“Dinna worry, lass,” the elderly woman said. From a basket she plucked up a smoked herring and an oatcake and handed both to Fiona. “Ye maun eat. Yer sister will be all right. If it be God’s purpose that ye find her, ye will.”
The words hardly comforted Fiona, but she nodded. Shortly after Fiona and Alex had joined the MacBains, Alex had inquired if they’d seen other travelers on the road, and Hugh admitted to seeing a man and woman, each on horseback, ride past a few hours prior to Fiona and Alex’s arrival.
“Which means,” Alex told Fiona in an aside later, “if the riders were our siblings, we should be catching up to them soon. Hugh mentioned they weren’t traveling with speed, so Beaufort must be unaware that we’re following them. He had no idea I was coming to Scotland, and I’m sure he doubts you would pursue them either. Before meeting you, I never would have believed such a thing possible.”
Fiona wondered if Gwynneth suspected. Surely she must know Fiona wouldn’t have simply stood by and done nothing.
They had lost some time since joining the MacBains. Still, Fiona was glad they’d done what they could to help these people and were now all traveling together as one large group. Such a situation was preferable to sharing Alex’s sole company, though Fiona grudgingly had to admit the prospect of being with him hadn’t been entirely distasteful. There’d even been times, such as when Alex offered his horse to the old woman or when he’d so tenderly bound the child’s foot, that she’d actually found herself drawn to him.
“The doctor is a grand man,” Hugh’s mother abruptly said, as though discerning Fiona’s thoughts. “Ye could do nae better.”
“Oh, but—” The words shocked Fiona into raising her head. “We arenna together—that is, we only ride together in search of his brother and my sister.”
The woman chuckled. “With the way I see him starin’ at ye an’ ye at him when neither of ye think the other is looking?” She chuckled again. “Ye could ha’e fooled me, t’ be sure!”
Fiona quickly rose, brushing off the back of her dress. “Such an idea is—is bizarre. Why, ’twould be like having English tea and bagpipes together. And anyone kens, the two dinna mix.”
“An’ why not? Others ha’e done so. ’twould appear ye are well suited.”
Fiona made a sound of disbelief, somewhere between a snort and a laugh. She couldn’t help herself.
The woman eyed her. “What aught have ye against him, lass?”
“He’s English.”
The woman let out a scoffing sound that matched the one Fiona had just given. “Is that all that ails ye? A more foolish excuse I’ve ne’er heard.”
Fiona drew her shoulders back. “My Seanair raised me on stories of what the English did to our clan.”
“Aye. I, too, have heard sich stories in my day, an’ from my ain gran’father as well,” the woman replied softly. “Perhaps ye think I’ve nae right tae be speakin’ t’ ye so. Bu’ I’m the oldest in what’s left o’ my clan, and I speak t’ everyone the same.” She eyed Fiona, her blue eyes wise amid the wrinkles. “Ye can take what I be tellin’ ye t’ heart, or ye can forget the words ever were spoken—’tis a choice you alone maun make. But I’ve found it wise no’ t’ blame the sons for the sins o’ their fathers—especially for sins nigh unto a century old.”
Fiona kept her gaze on the crackling fire.
“The doctor is a braw man, undeservin’ of yer scorn. I kenna the two of ye, but I’ve two eyes with which t’ see. Instead of judgin’ through auld stories spoken in days gone by or lookin’ at himself with only yer eyes, see him as he is, lass. From yer heart. ’Tis said, the heart is the best judge o’ matters, showin’ things as they truly are.”
Some time elapsed before Fiona spoke. “I must be away to my bed of heather if I’m t’ rise before dawn,” she said quietly, more disturbed by the woman’s words than she let on.
“Aye.” The woman nodded and bit into her fish. “Sleep well.”
Fiona moved toward Skye, intending to bed down near her mare. On her way, she met Alex, who’d just left the four MacBain men.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern evident in his tone. “You look upset.”
“I’m fine!” Fiona clipped out, walking past him. She was grateful he didn’t follow.
Wrapping her cloak more tightly about her to ward off the chill, Fiona sank to the damp grass, spotted with heather, and looped an arm around her upraised knees. She ate the fish and bread while staring above the steep hills at the numerous stars in the blue-black sky and tried to sort through her thoughts. That many of these musings contained the Englishman didn’t sit well with her, and Fiona scowled. Despite her weariness, a long span of time elapsed before she lay down and fell asleep.
Three days had passed since Alex and Fiona had joined the MacBains. The steep hills and rolling straths were beginning to level out, the expanses of valley becoming flatter and easier to travel, with thicker stands of trees spotting the hedged land. At a wide river, they crossed a long stone bridge single-file, and Alex watched Fiona guide her gray ahead of his horse. Each day, she gave all ten of the MacBain children turns riding Skye, usually three at a time, then took a turn as well.
Alex watched her now, sitting as regal as a Highland princess atop the gray mount, the setting sun transforming her hair into blazing ringlets of fire, and thought to himself that even dirty with her face lightly sunburned she was more attractive than many fine ladies of his acquaintance. Fiona possessed passion. Spirit. Strength. If the sister was anything like Fiona, Alex could begin to understand why Beaufort had done such a thing as to elope with a Highlander. Yet the earl, their father, would be less forthcoming, of that Alex was certain.
He could almost hear his father rant and rave, see him throw his arms about and declare, “If Beaufort marries this miserable Scottish wench, I shall disinherit him! Go to Edinburgh. Watch him. If he defies me and again meets with this wild creature, bring him to me!”
Alex had gone gladly. If Beaufort were disinherited, Alex would receive the title—a title he didn’t want. He’d spent ten years watching and aiding his uncle in medicine, fascinated by the prospect of healing, until, at the age of twenty, he took up the profession as well. Now, at twenty-six, Alex was satisfied with his life and didn’t need the burden of being next in line. From what Alex had observed of his father’s duties, an earl must oversee his land and tenants and would have scant time to pursue doctoring. His father certainly had little enough time for his family, though any anger Alex once harbored for his father’s neglect had long since passed.
Once they crossed the bridge, Alex glanced toward Fiona. She stared at him, a mystified expression on her face.
“Miss Galbraith, is anything the matter?”
It took her a while to answer. When she did, it was as though she’d just heard his words, and a deeper pink enhanced her already rosy face. She gave a slight shake of her head. “No. ’Tis nothing.” Hurriedly she turned Skye southward and resumed following the others.
Alex was curious but didn’t pursue the matter. She’d been acting peculiar all day.
A band of pale gold stretched across the hilly horizon, the thick clouds above it deep indigo blue when the group crossed a narrow, high stone bridge that stretched over the River Forth and left the Highlands behind. Lush, flat land bordered with trees cloaked the area. Pillars of smoke erupted from factories and marred the pale sky. Nearby, a huge stone fortress loomed on a crag ringed by a thick patch of trees, the town spread out below it.
“We’ll be takin’ oor leave of ye,” Hugh MacBain said. “A place t’ live I must be findin’, before I seek work at a factory.”
They said their farewells, and Alex inspected little Mary’s foot one last time. To his surprise, she clasped him around the neck. “Thank ye, Dr. Spencer, fer makin’ me foot all better,” she whispered, then hurried away. He watched as she skipped beside her sister, no sign of injury evident. The young always did mend quickly, at least in the physical sense.
Alex’s gaz
e drifted to Fiona, who couldn’t be more than twenty, if that. Sometimes he caught a wounded look in her eyes, one she quickly masked, and again wondered who’d hurt her so deeply. Fiona prodded Skye to a walk, and Alex guided Barrag beside her.
“We also should seek shelter before nightfall,” Alex said. “I shall see to securing each of us a room at a hostel, then will make inquiries about town concerning Beaufort and your sister. There’s a chance he might have decided to stop here for the night. Beaufort never was one for long-distance traveling, and I presume that he chose the destination of Gretna Green for the marriage due to the fact that it’s on the way to our home in Darrencourt. I suppose you and I should count ourselves blessed that they decided to wait and marry there. With Scotland’s lax marriage laws, they could have married anywhere in the country, so I’ve been told.”
“I would think my sister had her say in it,” Fiona admitted rather grudgingly. “Gwynneth is idealistic. Gretna Green has quite a reputation, I’ve heard, and is just the type o’ setting she would fancy for a wedding.”
Alex held his tongue. He didn’t see how an irregular marriage outside the church could be considered romantic but knew English literature had made it seem such, and there were those who sought the small village as sanctuary. Many mismatched English couples whose parents weren’t in favor of a union eloped to Gretna Green on Scotland’s border, near neighboring England, to exchange marriage vows. Oftentimes, they were pursued by irate fathers or vengeful brothers or even wronged suitors in a mad chase of horse and coach. Yet all too often, the rescuers were late in arriving.
Alex hoped he would reap better success. To push the mares harder would be folly, because a horse could go lame from such ill treatment. Now that they’d reached the Lowlands and better roads, perhaps he should seek out a coach and fresh horses, like he had used earlier in his journey. At that time and with no explanation, the driver had taken him no farther than the rugged Highland border, and Alex had to continue on foot until he’d bought the old horse that took him the rest of the way to Kennerith Castle, where he’d met Fiona. That was an encounter he likely would never forget.
Soon they entered the bustling city. Crowded rows of multilevel stone buildings faced one another across the long street. Narrow alleyways branched off the cobbled lane. Alex found an adequate hostel with two rooms, but no available stable for the horses. Nor had the innkeeper seen Beaufort.
“It might be wise for you to rest here while I try to locate accommodations for the horses,” Alex said to Fiona. “Upon my return, we’ll search the city for another mode of lodging where your sister and my brother may have taken rooms.” If he found the errant couple, Alex realized that Gwynneth might not agree to come with him, since he was a stranger. With Fiona there, he hoped the sister wouldn’t make a scene. He hadn’t yet decided what he would say when he confronted Beaufort.
At the sound of men’s boisterous laughter nearby, Fiona’s eyes darted to the street. She drew her cloak more tightly under her throat and clutched its black folds together. She seemed anxious, and Alex realized she’d probably never seen a crowded city.
“I shall return as soon as I’m able,” he said, regaining her attention. “You’ll be safe here.”
Her gaze snapped to his, then lowered, but she remained mute. Apparently she didn’t want to admit her fright.
Alex took his leave, wishing he didn’t have to go. It took him longer than he thought it would to find lodging for the horses, and at a steep price, though he handed over the silver crown without arguing. He quickly left the stables and hurried toward the inn, anxious to rejoin Fiona.
Once he arrived at the hostel, alarm grabbed hold of him. She wasn’t where he’d left her. He made inquiries to the pleasant-faced woman inside and searched the first floor’s public rooms, but to no avail.
Fiona was gone.
Chapter 5
Alight shower watered the cobbles as Fiona hurried along the narrow wynd. She stayed close to the buildings that towered on either side of the road and away from the livestock and carts that clattered through the area. Nervousness propelled her feet faster, and she gripped the damp woolen cloak around her at the waist, keeping her arms crossed.
Not long after Alex left, when she’d first seen the woman enter the building up the road, Fiona had been sure it was Gwynneth by the cloud of dark hair and familiar-looking green hat she wore. However, having hurried in that direction to reach the place where she’d seen the girl, Fiona was uncertain which of the close buildings the young woman had entered. She knocked on a few doors, earning her one or two grumpy replies but no sister.
One kindly woman suggested she try the inn three streets over. Fiona gave her thanks and hurried in the direction the woman told her to go. She didn’t need Alex’s help and still felt a little miffed that he thought her so weak as to require protection, leaving her behind and telling her she’d “be safe” at the hostel.
Two streets down, the shower grew heavier. Fiona drew the cloak over her head, muttering at the unpredictable weather. With the rain impairing her vision, she darted into an open doorway shrouded in welcome lantern light. Maybe whoever owned the building would allow her to stay close to the entrance until the rain let up.
Boisterous talking trickled to murmurs, and Fiona saw that she’d entered a tavern. Three youths walked from the long bar toward her, interest putting a gleam in their eyes. Anxious, Fiona flattened her back against the wall. She searched for a sly remark, to show them that she wasn’t afraid of them, when her right eye began to twitch….
Alex hurried along the wet pavement in the direction the hostel worker told him Fiona had run. Whatever possessed her to leave the shelter of the inn and dash out into the rain, into an unfamiliar city? Did her desire to leave his presence compel her to engage in hazardous forays in the dark of night, the moment his back was turned? Frowning, Alex pulled his hat farther over his brow, though it did little to keep his face dry, and stalked onward.
He should leave the foolhardy girl to her own devices. She was so determined to prove herself capable of going it alone. He should give her the benefit of doing so and resume his task, giving no further thought to her whereabouts. He should allow her to do as she pleased and forget her existence. He should … But he couldn’t. Her safety had become imperative to him, and he would tear this town apart, if need be, and knock on every door, until he found the strong-willed vixen and assured himself that she was all right.
“Witch! Begone frae here!” a man yelled into the storm.
Alex halted, shocked, as a cloaked figure with downcast head quickly stumbled from a nearby tavern, as if thrown from it, and lurched into the rain. A man appeared on the stoop, cursed, and bent to scoop up some mud. He lumbered after the cloaked person and threw the clod at the slender back. The figure staggered and almost fell but continued running in Alex’s direction. The hood fell away.
Alex gasped and rushed toward Fiona. She barreled into his arms before she saw him. He closed his arms around her trembling form, raw anger pumping his blood and making him wish he could slam his fist into the cruel drunkard’s face, though he’d never hit a person in his life.
“Fiona, look at me,” Alex insisted, pulling an arm away from her back and trying to lift her chin. He thought he’d seen a trickle of blood near her brow. “Did he hurt you?”
She kept her head down. “Nae—please …” Her shaky wisp of a voice could scarcely be heard over the rain. “Leave me be.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Alex retorted staunchly. She seemed determined to shield her face. Nevertheless, he realized, standing in the middle of the street in a downpour was not an acceptable place to hold this conversation. Seeing no coach or wagon nearby, he draped his cloaked arm over her shoulder, drawing her chilled, wet body close to his side, and steered her in the direction of the inn. “We must see to getting you dry. Then I shall want to examine you.”
He felt her slim shoulders jerk then tense. “Nae—you canna—please!
I’m—I’m all right.”
“Miss Galbraith, as a physician, I shan’t get a good night’s rest until I’m assured that you are indeed well.”
She said nothing more, and Alex chose not to press the matter. This time, he would have his way.
Once they reached the hostel and he turned her over to the innkeeper’s wife, ordering her to see that Fiona change into dry clothing, Alex waited until he was sure she would be presentable, then tapped on her closed door. The innkeeper’s wife opened it.
“If you’ll stay,” Alex said, “I think it will ease the lady’s qualms.”
“As ye wish.” The woman moved aside to let Alex pass.
Fiona sat among the pillows on a high, four-poster bed, engulfed in a voluminous white nightgown with a neck-high collar, obviously belonging to the stout innkeeper’s wife. Her head was lowered, her fiery, damp ringlets cascading to the ivory sheet.
An invisible hand gripped Alex’s heart. She looked adorable … and vulnerable … and altogether too frightened. Switching off his emotions before he said something he shouldn’t and aroused her ire, he adopted his clinical doctor-patient attitude and proceeded with the examination. He wished he’d at least thought to bring his bag with his stethoscope, but when he’d left Darrencourt, he hadn’t known he would need it.
Tapping her back and chest through the gown and placing his ear close to her heart, Alex heard no matter that could point to pneumonia or other illness. As many times as she’d been caught in the rain since they’d met, that was a relief. Seeing purple bruises the shape of meaty finger marks above her tiny wrist where the wide sleeve of the nightgown had fallen back, Alex tensed, trying to keep his anger in check. How dare that drunken sot touch her!
Frowning, he brushed his finger along the marks and felt her startled jump. “Did he hit you?” Alex asked softly.
Fiona shook her head. “One of them pushed me, and I fell against the wall, but no one hit me.”
Alex closed a gentle hand over her wrist to take her pulse. Again, he felt her give a little jump. “Relax, Miss Galbraith, I’m almost finished with the examination. Please lift your head so I can look into your eyes.”
British Brides Collection Page 55
