Page 4 of The Lady’s Sweet Revenge (Safely in Scotland #3)

H arlow’s body hurt everywhere, but her head was, by far, the worst. While the muscles in her arms and legs throbbed with overuse, her head pounded so horribly it made her stomach twist. Every time she attempted to open her eyes, the light made the pain worse, which is something she didn’t think was even possible.

She wanted to cry, but it would surely take energy she didn’t have at the moment. Her throat burned from the unshed tears and being sick. Lord, had she just gotten sick in front of the man? Reese.

Strange how things like decorum lost their value in the face of desperation. For she didn’t care one bit that she was a mess, at least she was an alive mess and that was a blessed discovery. So long as she didn’t expire from the sheer pain of her skull splitting in two.

She gave in to fatigue, and allowed herself to rest.

Later, she attempted to open her eyes again and was grateful for the dimness of the room. Even if she didn’t know what room she was in. In fact, she didn’t remember leaving the beach.

It was warm and dark. That was all she could bring herself to care about. Not until large, brown eyes with rough, gray fur around them took up her vision. Just before a giant tongue lurched out and stroked her entire face in one swipe.

She jolted and screamed.

“Belle, stop that,” a man’s voice said sternly. Harlow turned quickly to face him, but learned it had been too quickly when the pain in her head rushed back. She squeezed her eyes closed. “Are ye to be sick again?” the man asked with an edge of worry.

“I—I’m not sure,” she decided it was best to be honest. She lay back and focused on breathing in and out slowly. While she didn’t trust opening her eyes yet, she found her voice, rough as it was. “Where am I?”

“Slains Castle, my home.”

That answer didn’t tell her much. She’d never heard of the place. But she’d deal with that later. “Who are you?”

“Lord Breckenridge, my lady.”

She searched her mind for having heard his name before and eventually recalled him.

“Golden,” she said aloud without noticing. Her head was not up for the task of keeping certain things inside it seemed.

“Golden?”

“Your hair,” she explained as some niggling voice told her she should not. That she should stop talking.

“Aye. I guess so.”

But she knew his hair was blond. That was really all she knew about him. Except that he was completely unsuitable for marriage. Not that he’d asked. Not that many had asked anymore.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but then stopped and just shook her head.

“Good God. Ye’ve lost your memories,” the man, a gentleman, she recalled, said with a Scottish brogue.

She shook her head again and opened her eyes enough to roll them at the man.

“Of course, I know who I am. I just don’t wish to tell you,” she rather snapped, and then thought that was rude as she most likely had this man to thank for saving her.

“Why not?” he asked, and rude or not, she just wanted him to stop asking questions that tasked her sore head.

“It’s not safe,” she said as her energies waned from the conversation.

It was frustrating. She was not a weak person.

She’d had to keep up with her five older brothers or risk being left behind and ignored.

She’d never given up. No matter what they did she managed to do it as well, despite being smaller.

But now she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“Why isn’t it safe?” he asked.

Rather than answer, she closed her eyes and drifted once again.

*

“Uncle?” Reese repeated the word she’d whispered as she’d fallen asleep. Was she asking him to find her uncle, or was her uncle the reason she wasn’t safe?

Either way he wouldn’t go looking for anyone who knew her since he had no clue where to even start.

She hadn’t lost her memories, but she’d taken an impressive knock to the head.

It had taken seven stitches for Mrs. Garrison to close the wound Reese hadn’t seen right away because of the darkness of her hair.

He’d asked his maids to clean her up and put her in a clean, dry gown before settling her in the bed.

Unfortunately, the women weren’t able to move her around very easily in her state.

He’d been called upon to help lift her from the tub and place her in the bed in one of the castle’s many guest rooms. He’d done his best not to look, but it was impossible not to catch a glimpse of her in his arms as he’d carried her.

And maybe it had been harder than it should have been not to look, but he was a man after all, and she was bonny. And he had managed to get by without gawking at her. Surely that was what was important.

He sat in the chair next to her bed reading the latest Theodore Stonecliff novel while Belle laid against the woman on the bed. He’d shooed the dog away a few times but every time he left the room he came back to find her there and had eventually given up.

At some point, he’d taken to reading the story out loud. Either for the woman, or for the dog, he wasn’t entirely sure. When he glanced up he found her staring at him with those moss green eyes. Her cheeks were now flushed instead of pale and that simple change had made her even more beautiful.

Clearing his throat, he pushed a smile to his lips.

“Are ye feeling any better? Mrs. Garrison managed to get some willow bark tea in your stomach. She said it should help with the pain.”

“I feel somewhat improved. My head is not pounding as if my brain will beat itself out of my skull.”

He smiled at her jest as she reached up. He moved closer to stop her hand from touching the wound.

“Be careful. You had a nasty gash on your head. Mrs. Garrison saw to stitching it.”

She looked down at herself, likely noticing the much-too-large dressing gown she was wearing. “Please tell me Mrs. Garrison also helped to bathe and dress me?”

“Aye. She did.” It was true enough even if he’d left out the part where he’d assisted. That would be for another time when she was much better.

“You said I’m at Slains Castle. That’s in?”

“Scotland. Barely. The castle sits on a cliff at the edge of the North Sea. A few hours east of Inverness. Near Aberdeenshire.”

“I’ve come so far…” she whispered. “I must go. Right away.” She moved to get out of bed and gasped either from the pain in her head or that of the badly swollen ankle Mrs. Garrison had noted when she’d bathed the lass.

With a groan of irritation she fell back on the bed.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not fit for travel to the next room, let alone any great distance. Where did you say you were from?” he asked, hoping she would give him the smallest clue as to who she was.

“I was in London for the Season. I was riding in Hyde Park when…” She shook her head.

“Miss—or is it missus, or lady?”

“Harlow,” she answered, but avoided answering the question he’d asked so he might know her marital status or rank.

“You wish me to call you by your Christian name?” He tried again to learn more about who she was. He’d acquired many interrogation techniques during his time as an agent, but she’d not fallen for any of them yet.

“I imagine it’s the least of the many unacceptable things that has happened since I was pulled off my horse in London.

For I have not yet met Mrs. Garrison, but my guess is she is not so sturdy as to lift a full-grown woman from a bath into a bed.

” She raised her brow and Reese felt his face heat under her critical gaze. She was a canny lass.

“Very well, Miss Harlow. I planned to apologize for the impropriety when you were feeling more the thing.”

“So courteous of you,” she said with another roll of her eyes. For someone with a head injury she was surely in possession of the movement of her eyes.

“If you were riding in Hyde Park, however did you come to be on the beach so far north in only your shift?”

Her eyes glistened and she wiped at them quickly as if offended by her own body’s functions.

“Are you trustworthy, Lord Breckenridge? I only remember my brothers telling me you were unfit for marriage, but not much else. I must know if your finances are in decline.” She looked about the room as if the furniture and the wallpapering might give her some notion as to whether he was wealthy or destitute.

Unfortunately, the castle did not boast the greatest furnishings since his mother didn’t bother to update a place she’d promised never to return to. He didn’t need the latest fashions when he was in the country and had not updated them either.

“Why do you ask?”

Her eyes narrowed on him.

“If you think I want to know if your coffers are healthy so I might force you to wed me, you are quite wrong. I have no need of your coin.”

“Then you, yourself, come from wealth and you think it possible I might try to leverage your safety for money?” His brows rose when she did not deny it.

“My, you do think me the worst kind of man.” He shook his head.

“I’ll have you know, your brothers, whoever they might be are quite wrong.

I’m most acceptable for marriage. So much so every marriageable miss has gone to great effort to entrap me. ”

He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend himself and his acceptability.

He should be glad she found him lacking so as to avoid any ideas she might get about ensnaring him.

As compromising situations went, they were knee-deep in one at the moment.

Still, it had irked him that she found him unacceptable.

It was not uncommon for the snootiest of the ton to look down on him and his friends as they were Scots and thought of as rough barbarians, ready to feast on the flesh of virgins or some such other ridiculousness.

But most were willing to overlook such possibilities if it meant they could latch onto a rich husband with a title who at least knew how to use utensils.

“If it should reduce the damage to your honor, I would tell you that I already know you are not the lowest of men. For I have met the worst of your ilk, and the most horrid of all seems to be my own uncle.”

“You mentioned your uncle when you drifted off. Is he your guardian? Are you running from him?”

She let out a breath and looked toward the window where the drapes were pulled to keep out the last of the evening light.

Then she looked down at Belle who had rested her head on the woman’s lap.

Harlow had been running her fingers through Belle’s coarse coat and looked down at her now as if she hadn’t realized she’d been petting the animal all this time.

“Very well, I’m not sure yet if it is a mistake to trust you, Lord Breckenridge, but you have done me a kindness by tending to me, despite whatever pleasure you may have gotten from such a thing. If this animal trusts you, I should do so as well.”

As a credit to his honor, it was not much, but he was pleased that she was willing to tell him how she came to be here so he could see to sending her back.

But when she opened her mouth and began to tell him the incredulous tale of how she’d ended up in his home, he realized it would not be so easy as sending her back to Mayfair with a wish of good health.

It seemed this woman would need to stay with him for some time. And if he was not very put out by the thought of it, he chose to ignore it.