The Highlander’s Healer (Blood of Duncliffe Series)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Well I could do with all the wishes I can get,” Alexander sighed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thanks, Carter,” he added, as the fellow turned away, heading slowly out of the ward.

  “Thanks, sir.”

  Alexander leaned back against the headboard, sighing. He was in pain. He was tired. He was frustrated. In addition, he thought, on top of all that, he was being ministered to by a pitiless tormentor with a tongue like a whip.

  “Nurse?” he called.

  Nothing. The hallway was silent. The shadow he had seen moving earlier had gone and he felt his heart fall with a pang of disappointment.

  “You might try not shouting,” a voice said, just as he'd given up hope of her hearing him. “You might be hale and awake, but there are fellows around here trying to sleep.”

  “Fine,” he mumbled. “I'd like breakfast, please.”

  “I know,” she said, and he noticed that a savory scent wafted from the doorway, something he hadn't noticed before now. He glanced at the side-board, noticing a tray stood there, with two plates that steamed.

  “Oh?” He grinned, bemused. Prudence, acerbic and cutting, he understood. Prudence, indifferent and annoyed, he was used to. Prudence, ignoring him, he expected. But this? As she lifted a bowl of steaming gruel and came and sat down by his bedside, his brows shot into his hair with surprise.

  “It's time you had some victuals in you,” she said.

  Alexander felt his whole body flush with surprise as she reached over and, very gently, adjusted the pillow behind him. He glanced round at the bed where the soldier lay, but mercifully he was asleep, and not awake to witness the intimate moment when she lifted the spoon to his lips to feed him.

  “I can feed myself,” he murmured.

  “I don't want you using your left arm for a while,” Prudence said firmly.

  He stared into her eyes and she stared back, implacably. He felt his lips lift with a grin. “You win.”

  “Good.”

  They both smiled. There was a flowering of something new between them, a sweet warmth that hadn't been there previously. He leaned back on the pillows and gracefully submitted to her ministration.

  He winced as she slid the spoon between his lips, feeling a mix of surprise and the first strains of arousal. Her gentle touch was almost too much for him.

  “There,” she said, leaning back with some satisfaction as he swallowed.

  He felt the warm stew burn its passage down his throat and leaned back, feeling the energy slowly return to his body.

  With it, he couldn't help noticing, his arousal also intensified.

  He studied her as she fed him. Here, this close, he could see the peach-skin softness of her face, the fullness of her pale pink lips. He could, he noticed, unable to help it, also see the pale skin of her throat and the roundness of her breasts where the top button of her gown was not quite fastened.

  Gritting his teeth, he did his best to ignore the fact that his body was on fire for her, his senses swimming. He took the next mouthful of soup, gasping, and the next. When the bowl was done, she gently wiped his lips. The intimate touch scalded him more than the soup had.

  “Och, lass,” he said, voice raw.

  Prudence raised a brow. “Feeling better?”

  “Different,” he said.

  Prudence grinned. “You'll start feeling hungry in a minute. You were probably too famished to notice it properly.”

  “Aye,” he nodded, feeling his stomach give a lurch. He leaned back, exhausted, on the one hand, but on the other hand terribly aroused.

  She seemed to catch some sort of sense of what he was feeling, because he noticed a shine in her eyes. He felt the effect of that.

  “Lass,” he said softly. He hadn't meant to, but the feelings that were thrumming through him were too great to be denied.

  She frowned, and he winced, expecting the reprimands Prudence usually delivered with such deftness. Instead, to his surprise, she flushed and looked down. A small grin played across her lips.

  That delicate blush, that surprising shyness, unmanned him still further. He felt an unfortunate stirring in his groin and was glad the sheets were there to cover it.

  “I need to get you more stew,” she said. “And to feed my other patient.”

  “You'll have to wake him first,” Alexander commented wryly.

  Prudence looked across to where the injured soldier lay on his back, eyes closed, snoring fitfully. She giggled. He heard the sound wash through him like music and it made his heart thump. She was so beautiful! Why had he not noticed that before? With her pale skin, fair hair and those beautiful brown-green eyes... He could smell a clean, rosy scent that he thought must be her skin, and he ached, suddenly, to have her close.

  “I should get on with my work,” she said, looking down. He realized he'd been staring and looked away, embarrassed.

  “Aye,” he nodded. “And I reckon I should try to walk about. Stretch this, a little.”

  She frowned. “I don't advise it yet,” she said decidedly.

  “They cauterized it, eh?” he asked, surprised he didn't remember that part of the proceedings. He had heard the screams from the surgeon's tents on the battlefield before, smelled the incomparable scent of burning hair, and always hated the thought of it.

  “No,” she said. “Just stitched it.”

  “Oh?” He felt abrupt relief then. The chances of it festering were markedly less, without the added burning. He knew enough of battlefield wounds to know that. “I'm glad.”

  “Me too,” she said softly.

  That, again, was a surprise. He raised a brow, amazed. Prudence, caring for him?

  This is a day of surprises.

  He watched for a while as she fed the other soldier. He could see the mix of wonder and gratitude on the fellow's face, and it filled him with a sour amusement. If he had any serious hopes of getting to know Prudence, he would have to fight his way through a horde of recuperating soldiers.

  The image amused him and he chuckled to himself.

  “Now,” Prudence said, finishing with the bowl and standing. “I am going to the second ward, and then I'm coming back to change dressings. Private Stammore?”

  “Yes, miss?” the wounded soldier said, instantly alert in a way that amused Alexander.

  “I recommend you take a walk in the courtyard to stretch that wound.”

  “Yes, miss.” The soldier was already shuffling out of bed.

  As Prudence turned to leave, Alexander caught her eye. She grinned at him. He smiled back, radiantly.

  When she had left, Private Stammore heading after her as fast as he could muster on the injured limb, he leaned back on the pillow, trying to understand what in perdition's name had happened.

  “She was friendly to me?”

  More than friendly, she was almost conspiratorial. Of all the things he'd never have expected, that was chief among them. He had woken that morning expecting a battle, and he had almost relished the prospect. To find her friendly and supportive, tender, was a new adventure.

  “Prudence, I don't understand anything about you.”

  She was a walking mystery, and he was, he realized, excited about unraveling it.

  He sat up, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. So, they hadn't burned him? That was a surprise. The fact that she seemed glad about that was yet another revelation. He would not have been surprised at her relishing his pain. But this?

  “I don't understand her,” he said again, more intensely.

  He shifted and swung his legs out of the bed. He looked down, glad to discover that he was wearing his breeks, at least. He had not known how much of his clothes they'd cut away. He was wearing a nightshirt over them, and wondered, briefly, where they'd got it.

  Probably taken from villages.

  He felt a sudden stab of sorrow for what might have happened to her cottage. If he could do one thing to repay her for her kindness, he would try to put that to rights.

  He hobble
d to the window and looked out into the courtyard.

  Out there, the sun was shining. The wounded soldier was leaning on his crutch, chatting with a trader who leaned on the sunny wall, his pack laid by his side. He saw soldiers heading out to exercises, and thought, suddenly, of his own troops.

  “I need to get back south.”

  The restlessness descended on him then, along with a sense of responsibility. He needed to be there, leading them. They needed him, and his father, the late laird, would have expected him to be there.

  He felt his hand clench into a fist and found himself gripping the windowsill. So much rested on his shoulders. The estate, the duty to serve the Cause, the leading of men. How could he have been so feckless as to get himself shot? What good was he, after all?

  “I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

  He turned as the low voice sent goose-flesh down his spine. Prudence was in the doorway. Her brown eyes shone.

  He swallowed hard. “I need to be out there,” he said.

  “You will be,” she said gently. “But the more time you give yourself to heal now, the faster you'll get well.”

  Alexander sighed. “I know, but it's so frustrating.” He hissed, feeling like a caged animal.

  “The anger is understandable,” she said gently. “But you need rest.”

  “I know,” he said again, reluctantly. She smiled.

  “You get back into bed while I change that dressing. I promise that if it's looking less raw and swollen than it did yesterday, you can go outside.”

  Alexander pulled a face. “I'm to do as I'm told, eh?”

  Prudence smiled. “I hope you'll want to. I am sorry, but it's for the best. For now.”

  Alexander felt his heart thump. Oddly, for a person who had spent their whole life shouldering cares and duties of others, being able to lie back and be instructed felt welcoming. “If you say so,” he sighed. To his surprise, for he was usually so stubborn and restive, he got back into bed.

  Prudence came and sat by his bedside, drawing up the stool she had used earlier, when she’d fed him. “Now, let's get that off,” she spoke gently, a little frown between her brows as she focused on the bandaging.

  Alexander leaned back and gave in to the pleasure of watching her face.

  So beautiful, he mused, so fair, with the faint flush in her cheek like summer's glow and the moisture of her plush lips as she bit them gently, focused on her work.

  Alexander imagined sliding his tongue between those lips, the surprise on her face, the yielding to his touch as he gently tasted her, the small gasp as he bent her back onto the bed. He winced, feeling the by-now familiar stab of wanting.

  “I think you can go downstairs later,” she mused.

  She had taken the bandaging off, he noticed. He had felt nothing of her work, which was a good sign. He twisted his head to try and see the wound. Her fingers pressed a linen pad to it, covering it. Some fluid soaked it, he noticed, but no blood. That was good.

  “Is it bad?” he asked.

  “Not terrible,” Prudence said gently. “It was a deep wound, but it missed hitting anything vital. If it stays clear of infection, it will mend in a month.”

  “Oh.” Alexander sighed. That was a relief. A month? He had feared he might be stuck here for twice that time. That was frustrating, but it was not that unbearable.

  “I want you to be careful, though,” she advised, gently mopping the wound in a way that made him want to groan. The pain wasn't unbearable, but the touch of her gentle hand almost was. He closed his eyes, a plethora of exciting and utterly-inappropriate images flooding his brain. He imagined her naked, himself naked. Her hand on his skin, stroking it as she did now...

  “Uh,” he grunted, unable to bear the strain a moment longer.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Y...yes,” he stammered, covering his embarrassment.

  “I'm sorry,” she said softly. “But I have to make sure it's clean. Now I'll put on the fresh salve...”

  He closed his eyes as his world filled up with the scents of thyme and wound-wort and the feeling, even more unbearable, of her smearing salve into the wound. The wound itself felt bruised, but the truly unbearable part was the gentle, sweet touch of her fingers.

  “There,” she said, satisfied. “Now, if you can sit up, we'll get to bandaging it.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured weakly. He did as he was bid.

  She leaned forward, skin brushing his, as she supported his shoulder with one hand, winding the bandage with a deftness that surprised him. Whoever she was, she had definitely done this before. A soldier's wife?

  “Now, if that's too tight? Tell me.”

  “It's fine,” he murmured. He let her do the bandage and leaned back, sighing in evident relief as she finished the work and stood.

  “So,” she said. “Ready for a walk in the gardens?”

  “Um, maybe,” he said hesitantly. He felt blood flood his features, and realized, with utter surprise, that he was shy.

  Dammit, man! This isn't the first woman you walked with alone! You're not a blushing boy.

  He bit his lip, feeling dazed at himself. What had come over him?

  It was, however, a wonderful feeling.

  “Well, then,” she said, turning in the doorway as Stammore entered. “You can probably risk going downstairs for a walk, though I wouldn't advise you to go any farther than the kitchen gardens.”

  Again, he caught that twinkle in her eye and wondered, hoping against hope, if she meant she would be there for the walk.

  SURPRISING HAPPENINGS

  “Prudence. Miss Newhurst, stop it.”

  Prudence spoke sharply to herself as she slipped out of the kitchens and into the garden beyond. She grinned.

  A small place, walled on one side by the back wall of the stables, and on the other by the high wall around the village, the kitchen garden was used by the innkeeper and his wife in former times, for growing herbs needed for flavoring meals. Now it was deserted. The tall fir tree in the corner stood proud and green against the fast-clouding sky. On the other side of the wall, she could hear the sounds of horses.

  Her heart thumped as she stepped out into the chill. Would he come down?

  “Prudence, you're behaving shamefully.” She scolded herself, spotting a reflection in the thick glass of the window pane. All the same, her heart wasn't in it, and soon her reflection also wore a grin.

  Her hair was a little wild, she noticed, and she tucked it up under the scarf she wore to keep it from her forehead. Her eyes looked big and greenish against the pale blue of the headscarf. She pinched her cheeks to flood them with color.

  That was better.

  Again, she shook her head at herself. She was behaving like a silly girl, sneaking off to meet a lover. Not that she'd ever actually done that before.

  As it was, this new feeling was exciting and wonderful. It felt as if springtime had visited her heart. Though it was cloudy out, she could almost hear birds singing and feel the scent of crocuses in snowy air.

  “I am excited.”

  She shrugged. Why not admit it? Alexander whatever-his-last-name-was, affected her in a way nobody had before. She found herself recalling snatches of their conversation, thinking lingeringly of the way he tilted his head when he considered something.

  “I'm worse than a village lass.”

  She shook her head again, impatient with herself. All the same, she smiled fondly. She wondered, then, if she was a little in love.

  “I don't know what that feels like,” she said, hugging herself.

  The floor creaked in the hallway and she whipped around. There in the doorway, leaning on a cane, was Alexander.

  “Oh,” she stammered, looking at her feet. The serviceable boots she always wore stuck out from under the long linen skirt. She noticed they were scuffed, and withdrew them, feeling embarrassed.

  “You prescribed a walk,” he said. He coughed.

  It seemed, she thought, noticing how he
looked away across the yard, that he was as uncertain as she.

  Nonsense. He's so self-assured.

  She cleared her throat. “Shall we walk to the tree?” she suggested quickly. A privet hedge grew across the bottom half of the garden and if they went behind that they might have privacy. Here, they were in full view of the infirmary window. She wasn't sure she wanted observation.

  “Um, yes,” he said, sounding as if his throat was tight. “Um, let's go.”

  She nodded.

  Him close by her side, they walked slowly across the garden, accommodating his wound.

  “Is it sore?” she asked.

  “It is,” he nodded. “And I think I twisted my knee, too.” He shrugged, wincing as he stepped on the outer leg.

  “You came off your horse?” she guessed.

  “I was shot off it, yes,” he said.

  She heard humor in his voice, and looked up, smiling. “Yes, I suppose you were,” she acknowledged.

  He grinned. “I suppose my men must have got quite a shock, seeing me flying backwards off my mount.”

  “I'm sure they were worried,” Prudence acknowledged.

  “It must have been quite a picture,” he chuckled. Then his face stiffened. “I wish I could go with them.”

  “I understand,” she said gently. “You must feel useless here.”

  “I do!” he nodded, and then looked at her, surprised. “You understand me well.”

  “I know what it feels like, to feel an urge to do something, to follow a calling.”

  He shook his head. “It's not exactly a calling,” he said. “More a duty. I...I have to serve the Cause, because my father wished it.”

  “Your father is...has passed away?” she probed delicately.

  “Yes,” he nodded. His face clouded and she felt instantly guilty.

  “I'm sorry,” she said.

  “Well, not much either of us can do about it,” he said, his eyes sad even though his mouth forced a grin. “He went with apoplexy. Sudden. Not even our physician could stop it.” He shrugged.

  “Well, he has passed on,” Prudence said gently. “You don't need to hold him to this world by walking in his footsteps. I don't think he would want that.”