“Yes. I bought a small house in a village near Edinburgh within two weeks of our last meeting. I had tucked away a good bit of money and we had very few needs. She and I were so happy there—until Aniston stole her away.”

He had a daughter. “How long has that cretin had her?”

“Almost six months now. Sh-she’s growing up without me, and I don’t even know if she’s safe or—” Moira pressed a hand to her mouth.

“And you’ve tried to rescue her.” It wasn’t a question; he knew her too well.

“I’ve tried everything. Aniston keeps her locked away somewhere and only rarely allows me to see her. He is very careful to come fully armed and with a number of men. Once I tried to escape with her, but he caught us and never again allowed me to see her unless we were guarded. If I wish to see her, I must do as I’m told. Aniston thinks he’s defeated me.” Her eyes flashed emerald fire. “But I will never give up trying.”

Robert closed his eyes, fury surging through him. Aniston had their daughter—his daughter. When I finally get my hands on that—

But now was not the time for useless fury. Moira was injured.

“We will deal with Aniston later,” he managed to say through clenched teeth.

“We can’t.” A tear slid from the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek. “I have to get this box and return it to him. I saw her just last week and the nurse hits her, and I—” A sob wracked Moira’s body.

When he next saw Aniston, Robert would take great pleasure in ripping the man apart.

Moira gulped a sob and Robert noticed that the bandage he’d made for her head was now soaked through with blood. He cursed and ripped two more flounces from her gown and tied them more tightly over the other bandage. They slowed the flow immediately, though she winced. “I’m sorry if that’s uncomfortable. You’re bleeding. It had to be done.”

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Only Rowena.” Moira’s voice was softer than a whisper.

“You matter as well, ma chère. Once I kill Aniston, Rowena will need her mother more than ever. Meanwhile, we need to get you to a doctor.” He glanced impatiently at the door swinging open over their head. “I wish Stewart would return.”

“Robert, you understand now why I must have that box? I have no choice.”

“We’ll talk about the damned box when you’re better.”

“You are so kind,” she said. “Few people know that about you, but I do. So kind, and so afraid anyone might see it.”

“That’s the tonic talking,” he said. “I don’t know what’s in it, but it makes you very silly.”

“You’re always kind to me,” she said drowsily as she captured his wrist and brushed her lips over the back of his hand.

A wave of lust answered her innocent gesture and he pulled his hand free. “Stop that.”