The Highlander’s Healer (Blood of Duncliffe Series)

by Emilia Ferguson

  Prudence looked into her eyes, feeling a little surreal. Level brown eyes looked back, set in a pretty, earnest face. Prudence stared at her, unable to keep the smile off her face that the cheery Lady Marguerite always induced. With spice red hair and a face like a pixie, she was easily the most reassuring and engaging person Prudence had ever met.

  “Thank you, milady.”

  “Come inside, come inside!” Marguerite said, not letting Prudence hang back, but waving her up the steps unceremoniously. Prudence smiled nervously. She knew she was no longer a servant, but returning here to the place where she had only been welcomed as a lady's maid felt odd.

  Marguerite and Prudence bustled upstairs, but the earl paused.

  “Milady?” he frowned to Marguerite, who paused, whirling, in the doorway.

  Prudence found herself looking down at Alexander, who was standing on the bottom step of the flight of stairs, unnoticed. She swallowed hard, feeling at once a twinge of amusement and flush of guilt.

  “Ah,” Marguerite said. “Welcome. You accompanied Prudence to our door?”

  “Yes, milady.” Alexander bowed formally. He bowed well, Prudence noticed, and she felt the flush of embarrassment that he was born into the same state, clearly, as Marguerite, her cousin and the earl had been. She was the odd one out here, but strangely, it didn't feel that way. She noticed that Marguerite and her husband looked reserved.

  “Milady, Lord Douglas. This is...allow me to introduce Captain Alexander.”

  She flushed red, realizing she had no idea what his name was. All she knew was how he'd introduced himself to her – his title, his origin, his house, she had no idea of.

  She saw an odd look cross his face. She hoped it was a smile, but she wasn't sure. It was so fleeting.

  “Alexander Lachlann, at your service.”

  Prudence felt her brow go up, even as Marguerite raised her own. The name meant something to these people, clearly.

  “Ah! Lord Lachlann,” Douglas said, stepping in finally. He went down the stairs and shook Alexander's hand, then led him upstairs.

  Prudence felt sick with shame.

  Lord Lachlann. He is of their kind. I only knew him as a bedraggled, injured soldier. I have cleaned him, bandaged him, and tormented him. I have shamed myself.

  Marguerite beamed at her. “It's so good to see a familiar face, Prudence,” she said. “I am sure our own sweet Alexandra will be glad also.”

  “How fares your daughter?” Prudence asked.

  “So well that she's all over the castle. A beloved nuisance.” Marguerite grinned warmly.

  Prudence smiled fondly. “I imagine she is able to get around famously now.”

  “Yes,” Marguerite nodded fondly. “She's two and there's no stopping her now that she can walk.”

  Prudence nodded to her. She herself had little experience of children, but she had seen enough of toddlers to know how absolutely unstoppable they could be. She grinned.

  “Prudence? We had a messenger,” Lord Douglas said, making her frown.

  “Yes, milord,” she nodded. “At least, we thought you might have.”

  “We have news,” Alexander agreed slowly.

  “Yes. I have heard so. Well, you must come up to the parlor to discuss it. We will all sit over cakes and mulled wine. And later we can talk,” Douglas said meaningfully.

  Prudence swallowed hard, feeling her stomach give a real lurch. Not just because of the nerves, but because of the hunger she suddenly developed. They had eaten at the inn that morning, but had little since. She thought about the spiced cakes and wine that she had eaten at the manor and felt her mouth start to water.

  She followed Marguerite and Douglas inside.

  Duncliffe was, as it always had been, an impressive place. Built on the plans of an old fortress, Claudine, Prudence's former mistress, had told her it was easily five hundred years old. She shivered, looking up at the soaring vaulted ceiling.

  It seemed so grand, and she suddenly felt intimidated, walking up the vast stone stairs behind Lord Douglas and Lady Marguerite – after all, who did she think she was? A countess? A marchioness? She was simply Prudence Newhurst.

  “We were so pleased to see you,” Marguerite said warmly. “Claudine has spoken so highly of you. And she mentioned you have an interest in herbs?”

  Prudence swallowed. “She did?” She couldn't recall ever having mentioned it to her mistress, before the garden incident.

  “Yes. She commented that you were a great help to the healer at her new estate. And that she was sure you would follow that tradition.”

  “Thanks,” Prudence said, swallowing hard. Oddly, having herself acknowledged as a healer made her stand taller.

  She looked down the long corridor they reached, with its vaulted ceiling. Somewhere behind one of the doors was the parlor; she remembered distantly sitting with Claudine in it. It had a vast fire, and warmth, and chairs...

  She suddenly realized how tired she actually was and stopped on the steps, feeling suddenly drained. Behind her, she felt Alexander – Lord Alexander of such-and-so – reach to lay a steadying hand on her shoulder.

  Annoyed, she tensed her back. He had no right to condescend to her, just because he must know – must always have known – her former role. He couldn't have seriously suspected that she was on the same social tier as him. He, Lord Alexander, must always have known she was a peasant and he a noble.

  “Prudence?”

  “It's nothing,” she murmured. She made herself walk, stiffly, up the stairs behind Marguerite.

  In the parlor, Marguerite waved her to the chaise lounge, as informal as ever. She took a seat, feeling not in the least out-of-place or discomforted, purely because of the way the noble couple were relaxed also.

  Marguerite, tucking a stray lock of auburn hair – worn down, informally – behind her ear, turned to Prudence, a smile warm on her face.

  “So. You have news to bring us? I understand you rode very far to get it. And so fast.” She shook her head, brow furrowed with lines. “You have taken a great effort and we are indebted for it.”

  Prudence noticed how carefully she included both Alexander and herself in that glance. She looked away, her embarrassment heightening as she thought about how unusual that must seem.

  “So,” Douglas said, clearing his throat. “We have reason to expect hostile incursions?”

  “The troops are already in position,” Alexander cut in. “We have to stop them making chaos.”

  Prudence felt a brow raise, somehow surprised by the directness of his statement. She shouldn't have been, she realized – of course he spoke like that to them, and they to him: he was their equal.

  It was her who was the odd one out.

  “I understand you have requested twenty men. Is that enough?” Marguerite asked, and her question was leveled at Prudence, making her blink.

  “Reckon so, yes,” she said, and then dived into shaming-silence.

  Douglas, understanding, nodded. He gave her an encouraging smile. “You have been so helpful to us, in bringing this warning.”

  “We had to,” Prudence said, talking automatically though Lord Alexander had drawn a breath, ready to interject something. She wasn't used to the awkward manners of having to silence herself in the presence of men, or betters, or anyone, really.

  Across from her, she saw Alexander raise a brow. To her surprise, it wasn't haughty, or offended. Many nobles in his position would have been, she allowed grudgingly. The fact that he wasn't said much for the fellow.

  I shouldn't even have to think that.

  She looked at her hands uncomfortably. If she was not in this illustrious company, she thought sorrowfully, she would never have to be ashamed of herself for anything. It was her own fault for vaulting herself into a position she shouldn't occupy.

  “I think twenty men are adequate.”

  “Good,” Douglas nodded. “We will, of course, provide more escort for you and Prudence.”

  “No need.”
Again, Prudence spoke out of turn. She saw Lord Alexander's – why, with all curses, could she not anymore think of him as simply called his first name – eyes stretch. She swallowed. “We need only a small escort,” she demurred, addressing that query. “We know the lay of the land here and are only interested in tracking two men.”

  “Yes,” Lord Alexander chipped in quickly. “We know who the leader of this is.”

  “Oh?” Douglas looked interested. “Do you, Alexander?”

  “Fellow called Bradway,” Alexander continued, inclining his head toward Prudence. “She heard them discussing.”

  “We both did,” Prudence said quickly, so as not to have him left out of the journey. He shrugged.

  “We heard two men say that they were planning an ambush here,” he elaborated rapidly. “And a few days previous, my own men – needless to tell, I too – were misled into an ambush by these men. It is the way they are making this war.

  “I see,” Douglas nodded. “Undermining.”

  “Yes,” Alexander nodded. “Though not just that. I was badly shot.”

  Prudence nodded, suddenly alarmed. In the last hour, Alexander's injury – once so much at the forefront of her thinking, suddenly seemed secondary to her. She tried to recall when she had last dressed it. The previous morning. She remembered now.

  “That's terrible,” Marguerite's face crinkled with tenderness. “But as it happens, I would not have guessed. You use the arm most deftly and naturally.”

  “Thanks, milady,” he said.

  “If you need a physician...?”

  Prudence looked at Alexander worriedly, but he, to her further surprise, cocked his head to one side, wonderingly.

  “No,” he said carefully. “It would not be necessary – Prudence sees to me.”

  “She does? You are fortunate then.”

  Prudence blushed glowingly at Marguerite's kind words. Having discouraged Prudence from pursuing the healing career she'd wished for, along with Claudine, she was surprised to see Marguerite so supportive now.

  “Yes. Prudence is a fair nurse,” Douglas smiled at her, raising a brow.

  “Thanks,” Prudence said, looking at her skirts.

  “Dearest?” Marguerite drawled suddenly, as if sensing the new weight in the room and seeking to lighten it, “have you that map?”

  “It's on the table: I'll fetch it,” Douglas replied.

  “I'm Marguerite,” Marguerite said, suddenly, introducing herself to Alexander. She held out a hand in the manner of men-folk, greeting, and once again Prudence was surprised by the informality she kept.

  Try doing that as a young person without much status, she thought, a little savagely. The reaction would have been different. She would be met either with astonishment or open scorn.

  I wouldn't ever have done that, Prudence realized, swallowing.

  In that way, she thought a little sadly, she was outside of her own class. She always had been. She had always had an understanding, however broad, that the folks in the “manor house” were not really that different from her.

  “I have it,” Douglas called, coming back suddenly.

  “Ah, good,” Marguerite said lightly. “Spread it out, will you. These good folks can tell us exactly where these troops are, and what their weaknesses are so that we may fall on them more adequately tomorrow.”

  “You sound quite certain,” Douglas said, laying a fond hand on his partner's arm.

  Marguerite looked at him with such a characteristic tenderness that it made Prudence's throat tighten.

  I have given that look to Alexander often, she thought sadly. And seen it, once, directed at me.

  She looked at the table, knowing that she had so many strange experiences that could never stand the light of day, not really. In the harsh, all-revealing light, she was a servant, he born to rule an estate.

  I am as unlike him as spring to fall.

  She bit her lip, looking at her own hands.

  “So,” Douglas was saying, intensely. “We have to take the men there, so that they can sprint up the back of the defile. And then, I believe, we shall have them surrounded. Is that what you suggest?”

  Prudence watched Alexander as his eyes shone with recognition. This was the world in which he was comfortable, she noticed. Anything else did not bring him this life.

  “So,” Alexander continued briskly. “I suggest we take ten men – mayhap fifteen – round the back of the cliff to outflank them. The remaining five can be here; below this position...I think this denotes a valley; that is correct? In case they choose to make a run down into it.”

  “A sensible plan.” Lord Douglas, usually so serious, had a bright spark in his eyes. “Well, then, we shall do that. You wish to lead them?”

  “No...” Prudence whispered. She met Alexander's eye. He looked at her the way a startled bird-of-prey might: annoyed and vaguely defensive.

  “I think Prudence wishes to ensure your shoulder wound heals,” Marguerite spoke up, intentionally. “I think she, as your nurse...”

  “I have no right to say anything about it,” Prudence whispered hollowly. “Sorry I tried.”

  Marguerite looked at her, dark eyes wide with surprise. “But Prudence! You are a...”

  “I would wish to retire for a moment,” she said to Marguerite, talking with flustering urgency. “I am very tired...We rode all night...”

  “Of course,” Marguerite nodded quickly. “Soames? Have a bed made up in the gallery-room? The one on the end with the view of the slopes. And light a fire – it's small enough to warm rapidly.” She grinned at Prudence. “Sorry, but I understand how cold one gets in winter.”

  Prudence looked at her hands again, wondering if offsetting her somewhere near the servant's quarters – for she recalled the gallery, topmost in the house – was a discreet way of recognizing her former status, of quietly elbowing her out of gentler circles.

  She stood and cleared her throat.

  “Goodnight, Lady Marguerite. Lord Douglas. Alexander,” she whispered, utterly unable to make use that title that she hadn't even known he had until ten or twenty minutes previous.

  “Goodnight, Prudence,” Marguerite said, with genuine warmth.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Prudence barely stayed to hear the strained, last refrain. She knew Alexander was thinking something, was maybe worried about her hasty withdrawal, but she could say nothing more.

  “I know it's just fanciful,” she whispered to herself, climbing up toward the garret – her own room was only a level or two below it – and feeling her legs ache from the riding as she did so. “But I can't help feeling that, suddenly, now that they know, they want me gone.”

  It wasn't of course, her former servitude they knew now, for they always knew this. It was the fact that she had spent time alone with Alexander, and used his first name.

  They must think me very odd indeed. As if I have a huge arrogant will inside of me.

  She shook her head, biting her lip for embarrassment. Nothing, she reckoned grimly, could be much further from the truth about her! She was always shy, retiring...

  So much so that you called an earl by name for a week, and didn't think to question it. So timid that you spoke as an equal to him, and told him to eat his porridge and rest more, like a reluctant infant.

  She felt her face flush. What a fool he must think her!

  “He knows now. I'm sure he does.”

  She had not actually meant to conceal her identity from Alexander – she hadn't known there was a reason to think of doing it – but now, she knew. She hoped fervently he would never guess the absolute horror.

  I am nothing but a lady's maid.

  I wish I could cry about it.

  NEW REALIZATIONS

  Alexander leaned back on the cushion behind him and stretched, relaxingly. He felt refreshed and renewed after the night's sleep. He had not realized how stiff and sore he was after the long cold days of riding.

  He looke
d out through the slight chink in the curtains and sat up, realizing the day was already progressing fast. He stood up comfortably, and admired the restrained greatness of the room in which he found himself. The drapes were of finest linen, but plain white, and the bolsters stuffed with fine goose-down. The coverlet, also white, was fine stuff, and the mat below his feet was purest wool.

  “I like it here. I hope Prudence slept as well as me.”

  Yawning expansively, he washed his face in the pitcher of water on the night-desk and headed to the door to call a servant.

  Oddly, he thought, as a fellow who introduced himself as McNott came up to help him with his kilt and other things, he hadn't lived so well for years, as a soldier. He had his servant to help him there, too, but it was not the same as this – a gentle luxury he had not experienced since home. He was, he realized, also amazed by how quickly he had readjusted to it.

  “Thanks, there. That'll do,” he said to McNott, surveying the effect of his kilt and the shirt – clean and pressed, though he had not asked for it to be – on his appearance.

  Prudence will like the transformation.

  He felt his heart thump, unbidden.

  He hadn't realized, he thought, feeling a spot of warmth grow high up on his cheeks, how much it mattered to him to have her good opinion.

  “Ready now, sir?” the valet inquired, head on one side, inquiringly, as he studied Alexander's reflection with some critique.

  Alexander hid his amusement well. “I reckon so,” he said, shrugging lightly. “A better neck-cloth would be good, but as I only traveled with this one...?” He shrugged.

  “I might be able to find one, sir,” the valet said.

  Alexander colored a little as the man hastened to find a neck-cloth to replace his own slightly dirtied one with its simple scalloped-edge lace. He had to stop being so fussy! Prudence had seen him in all sorts of states.

  He colored, thinking about just how awfully she had witnessed him: his wounding, his surgery, his stitching... He rolled his shoulder again, experimentally, amazed again by how quickly it healed.