“Ettie,” he said, smiling. “You're awake early.”
She smiled, looking up at him. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down into that beautiful oval face. His heart clenched and fireworks went off in his belly.
“I wondered where you were.”
Her teasing grin made the fireworks more intense, and Garrick swallowed hard, not wanting to get too helplessly aroused before the entire breakfast room. “Sorry, lass. I slept awhile.”
“Well, we've not had much sleep recently,” Ettie acknowledged. “How's your wound?”
Garrick shrugged. “Och, it's alright,” he said, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. His ribs were, he had to admit, still painful. However, he'd all but forgotten, lost in the greater wonder of their love. He loved Ettie! In addition, and more importantly, he was free to do so.
Ettie's gray eyes regarded him steadily. “You'd best still treat it carefully,” she advised. “I ken your rib's broken.”
Garrick nodded. “I know, lass,” he said. He felt a slow delight spread through him at the thought that calling her “lass” was allowed. He saw her tentative smile and realized she had thought of it too.
“Och, come on and eat your breakfast,” she said, blushing.
Seeing Ettie discomforted made the grin even bigger. He couldn't conceal it anymore. He looked at the plate – there was a platter of bannocks, fresh and steaming from the oven – between them, and he'd barely noticed. He was struck to distraction by her.
“Aye,” he nodded. “I will.”
They sat and ate quietly together. The steaming oaten bread brought Garrick's wandering mind back to the present. He leaned back, feeling fresh energy enter him, and considered the day ahead. “We're going back?” he asked.
Ettie thoughtfully looked up from where she crumbled a section off her bannock. She nodded. “We need to.”
Garrick nodded slowly. “Aye,” he agreed. “We do.”
They hadn't discussed the news they'd shared the night before yet. The story she'd told him was confusing and incredible. Someone was trying to kill her mistress? It made no sense! The fact that the person her mistress feared would know her on sight ruled out his suspicion about Crae and the Hanoverian spy. Neither of them would know who Lady Marguerite was on sight.
He looked at her where she reached for the pitcher of milk on the table between them. She was so solemn, so wise. He didn't hesitate to look to her. “How should we do this?”
Ettie looked up. “We need to go back and confront him,” she said.
Garrick swallowed. The “he” was Crae. He felt his stomach clench with discomfort. He knew Crae, and the thought of confronting him was almost too much. She didn't know Crae and so wouldn't understand his absolute fear at the thought. He nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “We have to.”
Ettie poured some of the milk into the tin beaker that was sat near her plate and drank thirstily. He felt his interest turn to the fullness of her lips, damp with the drink, the working of her long throat as she swallowed. She was so lovely! His loins ached, distracting him for the moment.
“...and so we'll have to leave round ten of the clock?”
Garrick blinked. Ettie had set the cup down and had clearly said a sentence or two he hadn't heard, lost in his longings.
“Sorry, sweetling?” he asked.
She looked up at him. The mix of incredulity, happiness and just a little offence on her face was so priceless that he felt his own lips stretch into a wide grin.
“Och, you!” Ettie said, blushing and looking at her hands, fingers looped on the table before her. “Stop it and eat your breakfast. We have to leave before ten, when the mail coach comes past.”
Garrick laughed and nodded. “Aye, sir.”
She shot him a look with those gray eyes and he had to laugh more. He was still chuckling when the innkeeper's wife came up to ask them if they'd care for some fresh cheese, just delivered.
Ettie and Garrick looked at each other and nodded. They were going on a long journey today.
Cheese eaten and washed down with creamy milk from the local dairy, they headed upstairs. In the hallway, Ettie looked at Garrick. Neither of them spoke.
Shyly – because, after all, he'd only found out her true name the other night – he held out his hand. She took his. Her long fingers were a little cold.
“I'll fetch my things, then?” she said tightly.
He was looking into her eyes. He'd never had a chance to stare into them in daylight like this before, and he noticed for the first time that they had little flecks of black in them, like pebbles in the misty water. “Aye,” he nodded. “I'll also go.”
“Yes.”
Garrick looked down at their clasped hands. Neither moved. He felt as if he wanted to stand like this forever, her hand in his. He stroked his thumb down the soft, silky skin of her hand. “I suppose I should go,” he said softly.
“Aye.”
She looked up and he looked down and then, without any words being said, they both stepped forward and their lips met, and they kissed.
Garrick closed his eyes as his lips met the soft, fragrant sweetness of hers. He gasped and drew her to him, pressing her body against his own. His tongue gently probed her mouth and he felt her lips part under his, and he knew that this was heavenly and he never wanted to leave.
He held her close and Ettie pressed against him, and the whole world disappeared, leaving only the two of them, her pressed to him, lost in each other's arms.
It took Garrick a long time to return to the present moment. He woke slowly to it, and gently leaned back, moving his lips from hers.
Ettie sighed and looked up, and her lips, slightly parted, made him long to repeat the kiss, to drown in it, never to leave.
He sighed. “We should go, lass,” he said, voice torn with emotions.
She nodded. “Aye.”
She turned and Garrick turned away hastily, heading to his room to pack.
They made it just in time. The mail coach came within five minutes of their wild dash to the stop. Still breathless, they clambered on board. Garrick grinned at Ettie as she settled down on the worn leather seat beside him, packed in tightly between farmers and townsfolk heading down to Edinburgh, or to the seaside.
“Heading far, eh?” a farmer's wife asked Garrick and Ettie as they settled into their seat.
Garrick smiled and saw the smile echoed on Ettie's face.
“Aye,” she agreed, nodding. “Back to Queensferry.”
“Well, a good journey to ye,” she offered pessimistically. “Not that we're liable tae have one, with the rain coming tae turn the road tae mud.”
Garrick and Ettie caught one another's eye. They both grinned.
Today, it could rain until the skies ran dry. It wouldn't bother them in the slightest. They were together.
The journey took two days. It was a long process, but Garrick enjoyed each second. They arrived in Queensferry in the late afternoon of the second day, with the sun shining through the clouds onto the slate-dark streets, temporarily lifting the cold starkness of the place.
“Come on,” Garrick said. “We'd best get going.”
“Where shall we stay?” Ettie asked. The mail coach stopped in a different street to the one where they'd caught it first, though Garrick knew where they were.
He swallowed. “I have a place here, lass,” he said shyly.
He saw Ettie's eyes widen and then narrow. She looked almost afraid. He felt annoyance at himself. How could he suggest something like that?
“Och, we'll stop off at the inn,” he gruffly offered instead. “It's closer to the center of the town.”
Ettie looked at her feet. “I don't mean tae be difficult,” she said softly. “It's just...just that I...”
He nodded. “I know, lass,” he said gently. He hadn't ever asked her about her past, but he suspected people – men, particularly – had been cruel and a source of danger to her. He should have thought of that, he knew, before expecting her to trust him in such a
situation.
Whist, Garrick. Ye know yerself you'd fight to keep yerself away from her, at home.
He sighed, shaking his head.
“I'd prefer it if we stayed at the inn,” she acknowledged.
“Right, then, lass,” he agreed, shouldering a bag he'd packed – his cloak, some provisions – and heading out into the street. “That's what we'll do.”
The inn was a mile from where the coach stopped, and it took them a while to reach it, but when they did, he set down the bag, suddenly realizing how weary he was. The journey really had been long and tiring. The prospect of what lay ahead was not much better either.
“We should take a bite to eat,” Ettie reminded him. They'd not stopped to eat all day, and Garrick remembered that suddenly, feeling his stomach twist painfully.
He felt his pocket, with its dwindling stack of coins. They would have just enough for the meal and the night at the inn. What came next, he wasn't sure. However, he knew they'd find something.
“Aye,” he nodded. “Let's.”
“Thanks,” she grinned. “I was just about ready to eat the coach, wheels and all!”
He roared with laughter and they headed to the front.
“Mr. and Mrs....?” the innkeeper asked.
Garrick and Ettie looked at each other. He grinned and her eyes shone.
“Um, no,” Garrick said, as she shook her head fractionally, dismissing it. “We aren't husband and wife. This is my sister. We're traveling to see our uncle.”
“Oh.” The woman looked surprised. “Well then. We have two rooms opposite each other, if you'd like?”
Garrick and Ettie looked at each other and nodded.
“Yes,” he agreed. “That'd be very good.”
The rooms settled, they headed in for an early supper. There, they discussed their plan.
“So,” Ettie said carefully. “What we need to do is to find this fellow, Crae. Tell him we know what he's about, and that we won't let him succeed.”
“Yes,” Garrick nodded. “We should find someone...the Harbor Watch, or someone...tae take with us.”
“The Watch?” Ettie frowned. “But what will we tell them?”
Garrick nodded. The Watch was linked to the garrison, which was loyal to the Hanoverian King. They weren't about to have any luck telling them Crae was involved in a Hanoverian plot! What could they do? If they turned up alone, Crae would kill them to protect his treacherous schemes.
“We can tell them about something else,” he suggested slowly. “I'm sure Crae is involved in all sorts of schemes. If we tell them he's smuggling liquor, they'll be all over the place looking for it.”
Ettie stared at him. “That's it!” she said. Her face was a picture of relief.
Garrick blushed. Nobody had ever praised him for an idea he'd had before. He felt warmth fill him. “Och, lass,” he said, looking at his hands.
She laughed. “Garrick Hale, you're a big lummox.”
He grinned. Nobody had ever called him that either. In all his life – he'd run away to sea as a lad – nobody had ever affectionately teased him as she did.
“Och, lass,” he said again.
They laughed.
Supper over, they went upstairs to a parlor to discuss their plan still further, filling in the details.
“Crae knows,” Garrick said after a moment. It was the dark feeling that had crept into his heart the moment he heard they would confront him. He'd been trying to push it away, but the more they talked, the less he could pretend it wasn't there.
“Knows?” Ettie frowned.
“He suspects I know something,” he said slowly. He had no idea what made him think that – a feeling, a tone of voice – but he knew it was true.
She looked into his eyes and he saw the concern there, and also saw the memory return to her, as it did to him. The vision, the darkness.
She reached for his hand. “We don't have to do this,” she said. “We can just go back, try and protect Duncliffe...”
Garrick swallowed, shaking his head. “No, lass,” he said. “We have to do this. It's the only way. We need to get rid of this danger. It's harming everyone. Your mistress, you, me...” He looked away.
He heard Ettie shift in the chair. Her hands met his, wrapping around them. Her eyes looked into his.
“I'd rather spend my life looking over my shoulder, with you, than have a safe life and not have you in it,” she said levelly.
“Och, lass,” he said. His heart ached. He squeezed her hands and felt a tear form on his eyelids. He sniffed, not wanting to let her see how deeply affected he was. “We don't need to choose that,” he said. “I'll survive. I allus do.”
His eyes held hers and he knew she was as doubtful of that as he was. They both knew he was injured – badly so – and that if it took a fight, he'd be sorely weakened. However, they weren't about to admit that. He wasn't even going to consider the possibility of a fight. They would take the Watch with them and they would do the work for them both.
“I know,” Ettie whispered. She squeezed his hand.
In the darkness, lit only by the flame of the fire, flickering orange and gold in the grate, they kissed.
Garrick held her in his arms, feeling her heart beat against his own, a closer, more intense connection than he had ever felt to anyone before, and knew that no matter what happened, he would never regret the moments that had brought him to it.
He had spent a life existing, but in this moment – this one moment – he tasted life and all its fragile beauty. It was everything. It was enough.
He hoped he lived to see much more of it. Tomorrow knew the secrets of that though, not he.
IN THE DARKNESS
The street was dark. Garrick had insisted on waiting until night fell – the Watch, he said, who he'd visited earlier, had said they needed to, in order to catch Crae in the act. Ettie shivered. She didn't like it. She drew her shawl about her. She had a bad feeling about this.
“It's almost time,” Garrick said gently. Ettie nodded. She looked up at him and felt a surge of love so intense it almost felt painful. She felt his hand take hers and squeezed it.
“I'm glad, Garrick,” she said.
He shifted beside her, hand tightening on hers. Ettie realized that she felt safe for the first time in her life. She might be in the most danger she'd ever experienced, but standing beside him, she felt safer than she'd ever felt. She sighed.
“Should we go now?”
He nodded. As they waited, they heard the watchman walk down the street, the sound his stick – he walked with a stick, being lame in one leg – made on the cobbles. It was almost nine o'clock.
The bells of the small church rang out, announcing the hour. In the frigid evening, they had a mournful clarity that made her shiver.
“It's time,” Garrick agreed.
They headed down the street toward the harbor.
As they walked, Ettie felt a strange feeling descend on her – almost blankness, as if her heart was a canvas rendered bare for an artist to paint. She felt Garrick's hand on hers and it felt like he reached her across an eternal distance.
“We should stop,” she whispered.
Garrick heard her and stopped. “It's alright, lass,” he said softly.
She shook her head. She wasn't afraid. This was something more. Her vision darkened. “He's here,” she said.
At that moment, they heard someone step into the alley behind them. Garrick turned. They wouldn't have noticed the man until it was too late. As it was, as he closed on them, Garrick was ready.
He swung out at Garrick's head, swinging a stick like a cudgel. Ettie screamed, coming back to the present, and pushed at the man even as Garrick swung out with his fist. It cracked into the side of the fellow's head and he swore, almost falling.
Ettie heard the words and they meant nothing to her. The fact sparked her brain.
“Garrick!” she whispered. “He's English!”
“Oh!” Garrick said, as he swung out again
. This time, his fist connected the man's shoulder, throwing him backward. He stumbled and Ettie heard herself shout again, stepping aside and then sticking out her foot to trip him as he swung at Garrick, aiming for his ribs.
The fellow fell forward, but the blow still met with Garrick's ribs and Ettie saw him wince, knowing the pain he must be in – the crack there was barely healing. She watched to her astonishment as the Englishman fell.
“Garrick!” she shrieked.
Garrick had stumbled too. She noticed that he was limping badly. It seemed the fellow had landed a kick or two she hadn't noticed. He was on the ground, struggling to rise. Garrick kicked him and he went still.
“He's down,” Ettie observed, running to Garrick, who nodded, gasping, and knelt. He gripped the man's shoulder, who snarled, and spat, his spittle threaded with blood, Ettie noticed.
“What're you doing here?” Garrick snarled. Ettie saw the fellow blink and realized he didn't understand a word of what Garrick had said.
“Try Lowland Scots,” she advised. It was, she'd heard, similar to English.
Garrick nodded. “What're you doing here?” Garrick asked. This time, the fellow understood. He spat.
“Getting rid of scum like you.”
Garrick shook his head, smiling grimly. “That isn't the answer I wanted,” he said.
The Englishman chuckled. Ettie could see he was in pain and part of her felt compassion for him. “We know you're seeing a merchant,” she said. “Just tell us what the plan is.”
The fellow ignored her. He focused on Garrick instead. “Let me go, or all of us will come out and finish you off.”
Garrick shook his head. “If I let you go, you'll fetch the rest,” he observed. “Better tae keep you here by yerself and ask some questions, like.”
The Englishman spat. “I'll tell you nothing.”
“Well, you'd do better to tell us,” Garrick said reasonably. “Or I'll hand you over to the Jacobites as a traitor. I think you'd rather talk to me first.”
The man chuckled, and Ettie could hear from the way he breathed that one of his ribs was broken. She hated having to leave him like this, but knew that if Garrick hadn't reacted quickly, the fellow would have killed them.
Love For A Reluctant Highland Lass (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 17
