He wondered why she was being so secretive, and then realized that his presence here probably was a secret. The more he thought about that, the more it made sense – if Lady Marguerite was perfectly open about his being here, there would be no reason for him not to have had a room in the manor.
On the other hand, why would she be secretive? It made little sense. He shrugged. He was sure that her household was likely used to her ways – she was clearly used to healing and had probably brought many patients here before – so why the secrecy?
“You should go down to the stables,” her voice said from behind him. “If you are to leave, it's best if you do it now, when you're freshly exercised – it'll save your legs – though walking down to fetch your horse will be exercise enough,” she added, laughing, referring to their decision-making talks of earlier.
“I would like it if you could bring him up,” he said instead. “It'd be easier than hobbling down that hill you have here. And my legs are exercised, but not that much. I don't want to do overmuch.”
Ettie smiled. “It is a bit of a slope, isn't it?”
He nodded. “You could say that.”
They both laughed. When he looked up, her eyes were on his. He felt his heart tighten. She was so lovely, and her smile made him want to smile. He looked down, voice suddenly gruff. “Thanks, milady,” he said.
She swallowed. “Don't mention it.”
They both sat uncomfortably while the silence stretched.
“So,” Garrick said awkwardly. “I guess this is goodbye, eh?” He was planning to leave in the morning, likely before she was up and about.
“Go safely, sir,” she said.
Their gaze held. Garrick felt as if a fist was tightening round his heart, making it difficult to breathe. He swallowed hard.
“Stay well,” he muttered. His cheeks went red. He looked down.
“I will,” she replied.
She stood, her long gray dress like water, reaching the floor. Garrick looked up at her from his vantage point, where he sat against the wall.
They looked at each other, and he felt as if those gray eyes – with their gentle hint of sadness – touched his own. It was the most peculiar feeling – as if a part of her mind were part of his, touching and knowing him in ways he would never have imagined. He coughed and looked away.
“Goodbye, Mr. Hale,” she murmured.
Then, abruptly, she walked away.
Garrick was left staring after her, his heart feeling bruised. He sat there in the barn, not really thinking or wanting to move, for what could have been an age, or only a minute. Then he sat up, shaking his head at himself.
“Come on, Garrick. Pull yerself together.”
He stood, wincing, and went to the door. Walking had become easier over the last two days, and now it was merely a matter of giving himself time to get to his feet properly – the rest all worked as it should.
Now I need to find Dunstan.
It was sunny outside, but still cold. He drew his cloak around him and stumbled out into the sunshine. Heading down the slope – he hadn't been joking with her when he'd made comment about the slope – he stopped in the shade of an oak-tree, looking over at the stables.
Two men were there – a tall, pale-haired one with a narrow face and freckles, and a stockier one with black hair.
The tall one's trouble. A real starter.
He could just feel it. After long experience of street-brawls, Garrick knew precisely how to spot troublemakers. As snatches of conversation drifted over to him, he found that his opinion was confirmed.
“...too big-stuff for the likes of us.”
“Och, stop yer fussing, Camry.”
“It's true. I don't like it,” Camry – the pale, narrow-faced one – said. “She needs taking down a peg now.”
“Ye'll get it if ye try,” the dark-haired man warned.
“Och, ye dinnae have sense, Keith,” the troublesome one replied. “Who'd tell?”
“You ought to watch yerself,” Keith warned.
Garrick privately agreed with Keith. He had no idea what was being discussed, but he had the sense that a girl or woman was under threat from Camry. Garrick, growing up on the streets, had seen enough of men's fear of their own weakness turned against women. He wasn't about to see it again.
He sauntered out of the tree-line.
“Hey,” he said, smiling easily. “You fellers have a light for a feller's pipe?”
Keith dug in his pockets, searching for a flint. Camry regarded Garrick with a narrow-eyed stare.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, rudely. “How'd ye get on the manor's grounds?”
Garrick shrugged. “Same way as you did, more or less,” he said easily. “For me work – I'm a messenger. I think you have my horse?”
Keith looked at him, flint and tinder in his hand. He gaped. “That’s your horse?” he asked. “The big one? Bad temper?”
Garrick nodded. “That'll be him. Can ye get him fer me?”
Keith was about to go and do that, but Camry snorted. “Get him yourself.”
Garrick raised a brow, mildly. “I wouldn't talk to me like that, if I were you,” he said carefully.
Camry shrugged. “Who says I shouldn't?”
“Do you need someone to tell you things?” Garrick asked, a grin on his face.
Camry's eyes narrowed to slits. “You watch it, mate,” he said. His fists came up and Garrick felt himself frown.
“Quick with yer fists?” he said. “A man needs to ken more than two words before he'll try talking first, I suppose.”
Keith laughed, in spite of himself. Camry scowled. “I'll teach ye tae insult me...”
Garrick danced out of the way of Camry's blow, still smiling. “I already know how to do that,” he mocked.
Keith made a strange noise, but his back was to them and it wasn't clear if he laughed. Camry, face bright red, sputtered. “Just get off this land,” he said, almost incoherent with anger. “Afore I tell the master about ye and have ye thrown out.”
“Fine,” Garrick shrugged. “I'm going.”
With that, he limped past to where Keith had already fetched his horse.
“Thanks,” he said, grinning at Keith. The fellow prudently kept his face expressionless, but Garrick could tell he was pleased. He nodded to him. “Thanks, gentlemen, for taking care of my horse. Next time I'm in these parts, I'll be sure to stop by.”
With that, he stepped up to the stirrup, grunting, and hauled himself into the saddle. It almost took two tries, but he managed it. He turned the horse next to them, and then set off down the path.
As he passed through the gate and out of sight of the castle, he let himself collapse. He leaned against Dunstan's neck, drawing in great, heaving gasps of breath. He was utterly exhausted.
“Whew,” he whispered to his horse. “That was silly, eh?” he asked him.
Dunstan snorted. Garrick grinned and patted his neck. He hadn't realized how much the beating – and the fever – had taken out of him. Even that short discussion with the stable-hands had utterly drained him.
“Ye're right, Dunstan,” he said gently to his horse. “I'm completely daft.”
His horse snorted as if in agreement, and then Garrick gently squeezed with his knees, heading down the path into the woods.
He thought about the day as they rode. It had started so differently than what he'd expected, and progressed differently, too. He hadn't expected to leave today, but as it turned out, it happened that way.
I'm glad I put those fellows in their place.
He had no idea why, but knowing that Camry had been taken down a peg made him feel better. He hated to think of the trouble a fellow like him was capable of causing for the maids at the castle. Now he might be less inclined to do so.
He frowned. While he had always hated seeing women mistreated, injured or insulted – and saw all three often – he had never actually felt so strongly compelled to intervene.
It was only as he
rode through the woods – glad to be riding in daylight – that he realized that the new care he felt was because of her.
“Och, Garrick,” he said, shaking his head. “Ye're really daft.”
Dunstan snorted in agreement and Garrick patted him and they continued.
He was daft, he thought. He had never had such an instant response to anyone before. He had always noticed Lady Marguerite, and always liked her. Now, he felt a regard that made his heart ache whenever he thought of her.
Ye're a fool.
She was so far above him it didn't bear thinking about. And she was wed. Happily.
If he left his heart here, he would leave it here forever, because there would never be any way to reclaim it.
“I reckon I'll manage,” Garrick said lightly to himself. He couldn't help the fact that he liked – more than liked – Lady Marguerite. He would just have to do his best to live like this, and hope to forget.
Or the darkness she'd foreseen might as well claim him.
QUESTIONS IN THE PARLOR
Ettie looked up from where she stitched an embroidery pattern around the neck of a child's dress.
“You seem quiet,” Lady Marguerite said, repeating her words of earlier.
Ettie blinked, feeling awkward. “Sorry, milady,” she said. “Reckon my mind is elsewhere is all.”
“I understand,” Marguerite replied.
The silence stretched between them again. Usually it was a comfortable silence – the two women would sit and sew together for hours at a time sometimes, saying little, simply enjoying the presence of the other one as company. Today, Ettie was upset.
He left. He left without any word.
She shook her head at herself, squinting as her thread slipped out of the needle and she had to rethread. It wasn't true, she reflected. He had said something. They had said goodbye the previous afternoon.
Now he's not here and you'll have to get used to it again. He's not coming back here – why would he?
“You reckon it'll be cold this winter?” Marguerite asked.
“Um, sorry, milady? Cold? Aye, maybe,” Ettie nodded.
Marguerite looked over at her, a strand of silk in one hand, needle in the other. “Whatever is the matter, Ettie?” she asked. Her voice was gentle, and Ettie had the sense she really cared.
“Och, I dinnae know, milady,” Ettie said, shifting uncomfortably. What could she say? The messenger was injured, and I hid him on your land and tended him three days, against the rules, and now he's gone?
“If there's something you want to tell me, you know I'll listen,” Marguerite said gently.
“Aye, milady,” Ettie murmured. “I do.”
She did have the sense that Lady Marguerite genuinely cared about her worries and hurts – she always had cared, and now that they shared the secret of her danger, and Ettie's interview, they had grown closer.
“I wonder if Douglas is well,” Marguerite said then, changing the subject.
Ettie blinked, surprised that the mistress would confide her worry in her. Douglas – her much-loved husband – was away in the north, negotiating with the local chieftains about keeping the border safe. She knew Lady Marguerite was concerned about him, but not as to how much.
“If something was wrong, he'd let ye ken,” Ettie assured her gently. “We'd know soon enough.”
“That's true,” Marguerite said in a small voice. She lifted her needle, drawing the thread through a design she was working – one of spring flowers. Her eyes, when she looked at Ettie, were troubled.
“The master will return well and strong,” Ettie said. She had a strange sensation then, as if part of her was here in the parlor, beside the fire, with Marguerite and Alexandra, and the other part of her was on a moor, riding hard under gray cloud. “He's seeing the chieftains now – somewhere far out of the way – and he'll like as not be on his way back tomorrow.”
The scene she was seeing darkened then and the sensations withdrew, leaving her feeling completely drained.
When she looked up again, opening her eyes, Marguerite was looking at her oddly. It wasn't fear or shock that was written there – just mild curiosity.
“You have the Sight, don't you?”
Ettie looked at her hands. “Maybe, milady.” Thoughts ran through her mind – the fear with which most people greeted it, the suspicion, and the hate. Now she'd be thrown out again, as if she was a pestilence.
Marguerite raised a brow. “Francine has it, you know – Lord Douglas' sister. She helped me a great deal, years ago now.”
“Oh,” Ettie murmured. She stared at Marguerite. She was sitting in a velvet chair, her sewing on her lap, one arm propped on the chair arm, at ease. She looked completely unperturbed. Ettie, awed, cleared her throat.
“Thank you, milady.”
“Thank me?” Marguerite asked, frowning.
“For...for not fearing me.”
Marguerite smiled. “Ettie Lomond, I would never do that! You're a dear girl who's helped me many times. How could I ever fear you?”
Ettie felt a strange sensation in her chest, as if her heart melted. Of all the reactions she'd had and learned to expect, this was completely new and utterly surprising. “Och, thanks, milady,” she said.
Marguerite nodded. “Thank you for what...you saw,” she said haltingly. “It helped. A lot.”
Ettie's gaze met hers. She saw, for the first time, the sorrow and the worry in Marguerite's eyes. She hadn't realized how much the other woman had been hiding her feelings, how she'd been putting a brave face on her own sorrow and concern all this time.
“I'd try again, if I reckoned I could do it,” Ettie mumbled.
Marguerite nodded. “It comes on you when it will – you can't make it. I understand.”
“Yes, milady.”
They sat quietly awhile. Alexandra gurgled in her cot and Marguerite stroked her hair, making the child smile in toothless joy. Ettie felt her heart clench at the tenderness that passed between the mother and her daughter.
“When Douglas returns, he'll be amazed at what she can do already,” Marguerite said, warmly. “When he left, she wasn't making much noise – now, she makes all sorts of sounds. Don't you?” she opined to the child.
Alexandra agreed with a baby gurgle.
Ettie smiled. She wondered what it would feel like to have such a tender connection. Moreover, even more so than the love between Marguerite and Alexandra, she wondered at the love between Marguerite and absent Douglas.
How would I know if I felt...things...for someone?
She blushed. Even the thought of it – and the thought of Garrick Hale – made her red in the face with some sort of odd awkwardness she couldn't quite explain. Something told her the feelings she felt for him weren't...quite seemly...but at the same time, she didn't understand them. Or the way he looked at her.
Nobody had ever looked at her like that – like she was interesting. Like they cared, or like she mattered.
“Ettie?”
Ettie looked up, surprised. She'd almost forgotten where she was. Marguerite was looking at her shrewdly. She swallowed. “Sorry, milady,” she murmured. “My thoughts were elsewhere.”
Marguerite smiled. “I know,” she said. “I just wondered where they were. You seemed confused, or troubled.”
“N...no, milady.” Ettie tried to dismiss the query, and then paused. “Um, milady? Can I ask you something?”
“Ask me anything, Ettie,” Marguerite said gently. “You know I'll do my best to answer it.”
“Thank you,” Ettie said carefully. She swallowed. “How...how does a person ken...if they feel...the way you feel about the master, for example?” she said hesitatingly.
Marguerite's face transformed into a smile. “You know,” she said. “Believe me, Ettie, you know. A feeling...like you've never felt before...comes over your heart. Like that person is your sunshine, and you've never felt quite so warm, quite so alive, as you do when they're near. And when they're away...well, you feel your s
unshine's gone out.”
Ettie swallowed hard. So far, it was not dissimilar to how she felt right now. In fact, nothing could have described the way she felt more accurately. “And,” she frowned, “And ye ken, ye feel this way...quickly?”
Marguerite laughed. “Sometimes, almost immediately! Sometimes, you take a while. You might feel a fondness for the person when you meet them, or maybe you just like them. Maybe you are curious about them, or notice them, or maybe you even dislike them at first. It varies.”
“You knew, though?”
Marguerite nodded. “Almost as soon as I met Douglas, I knew. But Francine...she said it took some time. She wasn't all that sure at first. And her sister – Douglas' other sister, Arabella – she said it took an age! She didn't really like Richard when she met him first.” She chuckled.
Ettie frowned and tried to recall her first impression of Garrick. A tall, dark-haired man in the doorway of the room – she'd felt a strange apprehension when they met. As if something was about to happen.
She just hadn't known what.
It had taken a little longer for that feeling to grow inside her – the one Marguerite had described. Nevertheless, she realized, it had.
And now I don't feel happy when he's not here.
As if her sunshine had gone out.
She sighed. She lifted the embroidery and tried to focus on the intricate stitches. Her mind wouldn't rest though.
Where was he? Was he well? Had his leg really healed enough?
She shook her head. She couldn't bear these thoughts. She wished she could tell someone. What could she say?
“Ettie?”
Ettie looked up. Marguerite was watching her, compassion mixed with a sort of gentle humor. Ettie felt as if at least part of her story had been guessed, and it made her uncomfortable. “Sorry, milady,” she said softly. “I just feel restless.”
Marguerite nodded. “Well, if you'd rather, I can bear my own company a while,” she smiled tranquilly. “If you would rather go off and do something else, or take the air...I have Alexandra here for company.”
Ettie nodded, frowning. “Well, mayhap I should,” she replied softly.
Love For A Reluctant Highland Lass (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 8
