Rebellion & In From The Cold Read Online Free PDF

flinching.
    “He’s lost a lot of blood,” she told her mother as she worked. “We’ll have to mind the fever.” Already Fiona was bathing her son’s head with a cool cloth.
    “He’s strong. We won’t lose him now.” Fiona straightened and brushed at the hair that had fallen around her face. “I’m grateful to you for bringing him,” she told Brigham. “Will you tell me what happened?”
    “We were attacked a few miles south of here. Coll believes it was Campbells.”
    “I see.” Her lips tightened, but her voice remained calm. “I must apologize for not even offering you a chair or a hot drink. I’m Coll’s mother, Fiona MacGregor.”
    “I’m Coll’s friend, Brigham Langston.”
    Fiona managed a smile but kept her son’s limp hand in hers. “The earl of Ashburn, of course. Coll wrote of you. Please, let me have Molly take your coat and fetch you some refreshment.”
    “He’s English.” Serena stood in the doorway. She’d taken off her plaid. All she wore now was a simple homespun dress of dark blue wool.
    “I’m aware of that, Serena.” Fiona turned her strained smile back to Brigham. “Your coat, Lord Ashburn. You’ve had a long journey. I’m sure you’ll want a hot meal and some rest.” When he drew offhis coat, Fiona’s gaze went to his shoulder. “Oh, you’re wounded.”
    “Not badly.”
    “A scratch,” Serena said as she flicked her gaze over it. She would have moved past him to her brother, but a look from Fiona stopped her.
    “Take our guest down to the kitchen and tend to his hurts.”
    “I’d sooner bandage a rat.”
    “You’ll do as I say, and you’ll show the proper courtesy to a guest in our home.” The steel came into her voice. “Once his wounds are tended, see that he has a proper meal.”
    “Lady MacGregor, it isn’t necessary.”
    “Forgive me, my lord, it’s quite necessary. You’ll forgive me for not tending to you myself.” She picked up the cloth for Coll’s head again. “Serena?”
    “Very well, Mother, for you.” Serena turned, giving a very small and deliberately insulting curtsy. “If you please, Lord Ashburn.”
    He followed her down through a house far smaller than Ashburn Manor, and neat as a pin. They wound around a hallway and down two narrow flights because she chose to take him down the back stairs. Still, he paid little notice as he watched Serena’s stiff back. There were rich smells in the kitchen, spices, meat, from the kettle hung by a chain over the fire, the aroma of pies just baked. Serena indicated a small, spindle-legged chair.
    “Please be seated, my lord.”
    He did, and only by the slightest flicker of his eyes did he express his feelings when she ripped the sleeve from his shirt. “I hope you don’t faint at the sight of blood, Miss MacGregor.”
    “It’s more likely you will at the sight of your mutilated shirt, Lord Ashburn.” She tossed the ruined sleeve aside and brought back a bowl of hot water and some clean cloths.
    It was more than a scratch. English though he might be, she felt a bit ashamed of herself. He’d obviously opened the wound when he’d carried Coll inside. As she stanched the blood that had begun to run freely, she saw that the cut measured six inches or more along a well-muscled forearm.
    His flesh was warm and smooth in her hands. He smelled not of perfumes and powders, as she imagined all Englishmen did, but of horses and sweat and blood. Oddly enough, it stirred something in her and made her fingers gentler than she’d intended.
    She had the face of an angel, he thought as she bent over him. And the soul of a witch. An interesting combination, Brigham decided as he caught a whiff of lavender. The kind of mouth made for kissing, paired with hostile eyes designed to tear holes in a man. How would her hair feel, bunched in a man’s hands? He had an urge to stroke it, just to see her reaction. But one wound, he told himself, was enough for one day.
    She worked competently and in silence,