Someday Her Duke Will Come

by Ellie St. Clair

  6

  Dougal

  D ougal could feel himself returning to consciousness, the throbbing in his shoulder screaming at him. He groaned, grasping onto the wet grass beneath him, feeling for his sword. Slowly his eyes began to open and he blinked several times to focus them. As the blurriness disappeared, he thought he must have been imagining things as he saw a woman screaming, scrambling back toward him. What was a woman doing in the middle of the battlefield? Overtop of her was a tall Buchanan man, holding his sword over his head, ready to strike .

  Without thinking, Dougal grabbed his sword, ignoring the pain that jolted through his body as he jumped to his feet, plunging his blade deep into the chest of the Buchanan, then pulling it out as he pushed him away. Dougal watched as the body fell to the ground in a bloody heap before bringing his hand to his aching head. He must have fallen when he was stabbed and hit his head on the ground. Whoever stabbed him likely took him for dead and left him there without a final blow . That was a lucky fall, then, if it kept him from taking a sword to the heart .

  Dougal sheathed his sword, seeing no additional immediate threats, and blinked again, his vision beginning to grow fuzzy. He took a step backward, losing his balance, as the dirt came up to meet him. The world was spinning around him so fast that he couldn’t make sense of anything. All he could see was the frightened face of a woman wearing a very brightly colored strange covering. She peered down at him, looking just as confused as he felt. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he had hit his head so hard he was having hallucinations. However, as she leaned down and brushed her soft hand across his cheek, he knew she was real. She wasn’t a figment of his imagination any more than the Buchanan clansmen running for the hill that Alastair no longer stood upon .

  Everything in Dougal wanted to give into his body’s response to sleep. His eyelids were drooping and he could feel his body trying to pull him back into an unconscious state. Everyone around him was moving in slow motion as he tried to pick his head up off the ground .

  The woman he had just saved leaned over him, saying something but he couldn’t hear anything. She yelled over at someone else out of his range of vision but his head wouldn’t respond to his command to turn to look at them. The crowd had started to gather around him as the Buchanans retreated, losing the battle without pause .

  Suddenly Dougal felt hands on his shoulders as his body was lifted from the bloody spot where he was laying .

  Once he was in the fresh grass, the woman went to work, pulling clothes from his body and sopping up the warm blood he could feel running down his arm and over his chest. Ivor leaned over his face and looked down at him, bringing all the noise and sounds rushing back at once .

  “Ye alright?” He asked worriedly. Dougal realized if he looked anything like what he felt, he didn’t blame his friend for his concern .

  Dougal nodded his head slightly, wincing as he did so, and reached up, grabbing Ivor’s arm. Dougal tried to pull himself up but Ivor pushed him back down, shaking his head. He looked up past Dougal at something, then back down at him again as the woman pressed a wad of cloth against his shoulder, causing ribbons of pain to shoot through his body. Dougal gritted his teeth and growled at the pain, trying not to close his eyes in fear that he wouldn’t be able to open them again .

  “They retreated,” Ivor said with a smile. “You did a damn good job, Laird .”

  Laird. He enjoyed being addressed in that way. Now all he had to do was survive long enough to maintain the title. Dougal needed them to transport him home, where the healer could tend to him and a nearby physician could be sent for if necessary .

  There was much to be done and he needed to ensure the property was well protected as Alistair would be seeking retribution following his brutal loss .

  Dougal’s attention shifted then, to the woman who had so mysteriously appeared by his side in the middle of the bloody battle. Even in his current fuzzy state, he realized how stunning she was. Hazel eyes were downcast, looking at his wounds, over a nose peppered with freckles, her soft face framed by flowing red hair that reminded him of fire. As his eyes traveled from her face to her body, he was astonished at her garments .

  She wore a jacket the color of the sun, made of a strange material that the water did not touch. Underneath she wore a shirt of flowing material with short sleeves and some sort of picture sewn on the front of it. And on the bottom, she was wearing long underwear and exquisitely made boots of a strange leather. He wondered where she had come across such a costume and why she was wearing it. That, however, was not the most pressing question. How did she get here and why was she with his group of men ?

  Dougal reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her for a moment. She looked up at him with her remarkable eyes and he could feel a knot forming in his stomach. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, despite the blood — his blood, most likely — that streaked her face. She patted his hand and smiled comfortingly as she wiped the deep scratches on his legs .

  She then shook her head as she pulled the sopping cloth from his shoulder, looking at the wound underneath before replacing it. She suddenly ripped the material of her shirt, exposing her belly. Dougal tried to avert his gaze, as a woman did not show skin like that, even in the midst of battle, but her soft curves and strong build were sensual and he felt a pull to her stronger than he had before. His thoughts, however, were interrupted as she took the ribbon from her clothing and tied it around the cloth on his shoulder, applying pressure, but with it, extreme amounts of pain. He cringed, trying not to let it show .

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I need to stop the bleeding .”

  “Thank you,” he said back, clasping her hand. They stared at each other for a few moments before Ivor came back into view, grabbing Dougal’s legs while another man lifted him from under the arms. Dougal winced when someone brushed against his injury and placed him on a cloth gurney before hoisting him into the air .

  He looked up at the gray sky as small droplets of rain hit his face, washing away the dirt and blood from his cheeks. They carried him gently but moved quickly to the camp, where they put him in the back of a wagon bed, helping the woman onto the back with him, and began making their way to Heatherbrook Castle .

  “Yer name?” he said with a strain, staring up at the woman as they moved along the bumpy pass .

  “Emilia,” she said looking around as if she had never seen Scotland before .

  She was a strange woman with the oddest looking clothes, but Dougal put that all to the side as she tended to him, taking as much care with him as one would a child. They rode along in silence, her hand placed firmly on his chest. Dougal could feel her soft skin against his warm body and he could not help but to immediately feel a swift possessiveness over the woman .

  He had so many questions for her, but he knew they would have to wait for a time as he could barely form the words. He knew the gravity of his injuries, had seen the steady flow of blood from the wounds. When they reached the castle she was helped down by Ivor, who then turned and picked him up in his giant arms, running him into the house. Dougal could see his sister, Arabel, standing to the side with fear in her eyes as he was rushed into the great room and laid on the hard table .

  “He was stabbed in the back and it looks to have gone straight through,” Ivor explained. “If it weren’t fer this lady, he’d be dead by now .”

  The clan’s healing woman, Morag, had been summoned to the castle in advance of their arrival. She came over and lifted the clothes from Dougal’s shoulder. As she did so, Dougal could feel fresh warm blood spilling out underneath him. Morag poked and prodded at the wound and Dougal tried not to lash out at her. When she was done examining she nodded her head up and down and looked to Emilia .

  “I’ll need your assistance,” said Morag, as Arabel was busy preparing hot water and cloths. Emilia nodded her head, yes, looking completely out of place .

  “I’m going to give you some tincture,” Morag said, looking down a
t Dougal, her eyes soft in her wrinkled face. “‘Tis going to put you to sleep. Keep from fighting it. You donna want to be awake for this .”

  Dougal nodded his head and looked over at Emilia as Morag mixed some powders in water and turned back to him. Emilia helped lift him up to a sitting position, supporting his arm at the elbow to keep the pressure off his shoulder. Morag put the liquid up to his lips .

  At first, it didn’t want to go down, the bitter taste disagreeing with all of Dougal’s senses, but as a calm started rushing over him, his throat relaxed and he opened up and drank the cup of it. Instantly his tense body began to ease and he laid his head down on the pillow Emilia had placed underneath it. He looked over at her as the tincture began to take effect, watching her kind face and warm eyes as he drifted off to sleep .

  In his dreams, Dougal was back on the battlefield. Only there was no battle, only bodies. He looked over in the deep breeze and saw Emilia standing there, dressed in the colors of his clan, with his sister. He turned and walked over to them, looking down at Arabel’s face and then up at Emilia’s. She was different than when he was awake but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. As Arabel ran off laughing, Emilia reached out and gently took his hand, walking along the bodies with him as if it were natural. He looked down at their hands and realized they were wearing matching rings and suddenly her clan colored dress quickly turned into a white wedding gown .

  There was a feeling of elation and possessiveness surging through him as he gazed at his beautiful bride. He looked up to find the elders standing in front of them, nodding in approval. They climbed the hill and looked back at the castle on the cliffs, turning toward each other and embracing. As he leaned his face in to kiss her lips, she disappeared from his grasp with a flash of light. He looked all around him but she was gone, and where bodies once laid was nothing but darkness. The smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils as he began to run forward, looking for his bride and his home. Running through the darkness, he couldn’t see where his feet were stepping, until suddenly the light returned in a flash, and he stopped suddenly as he almost ran right off the cliffs .

  Dougal turned around and faced Alastair, who was standing behind him laughing hysterically. Dougal gritted his teeth and reached for him, losing his balance and teetering on the edge of the cliff. Alastair looked over the edge and then back at Dougal before smiling evilly and pressing his finger into Dougal’s wound, sending him spiralling backward toward the rocky shores below. Just before he hit the ground in his dream, he woke up sweating and breathing heavily. Arabel rushed to his side and wiped his skin with a wet rag .

  “Shhh,” said Morag, standing on the other side of him, checking his wounds. “You need rest. Donna waste breath on words. We seemed to be successful in repairing your shoulder but you donna want to go and make it any worse than you already have. You did well today, son. Now you need to get better so you continue that path of goodness .”

  “The woman,” he grunted .

  “She’s been escorted a chamber,” she said smiling. “She saved your life. Strange girl donna talk much at all, but she knew how to heal ye better than other healers I’ve met in my time. Be thankful that she was there .”

  Thankful wasn’t the only thing Dougal felt towards her. He needed to know more of this strange woman who appeared out of thin air and into his life .

  7

  Emilia

  A fter Dougal slipped into unconsciousness and everything stilled for a moment, Emilia let her thoughts rush in again. What was going on? Where was she? Or, she realized she knew where she was, but when was she? Everything happened so quickly that she had responded without much thought, but just reacted. She had known that if she was really standing next to Dougal on the battlefield, it was important that he live. Everyone had looked at her strangely as she tended to his wounds but no one said anything on the account that what she was doing seemed to be working quite well .

  Dougal had been stabbed through the shoulder, and though she knew no major organs had been hit, in times like these there weren’t broad spectrum antibiotics or sutures that worked instantly. There were no bags of fluid or IV medications or blood transfusion capabilities, but Morag did seem to understand exactly what kind of tincture to give to him. When he was out and they had cleaned him and stitched him, Emilia stood, out of place, not knowing where to go or what to do. The gravity of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks .

  Time travel was a well-studied phenomenon, deemed impossible. Yet here she was. She knew the history well enough to realize everything she was experiencing was accurate to the 16th century, but her mind couldn’t have created this world. It was too real, and contained so many unknowns she would never have been familiar enough to imagine herself. Everything was so vivid — the smells, the sights, the feel of the table and Dougal’s warm skin beneath her fingertips .

  “Evenin’,” a young voice said behind her. “I’m Diarmid, Dougal’s cousin. I suppose you would be needing to get some rest. He should be fine for tonight, we’ll be keeping a good eye on him. Follow me, I’ll show ye to a room for the night. I’ve brought you a shirt to wear since yers seems to be torn .”

  “Oh,” Emilia said, looking down at her bare midriff and realizing how crazy she must look to everyone. “Thank you .”

  Without knowing what else she could possibly do at that moment, she silently followed the tall thin boy up the stairs and through the cavernous halls. Heatherbrook Castle, as she had heard it referred to, was a tower house, and looked to have been built fairly recently, by medieval times. It was a tall, strong building, well fortressed against potential enemies .

  Emilia tried to keep up to Diarmid and as she looked around her in fascination. When he stopped in front of a door and gestured inside, she smiled as he nodded his head and walked away. Emilia shut the door behind her and looked around the room. It was simple but nice and she could tell it had a woman’s touch at some point. The furniture was handmade from dark oak and the covering was a large fur blanket that looked to have been made from bear .

  She pulled the white knit men’s shirt from the bedpost and took off her rain jacket and torn t-shirt. She pulled the shirt on and tied the top, glancing over at her reflection in the window. She looked like a pirate and she wondered why these people hadn’t been suspicious of her yet. If they were, why hadn’t they thrown her out their doorstep? She supposed it was because of the care she’d taken of Dougal. Utter exhaustion weighed on her, and she was about to climb into the bed when a knock came on the door. She slowly opened it and peered out, finding the large man from the battlefield towering over her in the doorway .

  “Sorry to disturb you,” he said bowing his head. “I just wanted to thank ye for helping out back there. Morag says Dougal surely would have been lost if it had not been for you. I’m not sure how ye got there or what yer doing in these parts, but for now, yer a savior. If you be needing anything I’ll be covering watch over Dougal, just come and find me .”

  “Thank you,” Emilia said quietly, looking up at the giant of a man. “Your name ?”

  “Aye, my name is Ivor of the MacGavin Clan,” he said proudly .

  Emilia smiled and nodded, and as he turned she closed the door behind him. He had said, Ivor of the MacGavin Clan, like there was nothing strange about that at all. She was becoming more and more convinced of her current place in time, and panic fluttered in her chest .

  She stopped in sudden realization. Surely the man wasn’t Ivor the Terrible from the history books. Legend stated that Ivor was the main reason the MacGavins stayed strong through this time of frequent clan clashes. His fierce ideas and ruthless tactics gave him the nickname, but in reality he protected the clan many times over. It was said that he eventually died in a battle later in life, having his head severed from his shoulders. He would never give up his sword. What a strange feeling all of this was. She was living a history already written .

  Emilia turned back and climbed into bed, blowing out the c
andles on the stand next to her. She stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing as she yearned to know more of what was happening, but the exhaustion soon overcame everything else. Part of her hoped when she woke it would all have been a bad dream, but her ever-inquisitive mind also wanted to know more of what was happening to her, and collect more details before she determined how to find her way home. She quickly fell into a dreamless sleep, not waking until the sun shone through the windows the next morning .

  When Emilia woke, she pulled her hair back in a low ponytail, fastening it with the band she wore around her wrist. She straightened her clothes and walked toward the door, half expecting it to be locked. If she were in their position, she would likely have locked her in the room, but to her surprise, the door opened up and her nose was filled with the smell of food while the laughter of children playing in the hallway reached her ears .

  She stepped out and looked around, the children stopping and staring at her. The oldest of the girls, a teenager, although Emilia couldn’t quite place her age, stepped forward clearing her throat. She had been assisting the healing woman yesterday, and looked quite a bit like Dougal .

  “Mornin’,” she said nodding. “My brother Dougal would be in the study. He is waiting to thank you for all ye did .”

  Emilia nodded and smiled, looking down the hall at the several doorways that peppered the walk. It was one of those castles that in her time was on the fence of whether it could truly be classified as a castle. These types of structures were commonly built in the 14th and 15th centuries, designed to command and defend with limited forces. It was also typically the home of the clan leader. While it was simple, it was apparent that the important people of the clan either lived or gathered here .