“Keep pressure on the wound until the healer gets here,” he said to the second footman. The man’s head bobbed in earnest. Slade strode over to the lass.
Her features intrigued him. They fired a response from every nerve ending in his body. Despite the groan, she still hadn’t come to. Her flaming auburn hair was swept up in a bun held by a jeweled comb. Not a maid, but not an aristocrat either. Then he recalled the general’s comment about a lady’s companion. Curled tendrils outside the chignon hung on either side of the lass’s face, framing delicate features and a complexion that was fair except for an enticing sprinkling of freckles. Slade’s instincts came alive as he took in her evenly spaced eyes, a tad sunken, giving an appearance of vulnerability. She was in her early twenties, he’d guess.
Why did she look so familiar? Could he have swived her? In his past life, he’d had a taste for innocence, but now his tastes leaned more towards the wicked and experienced. Quite a shame, for there was a dangerous hint of voluptuous curves in the way the lass’s prim gown draped her form. Just the type to spark fire in his blood.
He stood next to her and scanned the length of her still body. He couldn’t decide if her drab gown was gray or had once been black and had been laundered too many times. Her hands were bloodied, as was the front of her clothing. The blood was the footman’s, wasn’t it?
Slade gently lifted the woman’s blood-stained hands and inspected them one after the other for injuries. Delicate wrists and slender fingers, but no injuries. He was still holding her right hand when her eyes pushed open. A captivating shade ofhazel.With the combination of hazel eyes and auburn hair, she reminded him of?—
God’s Blood!
His stomach clenched even as light-headedness made him let go of her hand. He took a step back.
“Fifi?” Slade said, shocked.
CHAPTER 3
Slade’s body froze while his mind raced back fifteen years. Fifi had slipped while standing on a wet rock too close to the edge of Loch Duich. Without thinking, he’d dived in to save her. The last time he’d seen her, his own world had disintegrated to ashes and blood.
Dear God, had he just minutes ago imagined he could have swived little Phoebe Dunbar, whom he’d taken to calling Fifi, years ago? He should be mortified. Not only was she his friend but Egan’s sister, and she could be hurt. And yet, as his eyes swept the length of her shapely figure, he couldn’t muster the mortification. She had surely grown up nicely.
She scrambled to sit up on the bench, but stopped short, closed her eyes, and swayed for the briefest of moments, looking a tad green.
“How do you feel?” he said, his muscles tightening in concern. He made a move towards her, but she forestalled him with a raised hand. She then steadied herself at the edge of the long chair and took a few deep breaths as if gathering herself.
After a few seconds she straightened to face him. “I feel like I fainted and made a complete fool of myself,” she said. Her head shifted towards the injured footman. “How is Ludlow?”
Slade’s eyes followed her gaze. He’d momentarily forgotten the man. “We’re unable to move him until the healer gets here, which should be shortly.” He paused and turned back to her again. “Your reaction was natural for anyone witnessing a gunshot.”
A look of self-derision darkened her features. “You did not faint.”
A cool smile tugged at his lips. “I’ve fought in two wars and have seen far worse.”
Speaking of the war always brought back the images. Bloodied and broken bodies felled in booming seas of cannon smoke and musket firings. Slade swallowed the tightening in the back of his throat. The worst part had been living each day as if there’d be no more. And the smell, an acrid stench of sulfur and death.
Fifi sent him a half smile, acknowledging his attempt to make her feel better. Warmth suffused him, for her look held traces of the innocent nine-year-old girl, full of lofty ideals, who he’d saved all those years ago. It sent the images of war right out of his head.
“Is that where you’ve been all these years? Fighting in the wars?” she asked.
He nodded. “After Sylvia died …” His words trailed off as that invisible knife ripped through his heart. Slade cleared his throat, swallowed against the tightening, and started over. “After she died, I needed something to do, far away from the Highlands, that would make me forget.”
Her expression sobered. “Such a loss I imagine is difficult to forget,” she said softly.
Slade let out a weary exhale. “It is. It follows you, even in war.”
A need to divert the conversation squeezed his insides. “And you?” Slade’s glance swept the encompassing area. Hegestured with an open palm to the general’s flourishing gardens, impressive hothouse, and elegant manor. “How did you end up here as a lady’s companion of all things?”
Disbelief rolled down his spine. Lasses Fifi’s age were already married with a couple of bairns. Yet she was here, working. Even more puzzling was the fact that the Dunbars were one of the wealthiest clans in the Highlands. Why would she have to work?
Fifi’s expression hardened. There was something different about her now. Her countenance suggested weariness, restraint, and sagacity; such a stark contrast to the open, vibrant, and light-hearted young friend he recalled. He’d never seen this look from her before. Granted, it had been many years. When her fetching features evened out, he wondered if he had imagined the tension in her face.
“I am here in the service of a very dear friend who would never forgive me if her secrets were revealed,” she said.
She had evaded his question. Who was this friend? And what bloody secret?
The sound of rapid wheels reached them from a distance. Slade turned from Fifi to see a black gig heading straight for them.Bloody farthing hell!He badly wanted to continue the conversation, but the footman had to be attended to.
He faced Fifi. “Are you faring better? Do you require the services of the healer?”
