Page 52 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

Megan hugged her. “Oh, Mama. You do love him.”

Abbie laid her head on her daughter’s shoulder. “This has hit me hard. I do have deep feelings for Garrett. Yes, I love him. Perhaps I never stopped. Are you upset to hear this?”

“No,” Megan hedged.

“You don’t mind?” Abbie sniffled as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“I admit that finding out Garrett Wollstonecraft is my father was, and is, shocking. Upsetting, even. However, I believe we will become friends. I’ve also gained a grandfather, uncle, and cousins. Megan laughed lightly. “And if you do decide to marry him someday? We can live here at the hall, with horses and servants. And with Jonas nearby? How exciting!” Megan sobered. “How selfish I sound. Truly, your happiness comes first, Mama. I do wish you to be happy above all else. The decision is yours to make. I will not stand in your way.”

“My, you are growing up. How very wise of you, my dear,” Abbie replied softly.

“I’d like to do something for Garrett. He sounded sad when he spoke of his grandfather and the Scotch collie. Is it possible for us to buy him another? Having a new puppy will help him recover, I’m sure of it. And it will keep him company when we return home.”

“How considerate,” Abbie smiled. “I will broach the subject with the earl.”

Abbie hugged her daughter. Thank God she was softening toward Garrett at last, enough to make a thoughtful suggestion. It was a good start. First, Garrett had to recover before anything else was decided—and Abbie would not get a moment’s rest until he did.

* * * *

Garrett could not make sense of where he was. His mind was fuzzy; his surroundings lay in shadow and chaotic confusion. Last he remembered he was out riding with Abbie and Megan. I was shot. Yes, he understood he’d been wounded. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he’d managed to pick up snippets of conversation. Arguments. Talk of amputation. Possible infection. Fever. And of death.

A narrow band of light lay ahead of him. Walking toward it, he realized the light was actually a wall of flame. He was carrying something, a log for the fire? He glanced down and screamed.

He carried his own severed arm.

His eyes popped open and Abbie wiped his brow, speaking soothing words. His arm! He found it was still attached, though he couldn’t move the damned thing. Bloody hell, why wouldn’t his eyes focus? There were people in the room, but they all disappeared in a swirl of mist. Stay awake. But he could not. Fatigue washed over him and all grew dark.

* * * *

“Is there anything we can do, Doctor?” Abbie asked, her voice filled with anguish over Garrett’s delirious state.

“Unfortunately, we must allow the fever to run its course. There is much we can do to assist it along. I am not a believer in sweating out a fever. Garrett must be kept cool. Keep the windows open. Put out the fire. We will need tarps to lie across him and the bed. And we will need ice. Plenty of ice to lay on the tarps. We must bring his temperature down,” Faraday stated, his voice grave.

“Martin, see it done. Bring enough ice from the ice house to cover Master Garrett and the bed itself,” the earl ordered.

“I will prepare a nostrum that I often use for fevers,” Faraday said. Oliver nodded and the doctor exited the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Riordan also stood nearby, an apprehensive look on his face. He’d arrived later the first night, and Abbie had been immediately struck at the weariness etched in his countenance. First, to hear of his twin, Aidan, and now his uncle. Gazing at Riordan, it was clear that he loved his uncle fiercely.

“I will do the ice collecting,” Riordan murmured. “I need something to do.”

“Very well,” the earl said. He watched worriedly as his grandson departed. Turning to Abbie, he said, “He took the news about Aidan hard, but this. Sabrina has been a rock. As are you, Abbie.”

Already she and Sabrina had become fast friends, though the socializing came to an abrupt halt when Garrett succumbed to this lingering fever. Abbie continued to wipe Garrett’s feverish brow. “There has certainly been a good deal of drama in the Wollstonecraft men’s lives of late. And it appeared when women entered your sphere.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that this is the curse? It affects the women, not the men.”

Abbie met his steady gaze. “And you think that we are not affected by all this?”

“No, that is not what I meant,” he snapped. Oliver shook his head. “Forgive me. My nerves are balanced on the edge of a knife, the same as everyone else’s. The curse is a sensitive subject. We do not speak of it if we can at all help it, but it hovers over us nonetheless. A curse of the broken-hearted.” Oliver frowned. “What disturbs me is that this was a deliberate act. I would call for the constable, but there is nothing to report.”

“I understand. It is frustrating. At first, I thought that it could be a hunter or poacher. But why the second shot so quickly after the initial one, and in the same general vicinity? Too much of a coincidence.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Abbie dipped the cloth in the basin of cool water and continued to wipe the perspiration from Garrett’s flushed face. “To change the subject, Megan mentioned she would like us to purchase a Scotch collie puppy for Garrett. Do you know of where we could procure one without traveling to Scotland? Do you believe Garrett would welcome such a gift?”

Abbie saw doubt flicker across his face—doubt that Garrett would recover. But as quickly as it appeared, a resolute look replaced it. “When you told me that Alec Mackinnon had passed, I experienced a genuine sadness. Garrett adored him. Though I extended numerous invitations through the years, both before and after Moira died, he remained a creature of habit and loathed traveling. So I allowed Garrett to spend several summers in Scotland with his grandparents.” He smiled. “Alec gifted Garrett with a collie years ago. A collie puppy would be welcome, not only to assist with recovery, but a remembrance for his grandfather. Permit me to make inquiries.”