Murray ignored the spoon and lifted the bowl of soup. “It depends,” he said, when he’d finished it.
“On?”
“How long it took him tae find Jasper. Jasper is the best tracker I ken. He’ll find us like that.” He snapped his fingers.
That meant she was quickly running out of time. “And you think because you are not touching me Draven will see no problem with this scene.” She gestured to his bare chest.
“I cannae help that. Ye and that she-wolf tore my clothing to shreds. Come tae think of it, I wouldnae mind a blanket. There’s a draft in this room.”
Ines stared at him. The room was actually a bit stuffy with the windows and doors closed on the summer day. And after she’d had a few bites of the hot soup, she’d needed to fan herself. How could he be cold? His face had gone pale, the dark bristles of his days’ growth of beard, standing out. She touched his face, and it was cool and clammy.
“Lass, I told ye—"
“Let me help you lie down, Mr. Murray.”
He nodded. “I wouldnae argue.”
She put her arm around his waist, ignoring his bare flesh, and let him lean on her as she helped him back to the couch. Once he was on his back, she searched the room for a blanket. Unable to find one, she looked at the heavy draperies. They would take too long to pull down. What about a tablecloth?
But Pope was in the dining room. Did she dare risk it? One glance at Murray, who was shivering, told her she had better. Moving quickly but quietly, she crossed the room, opened the door a sliver, and peered out. The entryway was empty, and Mrs. Brown was not to be seen.
The dining room door was closed. Ines took a breath and tiptoed across the entryway to stand before the doorway. Hoping the hinges had been oiled, and knowing full well they had probably not, she lifted the latch and pushed the door open.
It creaked like the telltale stair in a Gothic novel. Ines winced, but when she looked inside the dining room, Pope was seated in a chair, his chin on his chest.
Ines let out a shaky breath, took in another, and slipped into the room, careful not to touch the door lest it creak again. The table was not covered with a cloth, but the sideboard behind Pope had drawers that looked promising. Additional linens might be kept there for quick access. But she had to walk past the sleeping Pope to reach it. Fortunately, he was on one side of the table, and she could walk along the other side. She did this quickly, reaching the head of the table, and then realized Pope was only a couple of feet from the sideboard. She slid behind him and quietly opened the cupboards. She found pieces for serving and candleholders, but no linens.
Looking over her shoulder to make certain Pope was still unaware of her, she grasped the drawer handle and pulled the first one open. It did not creak, but the sound it made as it slid along the wooden frame of the sideboard seemed deafening. Thank God it held linens. She was tempted to grab a corner and run, but she lifted one out and found it was only a napkin.
That meant she had to open the other drawer. Fingers shaking, she pulled it open, spotting an embroidered tablecloth right away. Just as she reached for it, a low voice said, “I would have thought you’d take the candlesticks.”
Ines spun around and found Pope staring at her with one bloodshot blue eye. The other was hidden under a lock of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead.
“I was not stealing, senhor. I needed something to cover him.”
Nash frowned, his eye not quite focused on her. She remembered that the men had said he was blind in one eye and almost blind in the other. “So you are a woman. I thought I was hallucinating. What’s that accent?”
“I am from Portugal. Please, senhor, he needs a blanket. He is cold.”
“It’s a long way from Portugal.”
“I live in London.” And then, in case he was considering violence toward her, she added, “My sister is married to your Colonel Draven.”
At the sound of that name, Pope straightened in his chair. “Draven sent you to steal my linens?”
“No, senhor. Mr. Murray is in the parlor. You shot him, and he is cold. I could not find a blanket.”
“I shot...” He rubbed his forehead. “Oh, right. Came storming in here like barbarian invaders.”
“It was an accident?”
“We can call it that.” Gripping the arms of the chair, he rose. Ines moved back a step, putting more distance between them in case she needed to run. “Don’t forget your tablecloth,” he said, gesturing to the drawer. “I’ll go with you and see how he is.”
Fearing it might be a trap, but desperate to make sure Murray was not shivering alone while she hesitated, she grabbed the linen and pulled it out of the drawer. Then she walked quickly to the exit. But Pope, for all that he smelled like a distillery, was quick as well. He reached it just before her and paused to allow her to go in front of him.
She swallowed and squeezed past him, walking quickly to the open door of the parlor. Once inside, she went to Murray, shook out the tablecloth, and covered him with it. She knelt, put a hand on his cheek, and felt how cold he was.
“How does he look?” Nash asked.
“He is pale and shivering,” she answered.
“Any fever?”
“Não, thank God. But his skin is cold.”
“The shock is setting in. Fever will be next. Stratford went for the surgeon?”
“Mr. Fortescue did, sim.”
“How long ago?”
She couldn’t say. She felt as though she had been inside this room for weeks. “Let’s see about getting you a real blanket. Brown!” Pope yelled. “Brown!”
Ines winced, but the noise did not seem to faze Murray. He didn’t move, and that concerned her even more. As she held his hand, Pope directed the cook to fetch a blanket and build up a fire as well as boil water for when the surgeon arrived. Ines watched him with interest, and finally he raised a brow and asked, “What is it?”
“You are not behaving as I expected.”
“The good behavior is temporary, I promise you. The sooner he is better, the sooner all of you will go away.”
Ines nodded, wondering why he wanted to be alone so much and why he needed to drink so much. She wondered if his injury pained him. His hair had moved slightly, and she could see a scar cutting across his closed eye. But he seemed to get on well enough with only limited vision in the other. She probably would not have known he had any vision limitations, if she had not been told. There were very few telltale signs.
Mrs. Brown finally returned with the blanket, and Ines covered Mr. Murray while the cook built up the fire. Looking down at the Scot, Ines did not like what she saw. He appeared pale and still. He’d always been such a robust and vibrant man, and this sudden change made her uneasy. She looked over her shoulder at Mr. Pope. He was not facing her and didn’t appear to be paying her any attention. She leaned down and brushed the hair off Murray’s forehead.
“Do not die,” she whispered. “You must fight. If you die, I will be very angry and upset. I still have not been kissed by you. By anyone, if you want the truth. But it is you I want to kiss.”
His expression did not change. She might have said more, but Mrs. Brown was telling her how to best arrange the room for when the surgeon arrived.
“I’ll get out of your way,” Pope said. “It would be more gentlemanly to offer assistance, but I’d just be in the way. Besides, no one calls me a gentleman anymore.” He went out after Mrs. Brown, walking slowly and deliberately to avoid bumping into anything that might have moved since the last time he’d been in the room. Ines watched him go, then started to do as Mrs. Brown had suggested. As she worked, she said a prayer that the surgeon would hurry.