She tried not to think about the men he had killed. She did not mourn them, yet at the same time she couldn’t help but see them as desperate men doing what they felt they must to survive. She felt oddly guilty that Brodie had taken their lives to save hers. Would he hate her for it? Perhaps he didn’t care at all. Perhaps that was life in Scotland.
During the ride, she somehow managed to drift in and out of a light sleep. The horse’s quick canter was at first jostling, but it soon became a soothing rhythm. At one point she thought she was dreaming, but she realized she was half-awake as Brodie sang a song to her in Gaelic. The language was soft, seductive, and exotic in a way that made her feel homesick for a land that wasn’t even hers.
“We’re here, lass.” Brodie gently stirred her awake as they neared a small coaching inn, with a faded painted sign that read “The Boar’s Head Inn.”
Rafe, who had been standing outside the door, rushed toward them. “Bloody Christ!”
“Take her inside and find a doctor,” Brodie said.
“Come on, kitten.” Rafe carefully helped Lydia to dismount. “Who is the doctor for?”
“I got stabbed . . . but only a little,” Lydia replied, raising her wounded arm, giggling at the absurdity of it all.
“Only a little? Hell’s teeth, you’re in shock, my dear,” Rafe muttered. “Best to get you some warm food, a bed by a fire, and a stout glass of brandy.”
“That sounds lovely,” she agreed, and let him escort her inside the inn.
Brodie dismounted and walked his horse over to the stables, where a young groom took charge of his beast.
“Give him a few sugar lumps when you’re done brushing him down. The horse has earned it.”
“Yes, sir.” The lad clicked his tongue and led the horse away to be looked after. Brodie remained inside the stables a moment, and when he looked down, he noticed that his clothes were covered with blood and dirt, as were his hands. He turned his hands over, and they suddenly trembled.
He had killed three men. Killed them with so little thought except that they had taken Lydia from him.
Was he truly a monster to kill without hesitation like that? Lydia would fear and despise him now, he was certain of it. She would always look at him and see a man who took lives, brutally and bloodily. What she thought shouldn’t matter. But it did—it mattered far too much.
He remained in the stables contemplating his actions another ten minutes before he returned to the inn. The valets were downstairs, but Rafe and Fanny were missing.
“Alan, where is Lennox and the maid?”
“With Miss Hunt, sir. She was in a bad way, all shaky and sort of laughing, like she’d gone mad.”
Brodie sighed and dragged a hand down his face. He supposed he’d been facing the same thing, though in a different way.
“Do you need anything, sir?” Alan looked politely at Brodie’s bloody attire.
“Aye, clean clothes.”
“Of course, sir. Let me show you to your room.”
Brodie followed the valet upstairs. “Has Lennox sent for a doctor yet?”
“Yes, sir. Apparently there’s one not too far from here.”
“Good.” Brodie began to strip out of his clothes, while Alan unpacked a fresh set of stockings, trousers, shirt, and waistcoat for him.
Once undressed, he asked Alan which room Lydia had been taken to.
“She’s next door on the right. There were plenty of rooms, so Mr. Lennox chose separate rooms for you, him, and Miss Hunt. Fanny will stay with her.”
Brodie didn’t like the idea of staying a full day and night, in case those highwaymen had friends, but Lydia was in no condition to travel today. Besides, he would need a doctor to assess her injuries.
He stepped into the hall and knocked on Lydia’s door. Rafe opened it and sighed. “There you are, I’ve been wondering if you ran off.”
He stepped back to allow Brodie to enter.
“How is she?” he asked in a quiet tone.
Rafe nodded toward Lydia, who lay curled up on one of the two beds in the room, covered in blankets. “Better now.” Fanny was watching her eat a bowl of stew.
Rafe and Brodie moved to the opposite corner of the room, so as not to be overheard by the women. “What happened to her?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Brodie admitted. “I found their camp just before dawn, but I canna tell what they did to her before I arrived.”
“And the men?”
“Dead. There were three men. Two were sleeping, but Lydia and one man were in the woods. I shot one. Your pistol is in my room. And I used a blade on the other two.” He wondered if Rafe would judge him for killing the men.
“I’m glad you killed them,” Rafe said. “If I’d been there, I certainly would have.” He glanced toward the bed. “We’ll likely know more when the doctor arrives. She’s been asking for you, by the way,” Rafe added.
Brodie stole another glance toward Lydia. “She has?”
“Yes, I don’t think she wanted you out of her sight.” Rafe’s easy smile was softer than usual. The rakehell normally didn’t show his gentle side, but it was quite visible now.
“I thought she wouldna want to see me again after I killed those men in front of her.”
“I don’t think she’s worried about that, old boy. She’s worried about you. She said you were hurt.”
“Only a scratch. I barely even bled. But she caught a knife to her arm, and she didn’t scream or cry. The lass is both bonnie and brave.”
Lydia had finished the bowl of soup and was now speaking quietly to Fanny. She still looked pale, but her expressions were animated.
“Why don’t you go over to her, Kincade? I’ll watch for the doctor’s arrival downstairs.” Rafe patted Brodie’s shoulder as he left.
Brodie drew in a deep breath and walked over to the bed. Fanny turned at his approach. “You may sit if you wish to stay, or you may tend to anything you need to,” he told her.
“Thank you, sir.” Fanny looked to Lydia. “Do you need anything, miss?”
“Not for now. Thank you, Fanny.”
The maid excused herself and left them alone.
Brodie sat down beside her on the bed. “Rafe has sent for a doctor.”
Lydia reached across the blankets, her fingers brushing against his. He turned his palm over, inviting her to touch him. It felt good to have her caress him, even in the smallest ways.
“Lydia, I hope . . .” He choked down his fear and continued. “I hope you can forgive me for killing those men. I shouldna have done that.”
She continued to move her fingertips over his palm in soothing patterns as her lovely blue eyes fixed on him.
“You were trying to rescue me. They would have killed you, Brodie. I don’t need to forgive you. I only hope you can forgive me for putting you in such a position. You came for me. You didn’t have to.”
The brave, bonnie lass.
“The men who took you brought their fates upon themselves, lass. You have no blame for that.” His gaze drifted down to her arm. “Does it hurt much?”
She blinked, as if he had broken some spell. “Does what hurt?”
“Your arm.”