Love Comes Blindly (book 5) (The Fielding Brothers Saga)

by Higgins, Marie

  LOVE COMES BLINDLY

  Book Five in the “Fielding Brothers Saga”

  Marie Higgins

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Love Comes Blindly

  Copyright © 2011 by Marie Higgins

  Cover Design by Sheri McGathy

  Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  For more information about author: http://mariehiggins84302.blogspot.com

  If love isn’t blind to past indiscretions, can absence truly make the heart grow fonder?

  Gregory Fielding has been wounded when he travels to Scotland to find the next big story for his London newspaper. Now blinded, he relies on the soft, comforting touch of one of the nurses at St. Mary’s Abbey. He thinks she’s a novice, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to give her his heart.

  Madeline O’Neil cannot believe her misfortune. The man she had almost married three years ago is back in her life. Gregg doesn’t know who she is and she doesn’t dare tell him. Not until she makes him like the new Madeline. But as each day passes and her heart grows fonder, she fears he’ll hate her for certain once his eyesight returns. Especially when he discovers the secret she’s been keeping from him for three years…

  Dedication

  Here is another dedication to my readers. You’ve finally made it to the last book in the Fielding Brothers Saga! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading these stories as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them. I hope you read the other stories I have out as well.

  Chapter One

  Edinburgh, Scotland 1856

  “It’s too quiet. There’s something amiss.” Gregory Fielding held up his hand and glanced around. The four men on horseback slowed their steeds. Morning dew gleamed off the grass and dripped from the trees on their route through the rocky hills of Scotland’s Highlands. Although the land was beautiful and peaceful beyond compare, an eerie stillness hung upon the air.

  Gregg ground his teeth and gripped the reins tighter. He’d been in and out of scrapes most of his life in one form or another. Living precariously suited him well, and owning one of London’s biggest newspapers helped give him the adventure he craved. Today’s meeting with the man who’d been a General in the Crimean War would bring in more readers. Soon Gregg would be very wealthy.

  Yet his thrill waned. Was he riding into danger? He and his journalist colleagues were all eager to hear this soldier’s story. It was well worth their long trek. Now the chills running up Gregg’s spine told him differently.

  “Keep a sharp eye, men.” He spoke low, but loud enough for his friends to hear. “I feel we are being watched.”

  “Fielding.” His best friend, Lord Calvin Drake, eased up beside him. “Do not think I doubt you, but I’m beginning to have concerns about the person who invited you here. There are too many places behind these large rocks for thieves to hide.”

  Gregg nodded. “I agree. We need to watch each other’s backs.”

  “And pray like we’ve never prayed before,” Mr. Jonathan Black muttered as he drew an invisible cross over his thin chest.

  Harvey Westland, one of Gregg’s artists, pointed to the rocks. “What is that over there? I thought I saw something.”

  Gregg squinted, hoping to see what his friend was looking at. “Where?” After a moment, he shook his head. “There’s nothing.”

  “Perhaps I’m jittery, too. Silence is too thick out here,” Harvey said running his fingers through his curly red hair.

  Gregg nodded. Indeed, it was quiet. Not even the squawk of a bird disrupted the stillness. That was unusual, and Gregg feared his colleagues suspected danger, too. He urged his horse forward slowly, studying each rock, each cliff and each tree. It had been a while since he prayed, and he silently said a quick one.

  Gregg looked toward another large rock, his hand shielding the sun’s brightness from his eyes. Up on a hillside, the sun glared off steel, almost blinding him. He groaned and his heart plummeted. Was it a sword or a pistol? Either weapon could kill.

  He reined his horse to a stop and listened. Above them came a screaming hiss, and the pungent odor of gunpowder filled the air. A cannon? What the devil?

  “Take cover,” Gregg yelled. “Someone is trying to kill us!”

  A loud thunder shook the ground and then all around him the land blew apart, sending grass and stone to cover him and his men. Pain exploded in Gregg’s head.

  He’d been hit!

  He fell into a mindless tunnel and everything around him turned black.

  * * * *

  Madeline O’Neil hooked a basket over her arm and strolled toward the garden. As she passed the Abbey’s chapel, a choir of nuns sang praises to God in beautiful harmony. Madeline smiled, peace settling in her chest.

  It had taken her a few years to feel this way. Finally, she was able to put her past behind her and move forward, enjoying life once again.

  She wasn’t a nun or even a novice, but the Sisters at the church welcomed her as if she had been one of them all along. They’d forgiven Madeline’s past sins and worked with her as she slowly set her life aright.

  Madeline hadn’t been a good person growing up, and she’d hurt a lot of people. Once she started changing, she promised herself the old Maddie was dead and buried. Now people liked the new Madeline, the kind and giving Madeline. Even the townspeople accepted her. Then again, she was in Scotland now, and none of these fine people knew how she’d been three years ago.

  Before she reached the garden, a shout from up the dirt road captured her attention. High on his wagon seat, Mr. Heslop waved frantically, shouting and pointing to the back of his wagon. Because of the choir of nuns, it was hard to hear what he said.

  She hurried toward him. “What? I cannot hear you.”

  The middle-aged man from town who’d always made deliveries to the Abbey whipped the reins on his team, urging them faster. Panic pulled his expression tight. “Need help, quickly. Injured men!” He pointed toward the back of his wagon again. “They’re losing blood, fast.”

  Gasping, she spun around and dashed toward the Abbey, panic beating in her heart with each step taken. Reverend Mother would know what to do.

  Madeline pushed the doors open and hurried inside. “Reverend Mother!” Out of breath, her chest rose and fell quickly as she searched for the older woman. Nuns stopped and stared as she dashed through the Abbey. “I need the Reverend Mother!” she yelled.

  “Hush, me child. I’m right here.” The Reverend Mother’s thick Scottish burr was calming, as was her presence.

  “Mr. Heslop is bringing in some injured men.” Madeline pointed toward the door. “He says they have lost a lot of blood.”

  Gasps bounced around the room, scattering the nuns as they ran to help. Several nuns prepared cots, towels, water basins, and cloths. Madeline stood back, amazed by how each woman knew exactly what to do. She couldn’t ask what her own job might be, not now during the shuffle.

  Minutes later, neighboring farm hands carried in three injured men and placed them on the cots. Blood coated the wounded from head to toe. One man was worse than the others, although he was still conscious a
nd moaning.

  Bile rose to her throat and she wanted to cover her ears. She wanted to plug her nose from the scent of burned flesh that hung thick in the room. Yet all she could do was stare.

  Since the hospital was too far away, the Abbey helped when the occasion called for it. Madeline had seen people come through here, mainly sick or afflicted with broken bones. But never in her life had she seen so much blood as now.

  Reverend Mother issued orders to the nuns. She met Madeline’s stare and nodded. “Grab the pitcher of water, and a basin and follow me.”

  Obediently, Madeline did as instructed.

  Everyone knew the Reverend Mother had been through battles before and was used to blood and burned flesh, but Madeline was not. She held her breath and fought the nausea rising to her throat. The wounded men looked close to death. Madeline hurried to the one who lay on the first cot. A bloody dressing had been wrapped around his eyes and nose, and the bandage was thick around his head. Black gunpowder coated his skin and most of his tattered clothes.

  Madeline sat on the chair beside the bed and dipped a cloth into the warm water. Although the man lay unconscious, she feared she’d hurt him even as she gently washed his mouth and chin, not daring to remove the bandage covering the top part of his head. The doctor they’d sent for didn’t live far away and he would take care of that.

  The injured man’s wide shoulders and lean waist held strips of clothing where his shirt had once been. He was fortunate he hadn’t lost his limbs. Her attention moved to the man on the next cot and she cringed. One arm was bandaged, and his knee was blown apart, leaving flesh and bone exposed. He—on the other hand—might lose his leg.

  Shivers of dread ran over her and she swallowed the bile threatening to surface. What had these men done to put them in the path of a cannon?

  “Reverend Mother,” Sister Mary Beth cried from the other side of the room as she tried to hold down one of the men. “He’s losing too much blood. He’s convulsing and I cannot control him.”

  More nuns ran to the cot to assist. Madeline blinked back tears, focusing on her patient again so she wouldn’t have to witness the other man’s agony. As she washed the black powder from her patient’s lower face, finely curved lips and a square jaw stood prominent. The more dirt she cleaned away, the more handsome he became, even though she couldn’t see the top part of his face.

  She had to strip the rags of shirt that clung to his body, washing him before coating the cuts with ointment. His chest was magnificent. Very muscular. It had been quite a while since she’d seen a man’s chest or touched one so intimately.

  Almost three years.

  Memories she thought she’d hidden came crashing back. Three years ago she hadn’t fancied herself in love with Gregory Fielding since she was convinced another man held her heart. But now, after all this time, the man she’d touched and intimately given herself to remained in her mind. She’d made bad choices in her youth and lost Gregg—a mistake she’d pay for as long as she lived.

  Pushing aside the painful memory, she quickly finished with the wounded man before moving to the next bed. Within an hour, the injured men were ready for the doctor to attend them. The man who’d lost too much blood had died. The one who might lose a limb would live. And the first man she’d assisted would probably be blind for the rest of his life.

  The afternoon passed in a daze as Madeline made her rounds in the Abbey, checking on the patients before prayer time. Although she wasn’t a nun, she nearly lived their way of life. They had been her salvation three years ago when she almost died from a high fever. They promised if she helped them in the gardens and in the Abbey she could find sanctuary here.

  Moans echoed through the room, and she wanted to cover her ears and hide away. Why had God chosen her to witness such tragedies? Did the Almighty think she could handle death so easily? Hadn’t she experienced the death of a loved one already? Yet He made her suffer more. It was all part of growing, she concluded. Dealing with this would make her stronger.

  As she passed the blind man’s bed, he groaned and reached out his hand. She hitched a breath and hurried to him. “Sir? I’m here.” She gripped his fingers tenderly. “Can I get you some water?”

  “Yes.” His voice croaked.

  She released him long enough to fill a glass of water and then she slipped an arm under his shoulders to prop him up as he sipped. He fell back in his cot, his arms limp at his sides.

  “Oh, dear God,” he mumbled. “What happened? Why do I hurt all over? Why can’t I see?”

  “Shhh...” She took his hand again. “Please, sir. You must save your breath and gain your strength.”

  His other hand moved to his head and he patted the gauze. “What’s this? What’s wrong with me?” His voice rose in panic.

  “Your eyes were damaged because you were close to the cannon. You are very fortunate to be alive.”

  He groaned and dropped his hand beside him again. “What about my friends? There were three other men with me. What happened to them?”

  She held her breath. Three? Yet only two had been brought in. Had the third man been blown to pieces from the cannon blast? Shivering, she dared not think of something so horrendous. “Your friends have not yet regained consciousness.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You are at St. Mary’s Abbey.”

  “Am I…blind?”

  Her throat tightened and her eyes stung with unshed tears. She could not predict his fate, but she didn’t know what to tell him. “The doctor used healing cream on your eyes. He hasn’t said how long your condition will last. Your fate is in God’s hands now.”

  His mouth tightened in a thin line and he fell silent. She didn’t know what to say, and especially what to do, but she had to do something to ease his agony.

  “Sir? Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like me to write a letter to your family?”

  After a few silent minutes, he nodded. “Thank you. That is very kind. I’m certain my family would worry if they don’t hear from me.”

  She collected paper and quills from a bureau drawer. “Begin any time you are ready, sir.”

  “Address it to my brother, Nicholas. He is the head of the family now.” Although Nicholas was a popular name in England, every time she heard it she thought of Gregg Fielding since this was his older brother. Such a kind an endearing man Nicholas had been to her…before the truth had come out, anyway.

  She wrote fast to keep up with his dictation. He mentioned the newspaper in London that he owned, and asked his brother to take care of his country estate and townhouse. He made no mention of a wife or children, and she almost breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t have a family depending on his income.

  As he talked, his voice softened, and familiarity struck an odd chord in her memory. Where had she heard his voice before? Had she met him once? Or did he remind her of someone she’d known?

  While growing up, she lived in London and Essex. Since she left that area almost three years ago, all ties to her past were severed. She couldn’t bring shame to her family. She was needed here in Scotland with these good Sisters. Now Madeline’s life had meaning. But what were the odds she’d known this man before?

  When he ended his dictation, his voice tightened. Her eyes misted again. Obviously, he loved his family and his life at the newspaper. She prayed he would see again. Only God knew the outcome.

  “Sir? I will send this letter as soon as possible, but I need your name first.”

  “Oh, forgive me. I suppose my brain isn’t functioning too well.” Slowly, he lifted his hand again to his bandaged head. “My head is throbbing and it’s hard to concentrate.”

  “I understand.”

  Once his hand dropped to the cot, he breathed deeply. “My name is Gregory Fielding.”

  The name from the past hit her like a physical blow to her chest. She gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Gregg?

  She jumped to her feet as her heart hammered. Dizziness thr
eatened her vision and she feared she would swoon. No, she mustn’t. She had to remain strong. After three years and being this close to starting a new life, how could fate throw into her path the one man she’d wronged so badly? No matter what, she couldn’t let Gregg know who helped him. He hated her. Thankfully, he couldn’t see. Her identity must stay a secret.

  As did her other secret that he must never discover.

  * * * *

  Gregg sat up in his bed while the doctor unwrapped his bandages. The room echoed slightly, and he wondered how large it was. Others were in this room, too. Lord Drake, Mr. Black, and Harvey Westland would be here, although he’d just heard Drake’s voice.

  Once the bandages fell away, heat from above him touched his face, warming his skin. A window perhaps? He blinked, but still he remained in a world of darkness. The doctor touched Gregg’s eyes, opening his lids. The burned skin stung and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

  “I’m going to put ointment in your eyes. This will heal them faster,” the doctor said in a gruff voice.

  Gregg sat patiently and let the doctor treat his eyes and face. The doctor wrapped Gregg’s head again with bandages.

  “Doctor? Can you tell me if I’m going to be blind for the rest of my life?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Mr. Fielding. There’s still a chance you may see. It’s still too early to know.”

  Heaviness settled in Gregg’s chest, bringing a lump to his throat. The doctor was probably saying that to keep him quiet. Gregg had a sinking feeling he would be this way for the rest of his life.

  “What about my friends, Lord Calvin, Mr. Black, and Mr. Westland? How are they faring?”

  The doctor released a deep sigh. “Lord Calvin has serious damage to his knee, which I have tried to repair during surgery. Now we’re praying infection doesn’t settle in. If that happens, we’ll have to remove half of his leg. Unfortunately, Mr. Black didn’t fare as well. He died an hour after you were all brought in yesterday. As for the other, I’m not certain what happened to him. Only you and the other two were brought in. I fear Mr. Westland probably didn’t survive the explosion, which is why he was not with you and the others.”