“Nay, mistress. I do not run from anything.”
“I did not mean to suggest that you do.”
He smiled at her, releasing her hand so that he could remove his gauntlets. “I know you did not.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture of fatigue, before reclaiming her fingers, this time flesh against flesh. Instantly, his brow furrowed. “Good Christ, your hand is searing.”
Before Toby could reply, he put a hand to her forehead. “You are burning with fever. Did you not realize this?”
She hadn’t, really. All she knew was that she hadn’t felt very well. “I have not felt my best this morning,” she admitted.
Tate put a hand on her cheek for good measure. It was soft, like baby’s skin, and was quite warm. Inadvertently, he touched the bandage on her wrist and his focus was drawn to it.
“What is this?” he demanded.
He was unwrapping it before she could answer. “It… it was an accident,” she stammered.
He ripped away the linen and was faced with the four festering crescent-shaped incisions. He stared at them a moment, and his manner cooled dramatically.
“Who did this to you?”
His voice was a growl. Toby looked at him, her eyes full of fear. “It was an accident,” she repeated.
His jaw ticked. He reached to her neckline, pulling back the garment to expose a portion of the bruise he had seen the day before. “And this? Was this an accident, too?”
She tried to move away from him. “It was.”
He grabbed both of her hands, refusing to let her leave the chair. “You will tell me who did this to you. Was it your father?”
She shook her head. “Nay, of course not. He would never lay a hand on me.”
“Then who?”
“It was an accident, I tell you. You need not concern yourself. Moreover, I do not see how it is any of your affair.”
He stared at her. Then he dropped her hands and stood up. “You are right, of course,” he said coldly. “Forgive my impudence for asking.”
He stood up and turned on his heel. He was nearly to the door when she called out to him.
“My lord?”
He paused, not saying a word, but turned to face her. Ill, uncomfortable, Toby stood up and fought to swallow her pride. She didn’t want to tell him and wasn’t even sure where to start, but he was the first person in her entire life that had ever shown any concern for her. She felt that she should explain so he didn’t think her unkind.
“This has gone on so long that I do not think of it anymore,” her voice was a whisper. “It is simply something that happens now and again. Please understand that my father, no matter how much he drinks, has never laid a hand upon me. Nor has my baby sister. What happens… what you have seen… cannot be helped.”
He came back into the room. “What do you mean it cannot be helped?”
“Simply that.”
“You do not do this to yourself, do you?”
She looked as if he had just asked her something deeply painful. “Of course not,” she breathed. “It is just that my mother….”
“Your mother does this to you?”
He raised his voice and she put her hands up to quiet him. “She cannot help it, my lord. She is ill and confined and does not know what she is doing. After suffering an attack during the birth of Ailsa, she has never been the same. The lovely woman I once knew as my mother has become something wicked and frightful. She is out of her mind with disease and does not realize the pain she inflicts.”
“On you.”
She hesitated. “Aye.”
