The Heir

Chapter Thirty-three

The pounding on the door finally woke Duncan, enough to growl that he'd help whoever it was to roast himself over some hot coals if he didn't take his pounding somewhere else. The person outside didn't. He opened the door instead. Duncan didn't notice, sitting there in the middle of his bed trying to hold his head together, since it truly felt like it was coming apart.

"You don't look too good, old chap. Imbibe a bit too much while celebrating last night?"

Duncan opened one very bloodshot eye, pinned Raphael Locke with it, and said, "I'll have tae find a vat o' oil tae boil. Hot coals just willna do it for you."

Raphael chuckled and pulled up a chair next to the bed. Duncan, seeing that his unwelcome visitor wasn't getting the message that he was unwelcome, groaned and buried his head under his pillow.

Unfortunately, though Rafe's voice was now muffled, it was still heard. "I know why I would be sick unto death this dreary morning, all things considered, but what's your excuse? Since you've changed your mind about marrying Ophelia—"

"Why the devil would I do that?"

"Possibly because she's so beautiful she takes your breath away?"

Duncan sat back up with a snort. "What an Englishmon may find fashionably beautiful, a Highlander might find pale and sickly. A Scotsmon would want his lass tae have a sturdy constitution and enough meat on her bones tae wi' stand a northern winter. D'you ken that Ophelia would ne'er survive in the north country, that she'd wilt at the first sign o' bad weather? And bad weather is a constant there, no' the exception. I would have realized that, e'en if she hadna turned me again' her wi' her vicious tongue."

"But you will be living in England now, won't you, so what's the difference?"

"If I thought I'd ne'er see the homeland again, I'd wither and die m'self."

"Then how is it, old chap, that you happen to be engaged to her again?"

It was there on the tip of Duncan's tongue, an automatic answer, but this being the second time Rafe was implying that Duncan had changed his mind about Ophelia, it jarred a vague memory of why he had gotten falling-down drunk last night.

And that stirred another, even more elusive memory of both his grandfathers confronting him with the news that he now had to marry Ophelia, and he was too drunk to care at that point. Had he really told them that? That he didn't care?

Trying to remember it all was stabbing even worse pains through his head, so he finally gave up and replied, "No' by my choice, I assure you."

"Ah, so it's like that, is it?" Raphael said, disgust and disappointment mixed equally in his tone. "Somehow I thought you would have a bit more of an independent nature, rather than jumping to do the old man's bidding."

"When did it become your bluidy concern, what the hell I do?" "When I decided to take you under my wing, of course," Raphael replied. "Take your wing elsewhere, I'm no' wanting it."

Raphael chuckled. "Too late. I don't abandon my friends just because they turn out to be absolute imbeciles."

"Your last warning, friend. If you dinna get oout o' here and let me die in peace—"

"Now, now, don't make threats you cannot possibly carry out in your present condition."

A good point, Duncan realized belatedly, so he simply gave up trying to oust the fellow and opted to bury his head again under his pillow. Ignoring whatever else Raphael had to say would get his point across, he hoped. Amazingly, he even managed to fall back asleep for a bit, which was a blessing, considering how much pain he was in.

When he woke the second time, he had no idea how much later in the day it was, but at least his head

wasn't pounding so viciously now. But if he thought Raphael Locke would be long gone, he was much mistaken. The Englishman was still sitting in the chair next to the bed, reading from a book he must have pulled from the small shelf of books in the room. They weren't Duncan's books, had just been there as part of the room's decor when he'd moved in.

"What time is it?" Duncan mumbled as he sat up, very cautiously, so as not to start the hammers pounding in his head again.

"Not too late," Raphael replied, setting the book aside. "I would imagine there's time for you to still catch luncheon, if you hurry."

The very thought of food turned Duncan's complexion nearly green. Not a moment later, he was racing toward the chamber pot and throwing up a good deal of the poisons in his system. Another blessing. He actually felt much better when he crawled back to the bed.

"You're still here?" Duncan groused, seeing Raphael still sitting there with his fingers steepled in front of his mouth, calmly watching him.

"Do you always sleep fully clothed?" Raphael countered, ignoring the question put to him. "Only when I dinna recall going tae bed."

"Ah, yes, that would be a good excuse, I suppose," was replied dryly. "Why are you still here?"

"Curiosity, of course. I confess I simply don't understand what happened yesterday, or how you could turn into such a fool overnight. It's going to be rather difficult to get rid of me, old chap, until you fess up."

"If I could remember what happened yesterday, I might oblige you, but since I canna ..."

"Now, that excuse just won't do, indeed it won't. Once you're feeling up to stuff again, it will all come back to you. I'll wait."

"Then do your waiting elsewhere, if you dinna mind," Duncan said.

"And let you hide from the truth even longer? No, no, my presence will stimulate your memory, I'm sure, if for no other reason than telling me all will satisfy my curiosity and send me on my way."

If Duncan didn't think his head would regret it, he would make an effort to toss Raphael out of the room. Instead he lay back, closed his eyes, and tried to recall the events of the night before. Slowly his memory started to clear.

"That's quite a blush, old chap," Raphael remarked with a chuckle. "Course, looks much better than that green tinge you were wearing."

Duncan's blush deepened. He would have given anything to be alone just then, to explore more fully what he was remembering, but with his unwanted guest sitting there awaiting details, some of which he would not be given, he gave a mental sigh and put those particular memories away for later.

"She made her cry. I was infuriated aboot that, knowing firsthand how vicious her tongue can be, and wanted tae know what had been said."

"I can imagine who it is that has the vicious tongue, but who is it that she made cry?"

This was asked with a narrow-eyed look that indicated Raphael's protective instincts had been aroused, enough for Duncan to reply, "It wasna your sister, 'twas Sabrina. And I tried tae get from her what had happened, but wi' nae luck. She was tae upset tae e'en discuss it. So I went tae confront the cause. I recall I was furious by the time I found her, since she wasna easy tae find. I was finally directed tae her room by a maid. I figured she had gone there to fetch something, since the hour was still early, the party still in full progress, and if we were tae have heated words, better upstairs where nae one was likely tae hear. Ne'er once did I think she had gone up tae retire for the night."

"Why do I get the appalling feeling that you found her in bed?"

"It wasna that bad, though it might as well have been. She was in her underthings, petticoats and the like. I barely noticed—" Raphael's snort caused a pause, then the insistence, "I swear tae you, I was tae angry to really see her, and even when I did take notice, how revealing is a womon's underthings, eh? No' much bluidy different than some evening gowns I've seen. 'Tis nae more'n the fact they be 'underthings' that make them inappropriate for the male eye tae behold."

"Yes, yes, semantics," Raphael said impatiently. "Get to the meat of your story."

"I'm nae telling you a story, mon, merely what happened tae cause me tae compromise the lass, e'en though I didna get anywhere near her."

"Oh, Gawd, is that what happened? You let her bamboozle you into marrying her simply because you mischanced to see her in her underwear? Have you no sense a'tall to realize that no bloody harm was done by it, because she'd never mention it to anyone? I cannot believe she managed to hook you by one of the oldest tricks—"

"You might try shutting up long enough tae hear that's no' what happened," Duncan cut in. "She was as horrified and angry as I was over the outcome. I wish I could put the blame on her, but I canna."

"Don't believe it for a minute," Raphael scoffed. "Of course she would pretend outrage. Gloating wouldn't have gone over well, would have in fact told you plainly that you'd fallen into her trap."

Duncan frowned, trying to remember more of what had occurred in those few minutes he had spent with Ophelia in her room. Mostly, all he could remember was how angry he'd been, which was nothing compared to how angry he'd been when he stormed out of there and went off to get drunk.

He had banged on the door loud enough that she was annoyed when she finally yanked it open and snapped, "What!?" before she even saw who was standing there. She'd then showed surprise that it was he, then immediately after that, worry that someone might see him there. She had in fact told him to go away and had even closed the door on him.

Fool that he was, instead of realizing that that simply was not a good time to confront her, he'd defied that closed door and entered her room, shutting the door behind him. She had come to the door with a robe held in front of her, had tossed it aside afterward, thinking she was alone again. Still, it didn't occur to him how inappropriate it was for him to be in her room when she was only half dressed. His anger had brought him there, and his anger was clouding his mind to what should have been clear danger signals.

What he did recognize was the very second she mistook his reason for being there. If he wasn't noticing that she was barely dressed, and he didn't really notice that yet, she apparently wasn't noticing his anger.

She gave him a coy look and said in a chiding tone, "This could have waited until tomorrow, but I understand impatience well enough. Do be quick about it, though, before one of the other girls I share this room with decides to make an early night of it, too, as I have. I'll even make it easy for you. My answer is yes."

" 'Yes' is no' the answer I'm here for," Duncan growled at her.

She frowned, then jumped to a different conclusion. "It's not? Don't tell me you're here for yet another apology first? Honestly, I don't know how else to say I'm sorry for our unfortunate first meeting. There, I've even said it again. Now can we get on with making amends and—"

"Nae, all I'm wanting tae hear from you, lass, is what you did or said tae upset Sabrina so much that she was in tears from it."

"Sabrina?" she gasped, then became furious herself. "You're here to question me about Sabrina? Just get out! I have nothing to say about that horrid girl."

"You'll be telling me—"

"What? How she insulted me? How she upset me so much that I came up here to lament it in private before anyone noticed my tears? She’s upset? If she's upset, it's because she's sorry she was so nasty to me. There's your answer. Now—"

That was when the door opened again. And the young lady standing there, shocked at first, then embarrassed, and finally with a chuckle, apologized for intruding and closed the door again on them.

The appalling outcome still didn't penetrate Duncan immediately, not until he heard Ophelia shriek, "Now look what you've done! You couldn't just leave when I told you to, no, now you've utterly compromised me so that we have to marry. Of all people to show up here, it had to be her. I don't believe it! My worst enemy."

"There's nae way—"

"Don't even think of not fixing this, Duncan MacTavish. You can try to convince Mavis to say nothing of what she just saw, but she'll never agree. And even if she did agree, she'd be lying. She despises me. Didn't you see the delighted gleam in her eye, that she now has the means to ruin me? Our engagement will have to be announced immediately."

Much as he would like to think it was all a plot that he could somehow get out of, he had brought it all on himself by his own impatience. He could have waited until the morning to confront her. He could have got the hell out of there as soon as he realized she'd been preparing herself for bed. He could have gone after her enemy and at least made an effort to assure her silence, instead of believing Ophelia that nothing would silence the girl, because he didn't doubt for a second that Ophelia did indeed have such enemies who would love to see her ruined. Instead he had gone off to try to wipe the whole appalling situation from his mind with drink, and had succeeded so well that he still only had a vague recollection of both of his grandfathers in his room telling him that he would be marrying Ophelia Reid after all.

As for what Raphael was trying to insinuate, he had to set him straight. "You dinna ken, mon, she had nae prior warning that I would be seeking her oout, so there is nae way she could've planned any trap. It wasna her doing, o' that I am positive. I brought the whole thing on m'self wi' my temper and impatience, and so being, I canna let her face ruination o'er it, when I am ultimately tae blame. I couldna live wi' m'self if I did that."

"Damn, you would have to have honor above and beyond, wouldn't you?" Raphael said in a mildly disgusted tone, but finally he did take himself off.