The Highlander’s Trust_Blood of Duncliffe Series_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story

by Emilia Ferguson

“Arabella?” he whispered, the silence becoming unbearable as it stretched between them.

  “Yes?” she turned, one brow raised in mild inquiry. She looked as serene and indifferent as the carvings on the court, and he felt his guts churn. She was clearly angry with him, and he was sure he knew why. He was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

  “I know...” he paused, swallowing hard as the words blocked up his throat. “I know I brought you to this place without asking you, and I know that you're not suited to this life, but...”

  He stopped speaking as she glared at him. “Not suited?” she challenged. “How so? Why do you say that?”

  Richard felt his guts crimp. Whatever had he done now? Worse than indifferent, she was angry.

  “I mean,” he continued, feeling himself digging into the mire of his own words, “that you're not used to living this way, and it doesn't suit you, and...”

  “You mean to say because I get tired sometimes, and I'm not good at cooking stew, that I'm a bad wife to you? Is that it?” She blinked, and to Richard's horror, he saw a tear streak down her face.

  “No!” he exclaimed. “I didn't mean that. I...oh, Arabella, please...”

  “Please what?” she sniffed, reaching into her sleeve for a square of linen she must have salvaged from something.

  “Please don't think I meant that,” he said wretchedly. “I would feel awful if I thought I'd insulted you.”

  “Well, you have,” she sniffed, folding the square. Her eyes met his. They were so dark he could barely see the pupils, narrowed and tensed with emotion. They shone with tears.

  “Please,” he whispered, setting aside the bundle, his heart sore. “Don't think I meant that. Oh, I feel such a fool...” he covered his face with his hands, not wanting to even think about how he'd upset her. He wished it would all just go away.

  “If you think I don't suit your life, if you think you were foolish to wed me, just say so,” she said tightly. “I can walk away and join a convent and you'll never have to think about it again.”

  She tensed and he could almost see her consider walking away. His heart twisted in alarm.

  “Why do you even think I mean that?” he said, raw terror of her carrying out the threat filling him then. “Do you have to think the worst of me?”

  He saw her flinch and regretted saying that.

  “I'm sorry,” he sighed. “I spoke out of turn. I didn't mean that.”

  “You've said a lot of things you say you didn't mean,” Arabella said in a small, tight voice. “I do think you must have meant some of them.”

  The silence stretched and Richard looked at her, sitting so proud and regal on the bank, her hair shining in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. He thought again how wrong he'd been to condemn such a beautiful woman to such a life as this.

  “I did mean what I said,” he ventured, quietly. “I mean, about the fact that, well, I feel so awful for bringing you to a life so ill-suiting you.”

  “Ill-suiting?” she snapped. “And why do you even think that?”

  “Well...” he paused, considering his words carefully this time. “When you were so quiet, I guessed you must be unhappy, and I thought...”

  “Quiet?” she asked. Her voice was a whisper. It held the strain of tears. “It might have occurred to you that I have other things to worry about, besides you and how much you may, or may not, wrong me.”

  Richard felt embarrassed. He had automatically assumed he, and his impact on her life, was all that was bothering her.

  “I'm sorry, lass,” he murmured. “I just, well...I suppose I feel I don't deserve you.”

  She looked at him. For the first time that afternoon, he saw softness in her eyes. It made his heart glow with warmth.

  “Richard,” she sighed. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but you do deserve me. Whatever sort of fate that means you're in for, you do deserve it. Utterly and completely. And I think I deserve you, too. I might regret saying that, mind,” she added as he felt his cheeks lift with a grin, “but all in all, it means I'm a lucky girl.”

  His heart stopped. He drew in a breath, discovering that he did, after all, remember how to breathe. His entire mind, all his body, seemed to have frozen on the strength of those words.

  “You're lucky, to wed me?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said, her eyes soft. “You'll no' make me say it twice, mind,” she teased, broadening her accent just for him. “But yes, I reckon I am.”

  “And so am I,” he sighed. “I'm so lucky. So wonderfully blessed.”

  They kissed.

  Afterward, when the silence, long and comfortable, had stretched between them a while, he stroked her hair.

  “My dearest,” he murmured. “What was it that was worrying you? Really? You can tell me, whatever it was.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. “What will we do,” she murmured, “If I discover I'm with child?”

  A KNOWING

  Arabella went red, and then felt her heart melt as a look of utter disbelief crossed Richard's face.

  “You think you...”

  She smiled, feeling suddenly knowing beyond her years. “I can't know yet,” she chuckled softly. “Not for a month at least. But I only thought, what if...”

  “Oh!” He frowned, clearly trying to act as if he'd known that all along. “Yes. Of course. Well. But,” he paused, the wonder returning to his expression. “Oh, Arabella! How wonderful.”

  She smiled. “I think so, too,” she said firmly. “And I'm so glad I said it.”

  She was. Somehow, she had expected reluctance, hesitance to enter that state of responsibility. Maybe even anger at the thought of the added burden. Strange, that I thought that!

  At that moment she recalled her own father's indifference, the way he'd brushed them off as children, as though they were buzzing insects. It was no wonder, she realized, that she thought he would consider children a nuisance.

  She looked at Richard now, feeling fresh love in her heart for him.

  “So am I,” he said.

  She laughed. “Well, then,” she said, “as a possible future father, you think we should head on?”

  He chuckled. “Indeed, my dearest. Though I also think that, at the first inn we come to, we should hire a horse. I am a complete fool for not having done so earlier, and making you walk.”

  Arabella laughed. “Oh, Richard! I'm no more in need of assistance than I was before we thought I might be carrying your child. You are funny,” she added, chuckling at his downcast expression.

  He smiled. “I'm silly, you mean.”

  “Funny, and a little silly, sometimes, and very lovable,” she nodded. “Now, let's go.”

  They hired horses at the next inn, and traveled until dusk. As the day started to seep into night, they reached the edge of the moorland. Arabella felt Richard tense beside her, his knee just jostling hers.

  “The sentry post's up there,” he whispered, pointing up. Arabella craned her neck up and nodded, seeing a cool glimmer of flame between the trees.

  “We're almost there?”

  “Aye,” he nodded grimly. “We're on the outskirts. Probably get a welcome in a moment.”

  He spoke sourly and Arabella guessed he was expecting some hostility. She frowned.

  “You are English,” she whispered.

  He smiled, his eyes gentle. “Strange, how I forget that sometimes,” he admitted. “Here, in the woods, none of that matters. Just you.”

  Arabella felt her lips lift in a smile.

  “Oh, you,” she murmured. He grinned.

  “Well, shall we go?” he asked. “I feel better about it now.”

  “As you will.” Arabella tried to sound lighthearted. “Let's go forward.”

  They rode into the woods. Sure enough, not two minutes in, someone challenged them.

  “Halt! Or I'll shoot.”

  The voice called crisply in English and it was all Arabella could do to not react to it, to stay seated and remind
herself they were no longer her enemy.

  I am here as an Englishwoman now.

  She grinned and felt the strange wonder of that thrill through her. She watched Richard clear his throat.

  “Private, I suggest you get out of the way. Colonel Bricknall would be rather vexed to hear his First Lieutenant was delayed in the woods when conveying important reconnaissance information back to the camp?”

  “I...sir!” the man breathed, horrified. “Sorry, sir! I didn't think you were. With that gear, I thought you were a native.”

  Richard nodded. “The merit of going in disguise, Private, is that you tend to blend in with the local population. At least I know it works. Now. How about a safe pass for myself and my wife? It's been a long day's riding and we're wearied.”

  “Sir!” the man saluted crisply and Arabella felt his gaze drift to her. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. She would have laughed at the way his eyes hung on her except that she did find it faintly threatening. She glanced at Richard, who looked angry.

  “My wife has had a long ride,” he reiterated quietly. “And we would be glad if you'd stand aside and let us pass now, before I consider reporting you for insubordination toward an officer.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  As the private saluted and practically jumped aside into the ditch to let them pass, Arabella hurried to catch up with Richard. He took off, sending his horse ahead at a brisk trot up along the forest path.

  “Richard,” she called, feeling alarmed. “What is the matter?”

  “That flag,” he pointed, indicating a small rectangular flag that fluttered on a staff high above the trees. “It means the garrison's ready to move on. They're all here.”

  “Oh,” Arabella said, realizing instantly why that concerned him. It meant, she thought, leaning forward across her mount's neck for balance as their speed suddenly increased, that the Major was in.

  They reached the town before long and she followed Richard's horse in through the gate. The sentries had let them past, one of them being in Richard's command. They sped down the cobbled street, heading for his lodgings. When they reached it, he stopped, halting his horse overly hasty at the gate to the stable yard

  Arabella drew up beside him, wondering why he suddenly seemed so agitated.

  “Here we are,” he said quickly. He swung his leg over, dismounting hurriedly, and she, more slowly, did the same. The ground was hard under her swollen feet – swollen with hanging down all day from the saddle – and her legs felt for a moment as if they might not support her. She held onto the saddle.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I have to go to headquarters,” he said. “Make a report.”

  Arabella frowned, but nodded. He knew his own business better than she. “As you say,” she nodded.

  They looked at each other.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, voice tensed with emotion. “You know I'd stay for longer. But I can't. I will leave you here.” He took her hands in his, squeezed them. Looked into her eyes.

  Then, after a brief but clearly-intense discussion with someone just out of her sight around the door, he returned and, kissing her passionately and hastily, he left.

  “I'll be back for supper,” he called, walking briskly away. “Don't wait for me before you start eating...I'm sure you're as hungry as I am.”

  “I won't,” she called, laughing. When he'd gone, her face tensed with feeling. She turned toward the door, feeling a sudden stab of worry.

  “I don't even know if this is where he lives.”

  Swallowing hard, she stepped up to the door. Knocked. A face appeared. It was a man's face, long and not unappealing, with dark eyes and a skewed nose and a sort of quick, clever appearance.

  “Yes, milady?” he asked. He was, she noticed, wearing serviceable twill, not unlike what her father's steward or guardsmen would wear.

  “I...I am meant to be staying here, I think.” she said.

  The man's eyes widened. “Well, beg your pardon, milady, but why is that? I mean to say, who are you, and who sent you to stay here?” He was polite, but guarded. It seemed he had no idea who she was.

  “I'm Mrs. Osborne.”

  His mouth opened. It seemed like he'd temporarily lost his wits, for he stared at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish, black eyes wide.

  “I...Oh! Yes. Please, milady! Come inside.” He stood back, waving her in and bowing low as she passed. “I'm Bromley,” he added. “His manservant.” He jerked his head in the direction Richard had gone.

  “Oh,” Arabella nodded. “Thank you,” she added, as the man stood aside, hastily showing her into a room that must at one stage have been a parlor, though now it smelled faintly of mold, and was empty. A low bench was still there, as well as a mantelpiece and a washstand.

  “Please, milady,” he said. “Take a seat. The roof leaks in the other room, or I'd show you in there. It's a small billet, but we're happy to have you. The bedroom's upstairs,” he added, casting a glance to the stairs Arabella recalled noticing as they'd entered the house.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I'll find some mulled ale,” he murmured, darting to the door. “Heaven alone knows where, but we must have something in this place fit for guests. It's an officer's home.”

  Arabella smiled as she heard him mutter to himself, trailing off slowly down the hallway as he went. She looked around, staring into the fire.

  His home, she thought, standing again and looking out of the one long window into the street. This was where Richard lived, where she would live. It was strange.

  As she looked out into the street, a cannon rolled past, drawn by horses, six men accompanying it. Another detachment walked past, laughing, heading somewhere for a meal. She saw a senior officer in a fine cloak walk past, boots crunching on the gravel, two men saluting crisply as he walked by them.

  The fact that this was a town under occupation by armed forces was quite plain. It made it hard not to recollect that, a week ago, these people were her enemies. Her father would have sworn to rid the country of them – Godless Hanoverians, he would have called them.

  She leaned against the wall, sighing as she heard the soldiers crunch past over the stony road surface. It was impossible to reconcile the two things – her life at home, and her life now. All separated only by a week! It was unthinkable.

  She sat down on the bench, feeling her head swirl with thoughts, so overwhelming and confusing that they made her feel ill. Her mind fed her pictures of Duncliffe – her brother, in his doublet and hose, outlined by the torchlight, his handsome face smiling hesitantly at her. Her sister, Francine, those wise eyes holding hers and then that impish smile lighting her from within.

  I might never see them again.

  The thought made her heart ache. She buried her face in her hands. Out in the woods, when they lived as vagabonds, it didn't seem quite real – then, it had seemed as if she was just in a dream, as if Duncliffe fortress was the reality, and she could wake there any time.

  Now, she had to admit, this small, solid town, with its solid gray cobbles and its bleak, half-empty houses, was just as real. It was now her reality.

  I love Richard, more than I have ever imagined loving anyone.

  She looked round the room, her empty heart knowing that one truth absolutely. She did love Richard. More than she would ever have believed was possible. However, loving him meant she was forever in a world divided from the other half of her life.

  How will I bear it?

  She sobbed, then, having cried a while, she sniffed firmly.

  “I won't bear it,” she said to herself, stretching her feet toward the fire. “I'll solve it.”

  There must be a way she could resolve the two worlds that held two separate halves of her heart. Why would she have been given this fate, if it was not resolvable? Surely this burden was actually a gift, and she would, in time, discover what it was.

  “In the mean time,” she said to herself firmly, “let'
s see what Bromley has prepared for supper.”

  She stood and walked briskly from the room.

  When she entered the kitchen, she had to hold back from laughing. Bromley was at the hearth place, stirring a pot over the fire. When he saw her, he turned and the look of utter horror on his face was difficult not to laugh at.

  “Bromley!” she chuckled. “I am sorry! I didn't mean to startle you so.”

  “Mistress!” he said, putting a hand on his chest in shock. “Why, you scared the daylights out of me. I forgot the ale! And I didn't expect you to come in here. The lieutenant'll have me shot for this.”

  She chuckled. “I'm sure he wouldn't Bromley,” she said. “I didn't come in to find the ale. I just wanted to ask what was for supper. And if I could help.”

  “Help?” he gaped at her. “It's soup, followed by fish, and then a sponge cake...or at least I'm trying,” he said. “And if I let him know you were even in here, the lieutenant will box my ears. No...Please milady...I'll manage the supper.”

  Arabella nodded, though she felt a small stab of regret. “Why,” she said to herself when she reached the parlor again, “will no one let me cook?”

  She spent the time while Bromley cooked the dinner and Richard met with his commander, in dusting the parlor. The mantel had a thin layer of sand on it, blown in through the window, she thought wryly, for the sill had the same fine powdering of dirt, and, when she examined it more closely, the top of the washstand did too.

  She heard boots in the hallway and turned as Richard strode in.

  “Arabella,” he murmured, gripping her in a stifling embrace. She felt her body melt into his arms and they kissed.

  Supper was in the larger room beside the kitchen, this one at least was painted at the top of the walls, showing some of the house's former beauty. Arabella glanced at Richard. He had changed into a uniform at some point during the day, and she couldn't help noticing how handsome he looked. She swallowed.

  “So,” he told her as he ate the soup carefully with a silver spoon, “we seem to have good news. There were no...engagements with enemy troops...while I was away.”

  “Oh?” Arabella felt her heart lose a tension she hadn't known it held. She lifted the spoon of soup to her lips, marveling at how wonderful it was to be seated at a table, set with cutlery, and eating off fine china crockery again. She leaned back in her chair and digested the news, letting the tension drain from her.