Her Rebel Lord by Georgina Devon

Author:Georgina Devon
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A week later, Jenna stood in her stillroom, looking out the frosted window at the snow falling. Soon it would be dark. The room was cold in spite of the fire she had been burning all day. It was the stone walls. They never warmed. In the summer they kept everything cool, but summers were short here. Winters seemed interminable.

Or perhaps it was her mood. She had not heard from Duncan, Lord Byrne—The Ferguson. He must have decided not to accept her help. She was too inexperienced and a hazard. She could not blame him for that choice, even if she ached to help.

Nor could she go and visit Gavin. She could pay a call during the day, but would not be able to see Gavin then. It would be too obvious and someone might easily see. Nor could she pay an evening visit. She could only hope that if Gavin turned worse, Duncan would get word to her. She had to be content with that.

She turned from the window, frustration and pent-up energy taking their toll. It was not as though she did not have plenty to do. Tinctures took large amounts of time to make. And grinding up herbs until they were a fine powder was tedious business and hard on her wrists. She could occupy more than a week doing just those two things. Not to mention her daily rounds of the neighbourhood and the calls she was requested to make.

She supposed she could make the social calls that other ladies of her rank considered necessary. She had tried when they first moved here, but her heart was not in social exchanges. She needed to help others. It was air and food to her.

She lit a brace of candles on her work table to offset the gathering dusk. A knock on the outside door made her drop the smoking taper she had used. It landed harmlessly on the oak table where she rubbed it out with her thumb.

Thankfully someone needed her care. She did not think she could stand to remain cooped up all evening after being indoors all day.

She cracked open the heavy door. A man stood bent over and covered in patched garments. A knit cap covered his head and came low on his forehead. His breath created puffs of cloud in the air.

‘Mistress?’ The word slurred. ‘Can ye help?’

She had never seen him before. She peered closer. Or had she? ‘Look at me.’

He did and a sly smile showed blackened teeth. A fringe of black hair framed glinting hazel eyes. ‘I listened to what you said. Satisfied?’ he asked in a firm, deep voice.

She suppressed a giggle caused by nervous anticipation and the relief of knowing who her strange visitor was. Instantly, she knew she needed to play along with his parody. He would not come here at this time of day in disguise if he were not about to embark on a rescue.

‘Yes. What can I do for you?’ She opened the door wider and motioned him in.

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