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she rubbed her temples. “I require privacy.”
    “Mather,” Kiernan said, rising, “fetch the chamber pot.”
    *****
    Phoebe put one foot in front of her, careful to take each descending stair slowly. Though loath to admit it, Dr. Connor was correct. She would be unable to ride for another day. Tomorrow would be four days since she disappeared. Her uncle must be frantic, and the fact she hadn't been contacted or rescued by one of Lord Redgrave's spies had her worried. Where was this Green Lady Inn that she was out of his network? Phoebe paused on the final step. No dizziness. She released a breath, thankful she hadn't given in to the sense of unease she experienced while staring down from the top stair at what seemed to be an abyss.
    She tugged the bodice of her dress. “A might small it be for ye, lass,” Phoebe mimicked Mrs. Grayson’s tone when the housekeeper had produced the dress. “A might small, indeed,” she muttered.
    How was it possible to have ripped her skirt from hem to hip when she jumped from the carriage? Mrs. Grayson had given the gown to the village’s seamstress for repair so, until she got the gown back, Phoebe was stuck with the tight dress. She tugged harder on the bodice. Blasted thing was made for a twelve year old girl.
    Phoebe fidgeted with her shawl, but her efforts to flatten it over her breasts were useless. Tied over itself, the shawl only emphasized the fact her breasts nearly spilled over the narrow lace. She finally gave up and loosened the tie, throwing the corner over her shoulder so that the edge hung over the bodice. She started down the narrow hallway at a sedate pace. Halfway down the corridor, Mrs. Grayson's voice filtered to her from a room up ahead.
    “Dora swears we will no’ have snow for at least two months,” the housekeeper said.
    Masculine laughter followed.
    Kiernan MacGregor.
    Phoebe slowed.
    “Dora hasn't always proven reliable,” he said. “I shall hazard the ride north.”
    A chair squeaked and Phoebe realized one of the two was rising. She turned on her heel with the intention of hurrying back down the hallway, but the corridor spun in a dark swirl around her. She groped at the wall.
    “ Heddy .” Kiernan’s voice closed in on her.
    Phoebe found herself swept off her feet, her face crushed against the velvet lapel of his wool morning coat.
    “What are you doing out of bed?” he demanded, bringing his face so close to hers, Phoebe swore she could taste the saddle soap he had washed with that morning.
    “I see by your coat you have already been riding this morning,” she complained.
    “I am allowed that privilege,” he replied tersely. “You are not.”
    “Dr. Connor said I might leave that cursed bed,” she retorted.
    “I—” Kiernan began, but was cut off by Mrs. Grayson.
    “Good L ord, what’s happened?” She touched a hand to Phoebe’s forehead. "You're a might flushed, dearie.”
    “No doubt due to being surprised,” Phoebe grumbled. “Put me down, sir.”
    “That I will. Step aside, Bridget.” He hugged her so tightly a rush of air was forced from her lungs.
    “By heavens,” she wheezed.
    “Now, Kiernan,” Mrs. Grayson began as he started down the hallway.
    “I don't wish to spend any more time in bed,” Phoebe protested.
    “Kiernan!”
    Mrs. Grayson’s shout stopped him. He faced her. “Bridget—”
    “Dinna’ Bridget me,” she ordered. “Bring her into the kitchen. She can sit with me at the table. It'll do her good to be up and about. She is less likely to do herself harm under your watchful eye.”
    He hesitated. Mrs. Grayson gave Phoebe a knowing look.
    He must have discerned its meaning, for he started down the hallway toward the kitchen as he muttered the single word, “Women.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    Kiernan leaned back in his chair and studied Heddy. There was a flush in her cheeks and her eyes were clear. Being out of bed agreed with her. And he couldn't deny the ridiculous dress she wore agreed with