Love For A Reluctant Highland Lass (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Ettie?” Marguerite asked, making Ettie blush. What if she'd guessed her thoughts?

  “Yes, milady?”

  “Can you take Alexandra upstairs for me, please? I'm afraid when Mr. Knoll comes up, it's going to get noisy in here, and I don't want her waking.”

  “Yes, milady,” Ettie nodded.

  She reached for the wicker basket where the baby slumbered heedlessly and lifted it, carrying it carefully to the door. She stood back a little so as not to bump Lady Marguerite, who stood at the window, looking out worriedly. That was when she saw the paper.

  What's that doing there? she thought crossly. It hadn't been there in the morning when she’d cleaned! Whoever left it there was inconsiderate at best. She lifted it and hastily crammed it into her pocket, then headed upstairs just as Knoll arrived.

  In the bright, warm-lit room where Alexandra slept, Ettie set down the basket carefully and leaned back against the wall, ready to watch over the baby as she slept. Something crinkled in her pocket and, coloring, she recalled the note she'd crammed in there so quickly.

  What if it was addressed to someone?

  She took it out, smoothing it carefully. There was no name written on it and Ettie, who could read a little, and very slowly, opened it, intrigued.

  Lady Marguerite, she read.

  Ettie looked around, feeling instantly concerned. She'd crushed the note into her pocket! What would Marguerite think? She laid it on the table, hastily smoothing out the creases. As she did so, her eye scanned down the page.

  Garr-ick. Hale.

  She read the name at the bottom of the letter, where someone had signed it. She went pale.

  It was from him.

  What if it was about the danger? Something he couldn't risk saying aloud? Wishing she could read just a little better, Ettie leaned over the note. She began to read.

  Lady Marguerite, she read, squinting at the first word. The splatter of ink had smudged it, bleeding from a word crossed out several times.

  Lady Marguerite. I write this in apology for a fault committed in error, and by accident, since I do not know what it was. All the same, I regret it. If I have caused you offence, pain or discomfort, know that it was all in error and in ignorance. I would never wittingly do that, and if I did, the remorse would surely kill me. Know that your presence is dear to me, your person precious to me, your smile a light. I know you are above me, but your birth serves only as a casing for the jewel you are. Brave, true and wise – you are unusual in so many ways. I think of you often and with greatest fondness. Forgive me. Yours sincerely, Garrick Hale.

  Ettie felt her head spin. Some of the words were ones she'd never heard before, and others of them were too hard for her to read at present. However, the note made sense. And what sense it made, too.

  He cared about her. Immensely. Her heart sang.

  I would never do that and if I did, remorse would kill me. Your presence dear. Your smile, light.

  She felt her cheeks lift in a grin. Delight filled her. Someone really felt that way, about her? It wasn't possible. Surely it wasn't? There must be some mistake.

  No, it was certainly about her – Marguerite herself had never so much as seen Garrick. Ettie knew that for certain, since it was the danger of Mr. Crae knowing who she was that had sparked this whole confusion.

  Your person precious to me. Your birth a casing for the jewel you are. Wise. Brave.

  She shivered, closing her eyes as the sweet words flooded through her heart. Garrick Hale – the most handsome man she'd ever encountered – thought her person, her body, was precious? That she was a jewel? Her belly tingled with delicious warmth. It barely seemed possible!

  But it was.

  “Oh!” she sighed, hugging herself. Her small exclamation must have been louder than she thought, because Alexandra, in her basket, stirred and made a little sound.

  “Sorry, lass,” Ettie murmured hastily, going over to join her. She reached down and tenderly stroked the head of fluffy pale hair, smiling down into the babe's face.

  Alexandra looked up, giving her a delighted, toothless, smile. Ettie's heart clenched. She felt her heart brimming with a rich warmth she'd never really felt before. She hugged herself again, as if to hold the warmth closer to herself, hugging its preciousness closer still.

  I never knew life could be this beautiful.

  In all the years of sadness and hurt, she had never felt this sweet, tingling warmth that seemed to glow in every part of her, radiantly painting her whole world with light. It was a wonderful feeling.

  Garrick, her heart said. I wish I could say the words that are in my heart.

  The thought struck her cold. She had been so remote, so standoffish! So much so that he'd thought he'd offended her. What was she going to do?

  I have to tell him how I feel.

  She looked around the room, heart stiffening with resolve. She needed to go and find him, tell him the truth of how she felt. In fact, it was time he knew the truth – all of it. Who she was, what had happened, why she had lied. He clearly mistrusted Crae, or why had he even come here?

  But can I trust him?

  She frowned. Her heart cried a resounding yes. She closed her eyes, reaching for a memory of the vision she had when she sat with him that night. It evaded her, for the most part – all she could recall was an image of Garrick in the darkness, and the sound of a cry.

  I don't think the danger was him.

  Swallowing hard, Ettie folded the note again and stuffed it back into her pocket. It had been meant for her – she knew that now. She had to act.

  She headed to the door and put out her head, calling for a maid to relieve her with Alexandra. When Mrs. Newell appeared, Ettie left her there and hastily headed up the stairs to find her mistress. She had to tell her she was going away.

  She found Marguerite in the drawing room, looking into the fire. “Milady?”

  Her mistress looked up. Her sweet face was worried and Ettie felt like a traitor, leaving her now. She swallowed hard, summoning her resolve.

  “Milady? I...I received word that I must go away five days.” She had no idea if that would do it – as far as she knew, Queensferry was at least two days' ride away, and then she might need a whole day to locate Mr. Hale – but she couldn't ask for more time.

  “Ettie?” Marguerite frowned. “It's something dangerous? Your family...” She paused, and Ettie saw her remember at roughly the same time that Ettie Lomond had no true family. Her mistress looked at the ground. “Of course you can have leave,” she said kindly. “I'll ask Mrs. Newell to step in for you.”

  “Thank you, milady,” Ettie said, reaching for her hand. Marguerite let her take it and squeeze it gently, and then she nodded, drawing it away.

  “If you need to leave tomorrow, Ettie, don't hesitate to victual yourself at the kitchens. Take what provisions you need. And Knoll can escort you as far as Lowkirk,” she said, frowning pensively.

  “Thank you, milady,” Ettie whispered. She knew she couldn't take up Lady Marguerite on her offer, however. If she took anyone with her, it would be clear she was traveling to Queensferry, and she would have to invent some sort of story. No – better to slip away unnoticed tomorrow morning.

  She politely took her leave of Lady Marguerite, and headed downstairs to the kitchens. She would have to avail herself of her mistress' kindness insofar as provisions were concerned – she had no other means of acquiring any, and did not plan to starve on the road.

  She tiptoed up to the kitchen door and pushed it open gently. The fire had burned lower in the lull between tea and supper, the sky already dark beyond the windows. It seemed empty and she tiptoed inside.

  “Come for a cup of tea, eh?” Merrick said dryly from the table. Ettie jumped.

  “Um, no, Mrs. Merrick,” she said. “I came to fetch provisions. For a journey.” She decided honesty was best – there was no lying to Merrick, who probably already knew more than she did herself. She wet her lips nervously. To her surprise, the w
oman smiled.

  “Going far, eh,” she said. “Well, there's a ham that needs some bits carved off it. And a cob loaf or two. And apples. Take more than you can carry...you'll surely need it.”

  Ettie blinked, surprised. “Thank you, Mrs. Merrick.” She felt her hands clench and she paused, wondering if she could ask Merrick her next question.

  What manner of man is Garrick Hale?

  “You ride in the light,” Merrick said.

  Ettie nodded, not really listening, reaching for an apple from the basketful on the floor of the pantry. “I go first thing tomorrow,” she agreed.

  “It's not that light you'll be needing, lass,” Merrick said softly. “Nor that which I meant. It's what you feel as lights your way.”

  Ettie frowned. She felt a soft blush rise to her cheeks, a sweet embarrassment that Merrick could, indeed, see her thoughts. She grinned, unable to hold her happiness within herself a moment longer.

  “Oh, Merrick...” She sighed.

  Merrick grinned, her black eyes sparking. “Aye, lass,” she nodded. “There's light enough in you for all the ways ahead. Whatever darkness there is, hold onto it. It's a guide.”

  Ettie gulped. She nodded. She felt that – as if the joy she felt in what she felt for Garrick was a torch, blazing in the darkness, leading her onward.

  “I'll do that, Mrs. Merrick,” she nodded. “And...Thank you.”

  Merrick chuckled. “Don't,” she said. She reached for a cup of tea, then, looked down. The china clinked as she stirred. Ettie turned away, her eyes suddenly, unexpectedly, filling with tears. She would miss Merrick. And, should anything happen to her, she would wish someone to tell her of it.

  It was only as she wrapped the cob loaf and bundled it, carefully, into her shawl, that she recalled that, likely, should anything happen to her on the road, Merrick would know.

  The thought was a stark comfort as she contemplated the dangers of travel. A woman alone, crossing a hundred miles of ground, most of which within the forest or patrolled by soldiers, was not safe. Nevertheless, she recalled, her cheeks lifting in a gentle smile, she would not be alone. She had the light inside her. And that, she knew, would guide her safe ahead.

  “Oh, Garrick,” she whispered.

  Her mind fed her memories of him – that night in the barn, his crooked smile. More recently, in the kitchen, his eyes grave on hers. Before that, in the dining room, his gaze surprised and wary as he regarded her across the table. She grinned.

  How could I not have seen it? How did I fail to notice that he cared about me? Not about my status – as Lady Marguerite – or about my manner, but truly me?

  She swallowed hard, feeling her eyes abruptly fill with tears again. It was such a strange, wonderful thought. Nobody had ever treated her like that, as if she truly mattered. As if she was beautiful, and able to be cared for, and loved.

  She sighed. Life, she decided as she packed her small satchel, ready for the journey, was full of wonders.

  A SURPRISE HAPPENING

  Queensferry was cold and wet. Acrid with sea-spray and stinging with it, the air hit him like a wall as he rode toward the docks. Garrick coughed, slit his eyes and rode onward.

  “Easy, lad,” he said softly to the rented horse. “Almost there.”

  They rode onward into the cold.

  Through narrowed eyes, Garrick managed to make out the warehouse for which he was aiming – a solid, low-built one surrounded by a cluster of other warehouses. A light was lit in the window and he cursed, wishing it had been dark in there.

  “That means he's there.”

  The last person he wished to encounter at the ninth hour of the night, in the wet and cold and with his teeth chattering fit to bust themselves, was Crae. Shivering, he drew his cloak closer and rode slowly past, heading for his own lodgings. He would leave the horse safely home and come back later on Dunstan, when he was sure it was safe.

  At his lodgings, he changed hastily out of his wet clothes, shivering as he pulled on a dry shirt and trousers – the only other pair he possessed. He threw the wet set over the chair and left them by the fire, and gathered his cloak about him again, wincing as the wetness from the rain found the tender skin of the back of his neck, before he headed down.

  “I'll walk,” he said to Dunstan, who stood, looking decidedly upset, in the stables. The horse neighed and Garrick headed out of the gate into the cold and dark.

  At the warehouse, he paused. Something he hadn't noticed earlier struck him. A whalebone umbrella – heavy and unwieldy – stood by the outer door. Whose was that? He knew well that Mr. Crae did not possess such a thing – he always wore an oilskin cloak, of which he was somewhat proud.

  Visitors. It must be. But who?

  Whoever owned that fine umbrella – a rarity – was prosperous.

  Garrick opened the door to the warehouse and slipped inside. His key didn't lead into the front office – naturally only Mr. Crae and his solicitor, Mr. Hume, had keys for this. However, he did have a key to the back, and from there it was just possible to hear snatches of what was being said in front. Looking around to make sure he wasn't observed, Garrick slipped to the front of the warehouse, breathing in the cold, damp scent of wet mortar, and leaned on the panels there.

  He heard low voices, talking. They were murmuring and quiet, and it was difficult to make out what was being said. Garrick leaned closer, straining his ears for the words. It took him a moment to realize that the reason he couldn't discern them wasn't simply just because he couldn't hear them properly – it was because he couldn't understand, or not very well.

  They were speaking another language.

  Garrick, raised in the north and then, later, on the docks, spoke both Gaelic and the Scots of the Lowlands. This sounded entirely different to both. He paused, listening.

  Some words he knew – Aye, nay. The language was close to Lowland Scots in some respects. He frowned, straining his ears, and realized that he had heard this language before, in the shipping yard. It was English.

  He almost gave away his presence by knocking over a pile of planks, stacked by the wall. He sat down heavily, horrified. Was his master speaking with a Hanoverian? If so, why?

  He leaned closer, cursing inwardly that he didn't understand more English. Then, his heart stopped.

  “Duncliffe, aye?”

  “Aye. Duncliffe.”

  He closed his eyes, heart beating fast. This was what it was about! He was betraying the house to the Hanoverian troops! Suddenly, it all made stark sense. The fact that he'd been sent there under false pretenses. The questions his master had asked. Why he’d wanted to know so much in detail about the house, such as how defensible it was.

  He was betraying Duncliffe to their enemies.

  “No!”

  Garrick winced, biting his lip sharply as he realized he'd spoken aloud. How could he allow something like this to happen? More to the point, how could he stop it? He looked around, heart thudding in his chest.

  I need to go back.

  That was his first thought. He had warned them already – but not of the magnitude of the threat, since he hadn't known himself.

  Looking around, Garrick realized that the idea was nearly hopeless. It was past nine o' clock at night, and there was no way it was sensible – or sane – to head back now. He would, at least, have to wait for tomorrow.

  “What can I do?”

  Garrick desperately looked around the space. There was a shovel in the corner. He imagined waiting for the visitor to leave the premises, then staving the shovel down on his head, finishing him off. He instantly dismissed the idea – he would certainly defend himself in a brawl, but to murder someone cold-bloodedly was not something Garrick Hale was prepared to do. Not even when he had to protect Marguerite.

  “I have to stop him.”

  He hurried out, wishing that he'd arrived the day before. He usually only took two days to reach Queensferry from Duncliffe – had he not been waylaid by heavy rainfall for a day, he would
have been here the day before and perhaps found this all out sooner.

  Then what would I have done? Ridden back?

  He sighed. What else could he do? At least now he knew the magnitude of the threat that faced them. Or he would, if he found out precisely what manner of man was in there.

  Hurrying to the door, Garrick slipped out into the wet night air, flattening himself against the wall. He waited there for the door to open.

  It didn't.

  Garrick, leaning against the wall, shivered and cursed himself for his lack of good sense. He should have brought his coat. He should have stayed inside. He should have stayed at Duncliffe!

  “I'm a fool.”

  He recalled the words he'd left for Marguerite and thought himself doubly a fool. Now he would have to explain himself to her, too, should he turn up at her door again. And that, he reflected, going scarlet, would be decidedly awkward.

  He had truly pushed himself into a corner and had no idea what to do. At that moment, something moved in the yard. A light. Garrick watched it, heart thumping in his chest. Who was out there?

  “Hey!” he called.

  The light paused, stopping in its wavering motion across the yard. It was raining now, and Garrick slit his eyes against the stinging rainfall, wishing he could see more clearly. The light moved again. Garrick started toward it.

  “Hey!” he yelled loudly. “You! What're you about?”

  He shook himself angrily. This was part of his job! He was employed, at least in part, to guard the warehouse. If someone had been sneaking about, perhaps forcing a way into the west entrance, by the docks, there would be hell. If any stock was gone, he wasn't sure his life would be worth living.

  “Hey!” he yelled again, starting after the light. “You! What do you think you're about?”

  The light stopped, and then moved on. Since it was unwavering in the rain, Garrick guessed whoever held it carried a lantern. That meant that whoever it was could afford a lantern, which was perhaps even more troublesome – the average thief on the docks would not have been able to. This meant whoever this was, it was probably a rival merchant. He ran.