Page 63 of Beguiled
“No, it won’t. I reallycan’tmanage,” David said, the words pouring out of him unchecked. “I can’t get to court like this, or to the library. Christ, how will I even gethome? My rooms are up two flights of stairs!” Every new thought was worse as he contemplated just how profound his new helplessness was. “I’ll have to go back to Midlauder,” he realised aloud. He pulled away from Murdo’s shoulder and looked up at him, horrified. “I can’t ask my mother to nurse me! She’s got too many other things to do to be running after me again. And what about my clients, the practice I’ve built up—”
“David, please. You’re panicking needlessly.” Murdo’s voice was calm and firm, and it halted David in his tracks. “I’ve already thought about all of this,” he continued. “I want you to come with me, to my estate in Perth, to recuperate.”
For a moment, David could only stare at him. “But my work—”
“Will be taken care of by Mr. Ferguson.”
David paused. “Donald?” he said at last.
“The same. He came here yesterday. He was asking for you—and for news of his sister-in-law. We spoke for a while, and he said he’d do whatever was necessary to deal with your work while you get well again.”
“He came yesterday? What day was that?” David frowned. “How long have I been unconscious?”
“Several days. I brought you here straight after the accident. You slept through Tuesday night and all of Wednesday. Today’s Thursday and”—Murdo craned his neck to look at a clock on the mantelpiece—“it’s almost noon now. And in all that time, you’ve only had a little water, so you must be starving. I’d better ring for some food.” Murdo shifted, carefully beginning to extricate himself.
“Wait a moment,” David said, and Murdo stilled behind him.
“What is it? Are you in pain?”
He breathed out a shaky laugh. “Well, yes, but that’s not it. I just need to… Murdo, I’m so—” He broke off, incoherent, embarrassed when tears sprang to his eyes. “Just—thank you.”
“What for?”
“For everything,” David said. “Taking care of me, bringing me here. You didn’t need to do that.”
Murdo went very silent. At last he said, “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do. I can’t even imagine what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t been there. Where I would have ended up. Maybe even dead.”
Murdo shook his head at that, a fierce repudiation of David’s grim prediction. “I just wish”—he paused—“I just wish that you’d told me what you were planning beforehand. Didn’t you think I’d help you?”
David sighed. “I didn’t want to involve you.”
“You involved Euan MacLennan,” Murdo replied flatly.
David stilled. “How do you know that?”
“Donald Ferguson said he was part of the plan. What was he doing? Waiting for her outside?”
David nodded.
Murdo went silent, but there was a tension in him that David could feel. After a minute, Murdo blurted out, “I can’t believe you trusted him more than me. After what he did to you.”
“What do you mean, ‘what he did to me’?”
“What do you think I mean? I’m talking about two years ago. About him holding a gun to your head and threatening to kill you. Don’t you remember that night?” His voice held disbelieving scorn.
“I remember,” David said quietly. “But I always understood why Euan did that. He is—he is a good man, Murdo.”
“I hope you’re right, because you’ve entrusted a vulnerable young woman to his care.”
“I do trust him. And besides that, he’s in love with her. He’d protect her with his last breath.”
“Love!” Murdo huffed out the word on a scornful laugh. David wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“I trust him,” David repeated.
There was a long pause, a pregnant silence.