Page 27 of Sweet Hellion

Chapter Ten

I love you.

The words were the last Emma thought of when she fell asleep that night and the first she thought of when she woke the following morning. She rose and dressed, then had a quick bite of oatcake and tea. She had received no word from Rhys’s friends at Blackstone Abbey. What if Ewan didn’t come, as Rhys said he would? Nae. Rhys had told her to trust him. Emma scribbled a note for Ewan to let him know she would be at the infirmary, then tacked it to the front door and hurried along the walkway.

The day of the fundraiser for the Royal Northern Infirmary had dawned bright and unseasonably warm. Emma spent the morning with the rest of the women, too busy trailing Mrs. Worsley to fret much over Rhys. They inspected every linen, every garland, every candle.

When the procession reached the second floor, Mrs. Worsley clapped her hands.

“The windows,” she said. “We cannot have a single speck. The major general and Lord Munro will be touring the wards before the ball tonight.”

A cold finger touched Emma’s spine. She’d forgotten that the celebration was to be held at Lord Munro’s mansion. He and the major general would be taking their leisure in a ballroom while Rhys lay on a thin mattress in a cell. Perhaps not. If Ewan arrived before then, surely, he would secure Rhys’s release. She hadn’t thought of it last night, but Rhys must intend for his friend to help him. Otherwise, how would he get out? A horrifying thought occurred. Rhys had agreed that she could go with Ewan to say goodbye to him. That meant— Nae, it couldn’t be. Rhys intended to escape?

“Emma.”

Emma jarred from her thoughts at Mrs. Worsley’s sharp tone.

“What?” Emma looked from her to the other women.

“You are to wash the windows again,” Mrs. Worsley said.

“Yes, Mrs. Worsley.” Emma bobbed a curtsey.

“Molly, join her.”

“Yes, Mrs. Worsley.”

Emma and Molly hurried down to the washroom and began filling buckets with warm water.

“Heavens, was something not spotless?” Molly asked, wrinkling her nose.

Emma smiled, but her thoughts raced as she located a soft linen cloth used to wipe the windows. How could Rhys escape from jail? Surely, he couldn’t.

Molly leaned forward eagerly. “Have you seen the new lad? The one they brought from Edinburgh who can’t recall his name?”

“Nae.” Emma shook her head.

“He arrived yesterday,” Molly continued in a dreamy voice.

“Molly, you aren’t a wee bit moonstruck over him, are you?” Emma teased.

Molly giggled. “He could be a prince, Emma.”

“There hasn’t been one story in the newspaper about a missing prince. More likely, he’s a pauper.”

Molly tossed her a sour look, then stooped to hand her a bucket of soapy water. “You’ll see, Emma. One day, my dreams will come true.”

Emma hoped so. She also hoped her dreams weren’t shattered. No one from Blackstone Abbey had come looking for her. Had her message not reached them?

They lugged their buckets up the back stairs and through the soldiers’ ward. Emma glanced over the row of beds. Which huddled form belonged to Molly’s obsession? With every bed occupied, there was little way to tell. She smiled warmly at one young man looking her way, his head wrapped in bandages, still, after all this time. Emma heaved a sigh and hurried to the end of the hall. The price of war was too steep to pay. She’d lost her entire family. Rhys had lost his honor….and over what?

A moment later, Molly joined her, and they washed the windows in silence.

At last, when they had nearly finished, Mrs. Worsley appeared. “Well done,” she said. “Hurry up and finish. You have just enough time to dress and report for your duties before the celebrations begin.”

They finished, then stored their buckets and rags. When they had donned their cloaks, Molly waved as Emma raced out the door. Emma arrived home to find her note still tacked to the door. Her heart fell. It was but an hour’s ride to the abbey. Perhaps she should go there herself. Darkness was already creeping across the sky. Her heart lurched. Would Rhys spend another night in that dark cell? Where was his friend? Had the jailers even fed him?

She entered the house, already swinging her cloak off her shoulders, when she caught sight of an envelope on the floor a couple feet from the door. Emma scooped up the letter, hung her cloak on a nearby hook, then turned the envelope over. Her breath caught. The return address named a hospital in—she jarred—Portugal.