Page 59 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“Don’t get me started.” Gareth actually had little appetite, but he didn’t wish to worry her. “I keep thinking of marching into the kitchen and demanding Cook prepare a roast goose with all the trimmings for our first dinner back at the house.”

“That does sound marvelous.” Jane closed her eyes and smiled. “With lots of wonderful wine. Red of course, with the goose. An excellent burgundy would be just the thing. But Lord, I’d drink ale right now and enjoy every sip.”

Gareth wished so too. Time and again he’d regretted not filling their wine bottle with water. Streams had proven elusive on the way so far. He cocked his head, listening. “Perhaps I can help with that, my love.”

She cut her eyes up at him. “If you’ve been holding out on me, Kinellan, and have had a bottle of wine stashed in that carry bag all this time, I’m going to make you regret you were ever born.”

He chuckled and took her hand. “No, sweetheart, I’ve not been keeping anything from you. But if you listen, you may take my meaning.”

Cocking her head, she closed her eyes, remaining so quiet he feared she’d fallen asleep. At last, she opened her eyes, big and round and beautiful. “A stream?”

With a grin, he nodded. “Just off to our right, unless I miss my guess. Here.” He’d untied the carry bag as he spoke and now pulled out the empty wine bottle. “Never mind the vintage. I say it’s all good.”

She laughed as she rose and headed slowly in the direction he’d indicated. Pray God the stream wasn’t far. Perhaps the water would revive him. They needed to continue their way down before Rory caught up to them, but he feared he wouldn’t be able to make his abused body do his bidding again.

He might have dozed because suddenly Jane was shaking him awake, holding the dripping bottle out to him. “Wake up, love. Drink a little of this, but not too quickly. It will go to your head.”

Seizing the brown bottle, he tipped it up and gulped two blessed mouthfuls, before stopping and thrusting it back at her. “Now your turn.”

“I drank my fill at the stream, Kinellan. Drink, please.” She set the bottle to his mouth. “You need it.”

Praying she’d told the truth, he swiftly drank two thirds of the bottle without stopping.

“What did I say, Kinellan?” Jane plucked the bottle from his hand. “You’ll be ill if you drink too quickly.”

“At the moment, I’m past caring, love.” He slid down off the log until his back rested against it, his backside on the ground. “I might not be able to go on. Much as I am loath to say it, Rory may have done for me.”

“Gareth Oliver Argyll Ransom Seton”—with each name she called, Jane seemed to grow larger—“I hope I never hear you say such a thing again. You are going to be fine.” She gave his arm a little shake. “You need a little rest and I’m going to look at your wound and rebandage you, and then we are going on. Do you hear me?”

“I suspect they heard you at Castle Kinellan, my love.” He chuckled, then winced as she pulled his shirt over his head. His jacket had been abandoned at the lodge, thank goodness. The weight of it in this heat would have killed him long before now.

“Sit up, please, or the bark on this log will scratch your back.” She untied the knot at his right shoulder and began to unwind the bandage from him. “I’ve been thinking about Rory, Kinellan.”

“Well, I confess I have as well. And not with a lot of Christian charity, I will tell you.”

His soiled cravat came away and she pressed on the wound itself. “There’s a little blood seeped through here. So the bandage has stuck.”

“Do what you must.”

She nodded and peeled the strips of petticoat from the wound in one quick flip of her wrist.

He sucked in air as the bandage pulled the tender flesh, but then got control of himself. “What were you saying about Rory?”

“This wound hasn’t gotten any more inflamed, thank goodness. I wish I had a dressing for it.” She poured water on a piece of the linen and gently wiped the area. “But regarding Rory, it goes back to what we were talking about last night. And how he expects to get away with murder and inherit your title. When we thought it was just a lunatic with a gun, I suppose I could see that if a man had no reason to kill you the courts might show him mercy, if he were truly mad. But Rory is trying to kill you for gain—specifically the gain of your titles and lands. How can he hope to get away with it?”

“And I say again, getting him convicted is the problem.”

“But in Rory’s case, people will know he did it.” Jane’s indignant tone made him smile.

“How will they know, love? I guarantee you, he’s not going to confess.”

“Because he has a reason, a motive for wanting to kill you.” Frowning, she wet one of the bandages and rubbed gently around the wound. “Won’t his absence be noticed as well? He’s been gone all of yesterday, last night, and today. I’d say that’s rather conspicuous, given that we have also been gone for that length of time.”

Gareth shrugged. “He could say he’s been anywhere, Jane. Off riding or gone to town. The easiest thing would be to swear he’d been in his chamber the whole time with his wife, in the throes of marital congress.” He grinned at Jane although the situation was hardly humorous. “No one is going to gainsay that, especially when his wife will swear it’s true.”

“That is utterly ridiculous.” But her face had turned a bright shade of red. “In that case someone must be able to prove Mrs. Seton is lying.”

“You would think so, but cast your mind back over the past week. Could you swear, in a court of law, mind you, that other than mealtimes Mr. and Mrs. Seton have not been indulging in a grand passion in their private bedchamber?”