Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) (10 page)

Chapter 12

Lady Mary handed Kassidy a cup of hot tea, and looked at her niece with troubled eyes. “Dearest, try not to worry. Just because you've not heard from Michael is no cause for alarm. It's my belief that he's been so actively seeking Raile, that he's had no time to correspond with you."

"Oh, Aunt Mary, what have I done by sending my son into danger? I know now that Raile would not have approved. I should have gone to Cairo myself."

Lady Mary had just taken a sip of tea and almost choked. When she could catch her breath, she looked at Kassidy in disbelief. "You can't be serious. Raile certainly wouldn't want you in Egypt. Just think about the joy you will feel when they both come back." Lady Mary lowered her head so Kassidy couldn't read the distress in her own eyes. "Perhaps by tomorrow you will receive word from Michael. Let's just wait and see.

Suddenly the door burst open, and Arrian rushed to her mother. The two embraced while Kassidy cried on her daughter's shoulder. "Oh, Arrian, why did you come? You should still be in bed after giving birth to the baby."

"She's here because she's stubborn like her mother," a masculine voice said. Her daughter's husband, the laird of Glencarin, pulled Kassidy to her feet and brushed her cheek with a kiss. "We both wanted to be here. Is there any word?"

"Nothing. Oh, Warrick, now Michael may be missing. We haven't heard from him since he left. It's my fault if I've lost my husband and my son."

Warrick put comforting arms around his mother-in-law, trying to absorb her pain. "When did Michael leave?"

"A fortnight ago," Lady Mary offered. "I told Kassidy he'd write when he had the time. And lord only knows when the mail would reach us if he had written."

Warrick nodded. "Let's give him another week, and if we haven't heard from him by then, I'll go to Egypt."

Kassidy clutched at his shirt. "No, I will not lose another member of my family to that cursed land. Promise me you will not go, Warrick."

Arrian took her mother's hand, thinking she'd never seen her so distraught. "Come with me upstairs, Mother. Little Grant has talked of little else but seeing his grandmama. And you have a new granddaughter who wants to meet you. Did you know her name is Kassidy?"

Kassidy smiled through her tears. "Oh, yes, I must see the children." She rushed toward the stairs, and Arrian embraced her aunt.

"I've never seen Mother like this. I'm frightened, Aunt Mary."

Warrick turned to Lady Mary. "Is the situation as grim as it appears?"

"I fear so, Warrick. I try to keep Kassidy's spirits up, but I'm having a hard time being cheerful after all that's happened. Thank God you brought the children, that will help her."

* * *

Michael awoke slowly, blinking at the sun shining through the crack in the curtained window. With effort, he raised himself up on his elbow and turned on his side to glance around the room. Vague memories stirred in his mind, but he was slow to comprehend all that had happened. Before he could question his situation further, the door opened and Lady Mallory entered.

"You," he said, jerking the covers over his bare chest. "How did I get here?"

She placed a tray on the table beside his bed and smiled at his embarrassment. "No need to be modest with me, because necessity has forced me to be your nurse. And as to how you got here, you'll have to tell me. I found you outside my garden gate. You had been stabbed."

He shook his head to clear it. "Stabbed? But who would do—"

"You don't keep very good company, Lord Michael. You might consider changing friends."

He looked Mallory over carefully. She wore a dark green gown and her hair was hanging in curls to her waist. Surely if the goddess Diana had come to earth, she would not be more lovely. "You tended my wound?" he asked, thinking of his state of undress.

"I had no choice. The doctor that came to treat you was none too clean, and I sent him on his way. I noticed that you have another scar on your upper arm. It's healed, but it can't be too old. Why are people trying to harm you?"

"I'd rather not say." He flexed his arm and winced in pain. "How long have I been here?"

She handed him a napkin, which he took without question. "Two days and nights, and I'm sure you are hungry by now."

"I could use a drink," he admitted.

She handed him a glass of sweet lemonade, which he gratefully took and drained immediately. "Thank you," he said, looking at the tray. "What other tidbits have you for me? I find I am indeed hungry."

"I made my Cousin Phoebe's chicken and rice. She swears it can cure almost everything."

Michael took the bowl she handed him and raised the spoon to his lips. "Mmmm, this is good. So the lady cooks; What else can you do?"

"Play doctor to errant young men who turn up on my doorstep."

He looked into laughing blue eyes—he hadn't realized she had a sense of humor. He watched her move around the room, straightening a lampshade, pulling the curtains aside, and opening the window to let in a cool breeze.

"Sit and talk to me while I eat, Lady Mallory. I'd like to hear more about you."

She stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. "There isn't much to tell. I lived in the country with my Cousin Phoebe. She sent me here to live with my mother and father."

"Where are your parents?"

"As you may have surmised, they have gone away. I'm all you have."

"So you're country bred. I guessed as much. You have that healthy appearance about you."

She glared at him. "Just what do you mean by that remark?"

"Nothing, except you don't have that polish and sophistication that London society demands."

When he saw her eyes sparkle with anger, he hurriedly added, "I have no particular liking for refinement in women. You somehow remind me of my sister."

Was he deliberately being cruel? she wondered. Was she no more than a gauche country girl that he could hold up to ridicule? "If by that you mean I would find no pleasure in splashing an innocent pedestrian with my carriage, then you're right—I'm not sophisticated, and I'm glad."

"What carriage—you have me confused. Am I supposed to know what you are talking about?"

Mallory walked to the door. "You should not overeat. I'll send Safwat for the tray. Since you are mending nicely, he will now dress your wound and see to your needs."

"Wait, I—"

"Good day to you, Lord Michael."

The door slammed behind her. He was puzzled. Why had she been so angry with him? Well, he had never understood women, and he certainly didn't understand this one. He supposed he should have been more gracious to her. After all, she probably had saved his life.

"Red hair and temper," he muttered, taking another bite of tender chicken, "apparently they go together." He had no liking for a woman who couldn't be reasonable and was always putting a man on the defensive. He'd never met a woman like this one.

* * *

Mallory moved through the garden, breathing in the fragrant scent of the many exotic plants. Girlishly, she plucked a large yellow blossom and tucked it behind her ear. Then she moved onto the edge of a huge pond and looked at her reflection in the shimmering water. She did so detest her plain chocolate-colored gown. If only her mother would return, she might buy her more appropriate ones.

Suddenly another image appeared in the pond. Lord Michael had come up behind her. Turning quickly, Mallory lost her balance and toppled into the pond. Sputtering and gasping, she regained her feet. With her wet gown clinging to her body, and water streaming down her face, she glared at the cause of her mishap.

Michael couldn't hide his amusement. He reached up and plucked the blossom from behind her ear. "I'm sure there's an easier way to water this flower. Do you realize that I've seen you wet as often as I've seen you dry?"

"And why do you suppose that is, Lord Michael?" Mallory asked him icily.

"Surely you cannot blame me for this dunking."

She refused his offered hand and stepped out of the pond. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" she asked in an angry voice.

"And miss the spectacle of you tumbling into the pond. Not me."

She stood before him, bedraggled and dripping. "If you cause your wound to bleed again, Lord Michael, I promise that I won't help you, but I'll call the Egyptian doctor back and let him practice his medicine on you. I'll even hand him the rusty instruments myself."

His lips twitched. "Bloodthirsty when you're wet, aren't you?"

Mallory saw nothing amusing in the situation. "Did your mother never teach you manners?"

"Alas, she did, but I have not heeded all of her teachings. Here," Michael offered, "allow me to help you into the house lest you have another misadventure."

Mallory's eyes blazed. "Thank you, no. I am perfectly capable of making it on my own."

Michael watched her turn away and move toward the house with as much dignity as she could muster. His laughter rang out, and he realized that he hadn't laughed in a very long time. Lady Mallory was proving to be most entertaining.

He glanced about the walled garden that had been his sanctuary in his time of need. She had taken him in, nursed his wounds, and asked no questions. Surely that set her apart from most women he knew. She really did somehow remind him of his sister, Arrian.

* * *

Safwat led Lord Michael into the informal dining room, where a servant was setting two places at the table.

"Where is Lady Mallory? Michael inquired.

"She will be here shortly and asks that you excuse her tardiness."

Michael smiled to himself. She was probably late because she had to dry her hair after falling into the pond.

Suddenly, she appeared at his side, smelling of fresh flowers and reminding him of England. "Forgive me, my lord, for being late."

He held the chair for her and sat opposite her. "I want to thank you for your kindness to me in tending my wound, and your hospitality," he said with sincerity.

"I'm sure you would have done the same in my place," she said, on the defensive. 'Tm also sure you are thinking that an unmarried girl in England would never entertain a gentleman at dinner while her parents were away from home. But you will have to admit that these are rather unusual circumstances."

"I do admit that, and I appreciate your position. But this isn't England, is it, Lady Mallory?"

She looked at him suspiciously, as if expecting hidden meaning in his innocent remark.

Michael's eyes settled on her long, delicate neck. There was something different about her tonight and it took him a moment to comprehend what it was. She wore her hair swept up to the top of her head, in a style that made him realize she was attempting to look older.

If she but knew it, she was lovelier in her plain, gray cotton gown with its simple lace collar than most women were when they dressed in their finest silks and satins. He really must have hurt her when he told her she was unsophisticated, but he had meant it as a compliment.

"My gratitude is most sincere, Lady Mallory. If ever I can be of service to you, you have but to ask."

She lowered her eyes and watched as Safwat served the main course. "I find myself worried about you, my lord. After you leave here, I hope you will be careful."

"And I have concerns about you, Lady Mallory. Egypt is a dangerous place at this time. Do you know when your father will return?"

Her lower lip trembled as if she were trying to keep from crying. "No. I haven't heard from my parents."

"I would suggest if he does not return soon, you go to the British consulate and ask them to find you a suitable companion so you can return to England."

"I have nowhere to return to, my lord." She glanced up at him. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"Yes, you were an excellent nurse. I'll be leaving after we've dined."

She stared at him for a moment, knowing she didn't want him to go. "I would not like to see you open your wound."

"I can assure you that I'm perfectly well." To demonstrate, he raised his arm. "See, no pain."

"You never did explain to me how you got that other wound."

He smiled. "Let's just say I collided with another knife on board the Iberia one night."

She reached out and touched his hand. "I don't know your story, but I do know you have enemies. Promise me that you will be careful in the future."

He smiled, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. "I can assure you I'll be alert from now on, my ministering angel."

Mallory withdrew her hand. "Most people would say I was more devil than angel."

"And why is that?"

"Because I have the devil's own temper," she admitted.

"Ah, so you have."

She glanced at him, her eyes blazing, but his laughter cooled her anger.

"I'll still call you my angel."

Her expression became serious. "You were out of your head with fever one night, and you talked about your father."

"What did I say?" Michael insisted.