A Proper Scottish Wife Ch. 13

"How bad does that hurt, laddie? Would you compare it more to sticking yourself on briar bush thorns or burning yourself on a hot pan?"

"More like briars, sir," Lachlan replied.

"I would associate his pain more with normal healing than an infection. There's no sign of dead flesh, which is good. I think this one will be fine as well. Let's have a look at the last one, shall we."

Grant stood and Ailene removed his head bandage. The furrow cut by the musket ball had crusted over to a scab.

"Grant was struck in the head," Ailene explained, "cutting the groove along his scalp. It bled badly for awhile, but the bleeding's stopped and it's scabbed over. I was worried about internal bleeding, but he's shown no signs of over sleepiness, nor slept more than the others. We've been giving him willow bark tea for headaches, but he hasn't complained of one this morning. I thought he could be released as well as long as he stuck to jobs like mending tack or other jobs requiring little movement or exertion."

The doctor examined his wound closely as well, felt for a fever and looked for any signs of cranial swelling.

"Aye, I'd let this one go too. No whooping it up, lad. No running or fighting for at least a week. Quiet jobs with limited physical activity as the Lady suggested. I don't even think you need to replace his bandage since a good scab has formed. The air will be good for it." To Grant he said, "You won't grow hair where it took off your skin along the bone, but that's better than a hole in the head with your brains leaking out, wouldn't you say?"

"Aye, doctor."

"Tell either of your care givers here if you suffer from headaches, lad. If you're still having them in a week, you'll come to Dervaig to see me. Thank these ladies, young fellow, as they've taken good care of you."

Nodding, he thanked both Isobel and Ailene and started to run to the door.

"No running, Grant, walk please," Isobel reminded him.

"Aye, ma'am," he said, slowing down.

"Lady Cameron, may I enquire where you got your medical knowledge? It seems substantial for a young woman of good family."

"My father was a second son and not going to inherit my grandfather's lands. He attended medical school at the University of Edinburgh, intending to seek a career in medicine. He nearly completed his studies when my uncle died of a sudden illness, leaving no wife or children. My father inherited the lands and titles and gave up his intent to practice medicine in order to run our estate. He continued to have a fascination with medicine, kept all of his books from his studies and taught me much of what I know."

"You've done very well. I imagine as well as I could have, given their injuries. Call me if you need help, but I'm sure everyone will be fine."

"Thank you, doctor. If I might, I have a question I'd like to ask?"

"Go ahead."

"One of our wounded took a musket ball to the shoulder, shattering the joint and nearly taking the arm off. He was bleeding badly and I couldn't apply a tourniquet. What would you have done under those circumstances?"

"Taken the arm off and cauterized the wound with red hot metal. What did you do?"

"I had Lady McTavish sew up his wounds. I had no instruments to remove the arm other than knives and we didn't have time to start a fire and heat up a blade. We were afraid of further attacks and wanted to keep moving. Isobel was able to stitch quickly enough to have the bleeding stopped within ten minutes, but I'm afraid we didn't get it stopped quick enough. He died late yesterday afternoon."

"What time was the attack?"

Ailene looked at Isobel for confirmation. "I think it was between 8:30 and 9:30. We hadn't proceeded far from Cameron Keep and we left at 7:00," Isobel said. "Riding hard on horseback, it only took Thorburn a half hour to reach us after hearing gun shots, even having to muster more men."

"And he stayed alive until when?"

"Around 4:00 in the afternoon, maybe a little later," Ailene said.

"And the only treatment to stop his bleeding was sewing him up?" The doctor asked.

"Aye, it's all we had time or tools for."

"Can I see him? Inspect your work?"

"We just finished burying him when you arrived. I don't think we should dig him up again."

"No! Quite right. Well, if his injuries were as you described them, and I've no doubt to disbelieve, he should have bled out within an hour or less. The fact that he survived until four in the afternoon means you did something right. You must have stopped the major bleeding anyway. Sewing, huh?"

"Aye, sir. Isobel is quite the seamstress. Tidy, neat stitches, done quickly. It was all I could think to do," Allene said.

"Is that something your father taught you?"

"No, sir. He believed you had to cauterize wounds as well."

"No man would have thought of sewing a man up. It's a good thing he had women looking after him."

"He still died, doctor."

"I learned a long time ago you can't save everyone, no matter what you do. Maybe you got to him minutes too late, maybe there's internal injuries you can't see. Maybe the Almighty plays a part in it. You did the best you could with what you had and gave him a longer life than he had a right to expect with those injuries. Don't presume miracles. Do the best you can and that's all anyone can ask."

He laid his hand on Ailene's arm, saying, "You did just fine, Lady Cameron. Be proud of what you did. Well, I'd better be off. You have things under control here."

"Thank you, doctor."

Ailene turned to Lachlan. "You're to stay here a while longer. I'm turning your care over to Lady McTavish. She'll find things for you to do, I'm sure, that allow her to keep an eye on you."

"My thanks, Lady Cameron."

"I'd better get a move on," Ailene said to Isobel. "Thorburn will be wanting to move quickly. You know what to look for. Send for the doctor if anything else crops up, but I'm not expecting it to. Is your dress completed? Do you want the maids to work on it while you're gone?"

"It's almost done. If we return the day before the party, I should be able to finish it."

"I wish you could return with us. I'll miss you. It's been a joy having you around the house."

"I'll miss you too, Ailene. Be safe on the trip back. Be alert."

"Aye, you too. You're the least heavily defended here. We have walls around the Keep. It's only a few days and we'll be together again."

Ailene went upstairs to gather her things. Isobel went to the head housemaid to discuss the changes she wanted made now the Camerons were leaving. When she asked that her things be brought to the second bedroom, she was informed that Frang had already arranged for her things to be moved.

"His lordship also told us to have a hot bath waiting for you this evening at nine, my Lady."

"How thoughtful of him," Isobel said, almost to herself.

"What was that, my Lady?"

"A bath sounds delightful. I shall have to find some way to thank the Laird for his consideration." A thought occurred to her. "Have Rupert report to me in the kitchen in a half hour."

"Yes, my Lady."

Isobel went to discuss the next few meals with the cook, based upon what they had available, particularly with the additional supplies they'd brought yesterday. By the time she'd finished, Rupert was standing at the kitchen door waiting for her to finish.

"Ah, Rupert, come in. I need to discuss something with you."

"Yes, Lady McTavish. What can I do for you?"

"Frang, that is to say, Laird Cameron, has decided that he doesn't want a valet. He's used to dressing himself and actually prefers to do so. You're certainly welcome to seek another gentleman to serve as valet. I should be happy to write an excellent recommendation. Or if you prefer, the Laird can write it for you. I thought since I knew you better, I might be able to say more on your behalf. If you don't wish to leave our service, I'm sure we can find something else for you, but it will probably be outside as the house staff seems quite sufficient at this time. Maybe cleaning the barn or the horse stables."

"You can't dismiss me. McTavish hired me himself. It's not within your authority."

"McTavish no longer owns this property, and if McTavish wanted you, he was certainly welcome to take you with him. But he didn't. Don't misunderstand me, Rupert. I'm not discharging you from Cameron's service. I merely gave you the opportunity to leave if you didn't wish to work mucking shit in the stables. I know it's not what you're accustomed to and not what you were hired for. But I leave it up to you. You may leave of your own volition with a nice recommendation as a valet, or stay here in some other capacity."

"I don't know anything about cleaning stables, my Lady."

"You didn't know anything about being a valet when you started that. Shoveling manure is much easier to learn than becoming a valet. It's harder physically of course, and I realize it may not be what you're used to. That's why I leave the choice to you. What will it be?"

Rupert was torn. He'd been left here by McTavish to spy on the household, and he couldn't do that if he left. Not that he'd be spying on the household much from the stables. Worse than disappointing McTavish, was disappointing Blackthorne. Abner warned him that he was the ultimate recipient of any information that he gathered. Blackthorne was the devils own representative on earth and not a man to cross.

"Stay or go, Rupert?" Isobel said. "It's not that big a decision."

He should stay at least until he had a chance to discuss it with McTavish and Blackthorne and inform them he wasn't in the house anymore. They may not need him in the stables. Then he could leave. "I'll stay, my Lady."

"Excellent. You may as well report out there right away. I'm sure they have something for you to do now."

"Yes, my Lady."

"Good day."

He turned and walked out, inwardly seething. Rupert was a gentleman's gentleman. He certainly shouldn't be out shoveling horse manure. Isobel smiled. Found one of you, she thought.

Several hours later, Frang came in for supper and found Isobel setting the dining room table.

"I thought we should eat here instead of the kitchen. Start setting some precedents," Isobel said.

"Fine. I've no problem with it," Frang replied.

"Might want to set a trusted man at the door," Isobel said. "Give us a chance to discuss some things."

"That would be wise."

"I would like to thank you for arranging for my things to be moved today," Isobel said, "and arranging the bath last night and tonight. It was very thoughtful of you. The dagger on the pillow was a nice touch as well. It greatly eased my mind. I was a bit tense about our sleeping arrangements."

"It was apparent to me and everyone else. I didn't want to make things worse than they were."

"Believe me, it helped."

"I'll go wash up for dinner then," Frang said. She nodded and he went off.

When he came down fifteen minutes later, the table was set, candles were lit, and food was on the sideboard. Frang arranged for a man to stand at the door. Bjarkë shared the table with them and they sat close together at the end farthest from the door in order to limit their conversation from being overheard.

"Did you meet your former valet, Rupert, today?" Isobel asked after they all sat down with food on their plates.

"The foppish, rat-faced fellow with the fancy clothes and shiny shoes who came to clean the stables?" Frang asked.

"The very same," Isobel replied.

"He the one you worried about being a spy?" Frang asked.

"Yes. I think that we can conclusively say that he was a spy," Isobel said.

"How so?" asked Bjarkë.

"I offered him a choice today. I told him that you didn't require a valet; that you were accustomed to dressing yourself and didn't require his services," Isobel said. "He was offered a choice to seek other employment with a glowing recommendation from either myself or the Laird or to shovel shit in the stables. He chose the latter."

"Very clever," Bjarkë said. "He can choose to live as he's done before with another gentleman or get his hands and shiny shoes dirty in the muck. By choosing the muck, he confirmed he needs to stay here."

"And gets him out of the house where we don't need to keep such a close eye on him," Frang said. "What a brilliant idea. Perhaps we can use it to smoke out any others we don't trust."

"Unfortunately, I don't think it will work on the other spies I suspect," Isobel said. "If they're already working in the stables, what could we possibly offer them that would be any worse."

"Perhaps a scullery maid scrubbing pots in the kitchen," Frang laughed. "The actual job may be less distasteful than cleaning the stables, but working a woman's job might threaten their manhood."

Bjarkë chuckled. "Or washerwoman," he offered. "Another job that would menace their masculinity. Oh, can't you just see some big, braw man scrubbing a woman's dainties or frillies. That would be an amusing sight."

Isobel laughed so hard she nearly choked on her food. Frang started to get up to help her, but she waved him down, taking a sip of wine. "And then hanging them out to dry," she choked out, tears streaming down her face, before breaking out in renewed fits of laughter.

"You should laugh more often, Isobel. It's musical," Frang said.

"As long as wine isn't shooting out your nose," Bjarkë added, which started a new laughing fit by all three.

"I've got to admit," Isobel said when they'd all calmed down some, "I haven't laughed like that in ages. Never in this house. I'd almost forgotten what laughter was."

"I shall have to make you laugh more often," Frang said. "I love the sound of it."

"Of course," Isobel said, ignoring Frang and getting serious again, "if we only pick on the suspected spies, they'll know we know who they are. If we discharge them, our enemies will endeavor to replace them with others we know nothing about."

"Aye," Bjarkë said. "I say we leave them alone outside the house where they can do less harm. Let them report what little they learn, and maybe use them just once to provide false information when it's to our advantage to do so. Once used in that fashion, they won't be trusted anymore so we'd only get the one opportunity to make a big difference. Something big that draws the bastard himself out."

The rest of their supper was more subdued; less talk and more eating. Isobel did report some of the things the cook and housekeeper had provided regarding supplies or household items that needed to be repaired or replaced. Bjarkë excused himself when that conversation started as he had no interest in it. He said he was going to bed. William Craig had been provided with the third bedroom, so Bjarkë was sleeping in the barn. Frang and Isobel continued to discuss the running of Lady Luck Farm for the next hour.

Finally, Frang said, "I'm going to have a quick talk with Mr. Craig, then retire. Good night, Isobel."

"Good night, Frang. I'll help the maid clear the dishes, then find that tub promised to be waiting for me."

"We should continue with your lessons tomorrow, Isobel," Frang said. "It's been a few days and it's best not to get out of practice."

"I'll be ready."

Isobel called for the maid and quickly assisted her in clearing the dishes. When she saw the scullery maid washing the dishes, she recalled the image of one of the spies working in the scullery and smiled. She imagined a big pile of broken crockery with a man standing helplessly in the middle of the pile. She giggled again and the scullery maid glanced at her questioningly.

"I was just imagining a large man doing your job and the inevitable pile of broken dishes that would ensue," Isobel explained.

The maid began laughing as well, picturing it.

"Well, they're not much good for more than whacking each other about the heads with their heavy swords, are they?" the maid said. "Unless you can find one worth more than a penny between the sheets."

"I've yet to find one of those," Isobel replied.

"McTavish not much good in that department?"

"He was merely cruel and disgusting."

"Not surprised." She stopped washing and looked at Isobel. "Shocking, the way he treated you. So, the young Cameron's nae much good in the sack either?"

"Oh, I haven't taken another man to bed since parting from McTavish, although the Laird expressed interest in courting me. I'm no longer interested in the part dangling between men's legs. McTavish ended that for me."

"The maids rumored you spent the night in his bed, Lady. Gossip you know," she said.

"Well, it's true we shared the bed, but we remained clothed and he gave me a dagger to use on him should he touch me. I've lost interest in sex. Over six years of brutality will do that to you."

"Tis unfortunate, Lady. The young Laird looks like he might be worth a shilling in bed. I'd not refuse him if he invited me to his room." She peered at Isobel again. "You'd not be offended if he took other women to his room."

"I have no hold on him. He's welcome to do as he will."

"Well. I know a few lasses here who will welcome that news. He's a handsome devil, that one. Course, all the Camerons are good looking. That Thorburn fair makes me quiver, just to see him. He's a big lad, that one. I wonder if his equipment matches the rest of him."

Isobel laughed, saying, "I'm sure I don't know, but he seems to be interested in the widow Mackintosh at the moment. He's invited her to attend the Midsummer festival. I'm sure she intends to remove him from the market if she can. He'd be a good catch."

"Too bad. From what I've heard, the Cameron men remain faithful once they've tied the knot. Never a whisper of scandal about old Jamison, nor young Stuart either. Unless Laird Thorburn's different; once he's married, he'll be unavailable to any other lass. There goes my chance to see if all of him is as big as the outside."

Isobel laughed again. It seemed years since she laughed so much.

"Is it true what they say," the scullery asked. "That the Laird won you in a card game?"

"It's true, I'm afraid. McTavish thought so little of me as wife he wagered me away."

"And the Laird never took you to bed after winning you? I'd have expected him to sample what he'd won at least."

"No, the Camerons have treated me with nothing but honor and respect. Strangers who treated me better than my husband ever did."

"That's a rare quality. I've more regard for the man than even I had before. Sterling quality that."

"I agree wholeheartedly. Well, I'm to bed. I've learned much more than expected the last few minutes, I'm sure. Good night."

"Good night, Lady McTavish. Tis good to have you back. I wish to thank you for continuing to look after us after you left. Twas a bonny thing to do."

"You're welcome."

Isobel went upstairs and found a steamy bath waiting for her as promised. It was close to the fireplace so she wouldn't get chilled as she exited the bath and additional hot water was close enough to the flames to stay hot. The lavender scented, French milled soap was waiting on a small table beside the bath with a small wash cloth, and a large cloth for drying off. Despite no longer requiring privacy, the screen was moved to her room screening the tub from the bed and helping to trap the heat of the fire.

She removed her clothes and laid them over the edge of the screen and sank into the warm water with a sigh. It would be so easy to get used to this. Frang's thoughtfulness in arranging this most appreciated. It's too bad he gambled. She could forgive almost anything but that, although it might mean sharing a bed with a man again. Apparently, the female staff had no problem imagining themselves in bed with him. Too bad she couldn't feel the same way.

Her mind drifted back to the sounds of pleasure emanating from this very room the previous night. Ailene moaning in passion while engaged in sex with Stuart. How lovely her panting whimpers and moans sounded as she climaxed. Isobel's left hand crept down her stomach to her sex while her right hand massaged and caressed her own breasts. She found the button at the top of her cleft and stroked it. She imagined it was another cunt she rubbed as a different hand rubbed hers. She sighed in pleasure. Little by little, Isobel felt her arousal increasing, slowly building until reaching her crest and tumbling over. So caught up with her pleasure, she didn't realize the volume of her cry of release as her spasms shook her body.