed on her lip. “Well? How is he?”

“The doctor had to cauterize the wound to stop it bleeding. He hasn’t wakened but the once, in the middle of it all when it would have been far better for him to have remained unconscious. It took both Mr. Cameron and myself to hold him still so the doctor could finish. I hope to never have to see a sight like that again, mistress. Never.”

“Will he live?”

Deirdre looked up. “I don’t know, mistress. The doctor said he is young enough and strong enough to see it through, but …”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. I have come to the conclusion these Highland rogues are too mean to die. They will all live forever, if only to see us perish from sheer frustration first.”

Deirdre smiled faintly, and seeing the wild blonde tangle of her charge’s hair, she pointed to the scuffed portmanteau she had left by the armoire. “I managed to save some things from your baggage before it was taken off the coach. Your hairbrushes, your combs, some bath salts …”

“Bath salts? Oh, Deirdre, you are a marvel. I swear the soap they gave me last night was vile enough to scrub pots. I would die for a real bath with real soap and real perfumes. I fear I will never get the smell of blood and dirt off my skin—not that anyone cares, of course. Once again it seems we have been shoved into a corner and forgotten.”

“I saw Mr. Cameron this morning,” Deirdre said as she fetched the portmanteau. “He did say he came by your room to speak with you, but—”

“He was here? In this room?”

“He asked—and very nicely too, I might add—if we had everything we needed.”

“He did, did he? A guilty conscience speaking, no doubt. If not for Lady Cameron he likely would have left me sitting out in the courtyard all night long, although … I warrant if I had wild red hair and breasts spilling out of my bodice he would have remembered me.”

“Mistress?”

Catherine shook her head to dismiss the remark, and Deirdre added, “He also asked me to inform you that the family will be dining at eight.

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