With her hands primly clasped in front of her thick middle, she pursed her lips as though choosing her words carefully. After another pained glance down at the lass, she shook her head and rolled her eyes again. “Wee Bella not only wishes for Master Frances and poor wee Hesther to stay on her floor, but she now claims that perhaps she does need a nursemaid after all but doesna wish it to be Freyda again.” She aimed a curt nod at the woman sleeping against him. “She wishes for Mistress Lorna to tend to her along with the others.”
“Does she now?” He scrubbed his jaw line, scratching his fingertips through this beard. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Besides, if the agreement between Lady Murdina and himself resulted in a union, it would be as such anyway. He nodded. “Tell her it shall be so.”
“And Ebby got yer weary mistress there the clothes from the trunks. As ye ordered.” She cleared her throat with a disapprovingharrumph. “As soon as Mistress Lorna feels more rested, I feel certain Ebby can get them altered to better fit her.”
“Ye seem more fractious and judgmental than usual, Mrs. Thistlewick. Ye might as well speak yer mind and be done with it.” He braced himself for whatever tirade was about to ensue. The dear old soul had always been more of a grandmother and guardian than a housekeeper.
Her sternness melted away, and she bowed her head. “I understand why ye decided on this plan of yers to wed a woman ye would never love, but I dinna agree with it.”
“It is for the best,” he quietly replied. “I must do as I see fit, ye ken?”
“Aye.” She cast another lingering glance at Lorna. “I pride myself on being an excellent judge of folks. That wee lass there willna be pleased with herself when she awakes. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do to ease her down onto the pillows and move yerself to the desk. Lessen her embarrassment that way when she comes to.”
While he knew the housekeeper was right, he loathed the idea of moving. But he supposed it was better for both of them. He waved the matron closer. “Dinna let her fall too hard when I slide out from under her.”
After a coordinated effort, Lorna soon lay curled on the couch, hugging a pillow under her head. Gunn already missed her warmth, but Mrs. Thistlewick was right, and he didn’t wish the lass embarrassed.
Then he realized the housekeeper still stood there, frowning. “Now what ails ye?”
“Perhaps I should wake her and help her to her room.” She nodded. “That way, if she remembers how she fell asleep with her head on yer chest, the both of ye can pretend it never happened.”
“I never realized women could be so calculating.” He moved to the whisky cabinet, poured himself another, then waved it in the couch’s direction. “By all means, do whatever ye see fit.”
“Dinna be growly with me, my chieftain.”
He threw up a hand and strode to the window, staring out at the frozen courtyard and not seeing a thing. The housekeeper had destroyed the rare peacefulness of earlier and replaced it with resentment.
A slight groan from the couch made him turn. Lorna curled into a tighter ball, hugging her stomach and holding a hand over her eyes. “Idiot.” She gave another pained groan, clapped a hand over her mouth, and floundered to her feet. She stumbled a few steps, looking wildly around the room while both her hands sealed her mouth shut.
“Merciful heavens!” Mrs. Thistlewick said. “Hold on, lass. I shall fetch a basin.”
“No time,” Gunn said. He threw open the window and waved the lass toward it. “Over here!”
Lorna charged forward, hung out the window, and vomited. As she retched with a violence that shook her clear to her toes, she slid farther out over the ledge.
Gunn caught hold and held her around the waist to keep her from toppling out into the snow. As she convulsed in his arms, he rubbed her back, trying to bring her some ease. “There, lass. Get it all out.” He looked back at Mrs. Thistlewick. “Water for her, aye? And a wet cloth to soothe her.”
The housekeeper didn’t move, just stood there with a self-satisfied smirk plumping her rosy cheeks.
“Mrs. Thistlewick! Now, if ye please.” What the devil was the old soul plotting now?
Lorna heaved hard and fast for a bit longer, then went limp and just hung there out the window. “Kill me now, aye? Just shove me out and make sure I break my neck when I hit.”
Gunn massaged her back, alternately rubbing and patting while still hugging an arm around her waist and holding her steady. “Now, now, wee mouse. None of that talk. Once ye rid yerself of all that fine whisky, ye will feel better.”
“No. Just shove me out into the snow and let me freeze to death,” she rasped. “I have heard it’s peaceful. Ye just go to sleep and there ye are.”
Since her retching appeared to be at an end, at least for now, he eased her back inside and held her in the crook of his arm. He sat with her on the windowsill in case she had more to purge. “It appears ye canna hold yer whisky.”
“I know better than to drink whisky.” She slumped against him, covering her face with her hands. “Bloody hell. This is worse than last Hogmanay.”
“Here ye are, lass.” Mrs. Thistlewick appeared at their side with a tankard of water and a basin. “Rinse yer mouth. It will help.”
Eyes squeezed nearly shut, Lorna swished the water around her mouth, then spat. “Thank ye,” she whispered, then sagged back against him.
Mrs. Thistlewick shot him another smug nod, then toddled to the door. “Take care of her, my chieftain. I have much to attend to with the feasting scheduled for tonight. Off I go.” She latched the door firmly behind her.
Lorna dove back to the window’s edge and retched again with hard, dry gagging.
