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

by Emilia Ferguson

  I am such a fool.

  Richard felt no anger – at himself or anyone else – in that moment. Just a bleak emptiness. How could he have mistrusted her? How could he have even thought of turning his back on her? How could he have been so foolish as to think that she went to Rowell voluntarily?

  “Richard, you are a fool.”

  Saying it aloud made it no more or less true, so he sat down at the fire and thought about the next problem. Dressing wounds. He'd never dressed a wound, save his own minor injuries, in his life.

  “Sir?” Bromley appeared at the threshold, trailing vinegar and bandages.

  “Yes?” Richard stood. “Put them there, Bromley, and make some broth, mayhap? She's not eaten and might be hungry when she comes round.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And see if Mr. Briar's in?”

  Briar was the surgeon. A dry, acerbic fellow at the best of times, he was usually busy and Richard hesitated to fetch him. However, what if this wound was more serious than he thought? He'd rather risk Briar's scorn than Arabella's worsening.

  “Yes, sir.”

  When Bromley had gone, he went over very quietly. She looked like a carving on a tombstone, so still and silent was she. He reached down and stroked her forehead. She murmured.

  “I didn't mean to wake you,” he whispered. He gently uncovered the bruise, which turned into an angry gash under her hair.

  Holding his breath, feeling completely inadequate, he started to dab at it with the soaked cloth Bromley brought. The vinegar was acrid and stung his eyes, making him want to sneeze, but he persevered. First the gash, then the smaller grazes and cuts. He saw her frown in pain and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Easy, lass,” he whispered. “I'm just bandaging you.”

  He saw her eyelids close, and thought she slept. Then she spoke.

  “Richard, remind me not to ask you to tend me again. That aches like the blazes.”

  He felt his mouth twitch with a smile. She looked so angelic, sleeping there. He lifted the bandage, leaning down to kiss her.

  “Sorry, my dearest,” he whispered. “But I am no surgeon. I do my best.”

  “Good,” she said sleepily.

  He smiled and it seemed she slept, for her breath returned to its former steadiness. He worked carefully, bandaging her skull. He was just holding a cool cloth on the angry bruise on her wrist when he heard footsteps in the doorway.

  “The surgeon, sir.”

  Briar took a look at her, prescribed rest, food and sleep. Then he left.

  “Doctor?” Richard called.

  The doctor turned in the doorway, raising a haughty brow. “Yes?”

  “Is there anything I can do? She seems so...so weary.” It wasn't just the exhaustion of body he meant, but a kind of weariness of soul he couldn't explain.

  “Yes. Don't vex her. And don't press her to do or say anything. This is a sickroom, not a courthouse, young man.”

  Thus reprimanded, Richard stayed where he was while the doctor donned his outdoor things and walked silently out.

  When he'd gone, Richard went to the parlor. It was dark in there, the fire low in the grate. He stared into it and found that his conscience weighed heavily on him. The arguments and indifference, the odd silences, the misunderstandings. All of them burdened him. He covered his face in his hands, sorrowed.

  Why had he been so distant with her? So mistrustful? One word, and he would have been able to ask if she was happy with him, if she regretted having chosen to wed him, if she was sincere in how she felt.

  Why hadn't he asked?

  Because I'm arrogant. Because my pride wouldn't let me risk the fact that she hadn't chosen me.

  It seemed unbelievable, but he knew it was true. His own arrogance had almost lost him the woman he loved! How could he have been so foolish?

  “Sir?”

  He sighed.

  “Yes, Bromley?”

  “Doctor left some salts for her – says it might help her get her strength up, to sniff them sometimes.”

  “Oh. Thanks, Bromley.”

  He covered his face again and he heard Bromley shift in the door and then stop. He didn't hear him go.

  “What?”

  “Sir? You seem...distressed.”

  He laughed. “I am, Bromley. How would you feel if you discovered you were so arrogant, you almost threw away the most precious thing in your life?”

  “I'd stop being so arrogant, sir.”

  Richard laughed. “Bromley, you're right. I think I'm going to do that.”

  “How, sir?”

  “I'm not sure yet,” Richard admitted. “But I'm going to try.”

  He headed up the stairs to the bedroom. The door was half-closed and he pushed it open gently, and then sat down on the stool across from the bed.

  “Arabella,” he said softly. “I don't know if you're awake or not, but I have to air these words and I can hope that, whether you're awake or not, you can still hear me. I want to say I'm sorry. I have been a fool. An utter, complete fool. How could I think you'd betray me? And even if I thought that, why was I too afraid to ask? Why did I let myself, for so long, believe in your indifference? I was too afraid to risk hearing it from your lips. I should have asked.”

  He paused, licking dry lips. Opposite him on the bed, she stirred and shifted, the light falling on the angry wound on her forehead. He felt his heart clench, and then relax as her breathing returned to its former ease.

  “I have said so many things I shouldn't have,” he said softly. “I said you were not suited to me, that we weren't matched. That you did not belong with me. I didn't mean it. I know now how foolish that was. I said so much that was nonsense, Arabella. Nevertheless, I forgot to say the only thing that's true. I love you. I always have, I think, from the moment I saw you. And I always will. Whatever happens. Whether you love me, hate me, or remain indifferent. It doesn't matter. I will always think of you – your smile, your laugh, your kindness – and I will love you. Forever.”

  She shifted and sighed. He saw her eyelid flutter open. He held his breath. He didn't know if she had heard some of it, or all of it, or none of it. It didn't matter just then. He'd said it. She was awake as well.

  “I love you, too, Richard,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”

  Richard felt his heart break. Or, perhaps, not breaking, but mending. He stood and lowered himself to kneel beside her bed. He kissed her lips and she stroked his cheek and kissed him, too.

  His heart filled with light.

  RETURN HOME

  Healing came more slowly to Arabella than she would have expected. The blow to her head pained her, an ache that made her head hurt whenever the light was too bright. She walked round the room each morning, with Richard to help her, and, when the bruising on her knee went down – she must have hit it, falling – she went slowly down the stairs.

  A week later, she was sitting in the dining room, drinking a cup of tea, when Richard entered.

  “Arabella!” he said. “You're downstairs!”

  She set aside the teacup carefully – Heaven alone knew where Bromley had obtained such a thing in an encampment of soldiers – and smiled at him.

  “I am, yes. I thought I'd like to change my scenery. You're back early.”

  He grinned. “I am. I have good news!”

  “Yes?” she asked, feeling her heart soften. Since he'd spoken to her, the trust had returned between them. She'd told him she would always love him, that she had feared herself inadequate for him. He'd laughed and said he felt the same, and that he was sorry. She told him they were silly and he agreed, and they had kissed.

  Now, he sat down across from her and took her hand.

  “I'm going to be discharged.”

  She stared at him.

  “What?” at first, it sounded like the worst possible news. However, staring at his shining eyes, she realized that it was, in many ways, the answer to all they most longed for. If he was discharged, that meant they could be togethe
r.

  “What happened?”

  He sighed. Slowly, the tale came out. Rowell, on waking, had accused Richard of fraternizing with the enemy. He had threatened to have him shot for it. Richard, however, had already spoken to Bricknall, the colonel, who was his friend.

  Rowell, it seemed, had been going beyond the call of duty in his treatment of the local populace. Considering the facts, Bricknall said, he was not entirely sure the violence and cruelty of Rowell had not fomented the incident at Duncliffe. It was, he said, no bad thing that Richard had apprehended him. No man could blame a man for almost killing someone who harmed his wife, either!

  “But,” Bricknall had said, “The matter of the fraternizing still stands. Especially since you do have a local wife. In addition, there was some business of disappearing on the eve of an assault on an enemy fortress. So,” he'd said, “there's only one way for it.”

  Richard was to be discharged. An honorable discharge, for reasons unspecified.

  “So, as he said,” Richard told Arabella with shining eyes, “there was to be no reason for Rowell's men to take vengeance – a thing that could cause mutiny in the forces. And,” he added with a vast grin, “the problem of divided loyalties is taken care of.”

  “You mean,” Arabella said, staring at him, her own eyes glowing as realization entered her, too. “You mean that we...”

  “He's giving me permission to live with you, yes. Without any risk of conflicting interests from either of us.”

  “Richard!” Arabella embraced him, holding him close against her. Her heart soared and she could feel tears running down her cheeks. Happy ones. She kissed his chin on the tip and he blushed pink and bent to kiss her lips. “Oh, Richard! How remarkable.”

  It was remarkable. It was the best news they could have had.

  There was better news to come.

  “Sir?” Bromley said, appearing in the dining room a moment later.

  “Yes?” Richard asked. They were seated side by side, his arm around Arabella, but, if there was any impropriety in Bromley seeing them like that, neither of them minded. Arabella smiled and frowned up at Bromley, who looked rather agitated.

  “Sir, I have news for you. The colonel released the Scottish prisoners this morning. The ones who Rowell captured? He said due to unlawful conduct on Rowell's part, they're to be released, but taken more than three days' ride from here, to stop them fomenting dissent.”

  “Oh?” Richard frowned. Arabella could feel he was tense and the tension communicated itself through her own rising joy.

  “Yes,” Bromley nodded. “He said he would see to it that they were escorted away thence. And he had the perfect fellow in mind to do the escorting.”

  Arabella stared as the realization hit Richard at the same time as it hit herself.

  “He means me?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  Arabella and Richard stared at each other. Inside, she wanted to laugh. It was so right! She turned to Bromley with a smile.

  Bromley grinned back, his eyes shining.

  “Um, thank you Bromley,” Richard nodded. “I'll speak to you directly about provisions for the journey. I think we'll be gone six days.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When he had gone, Arabella turned to Richard. He stared at her.

  “It's perfect,” he whispered.

  “It is.”

  They kissed.

  Three days later, they left the village, heading into the forest. The men they escorted – five of them – were all guards or crafters from Duncliffe. One of them, a fellow named Gaire, Arabella knew distantly. He kept up a long conversation with her as they rode into the woods.

  “And your sister's looking bonny. She went into a decline when you left, but then, a week later, she came back to herself. You'll find her well, milady.”

  “That's good,” Arabella nodded. She glanced sideways at Richard, who'd gone tense – she felt his knee shift against hers where he rode on her right-hand side – but as the man continued, he relaxed.

  “And Douglas is a fine lad. He's taking on more and more of yer father's roles about the old place. Fellows aren't easy, after what your father let happen there.”

  “Oh?”

  “No, they're not. Half of them at least look for more moderate ways. They like your brother, for his fairness. Your father's ceded a lot to him, for it.”

  “Oh.”

  That in itself was good news. Her father – indifferent, cold, overbearing – had never been a person around whom she felt safe, or easy. With him stepping back a little, the fortress would become a lighter place to live.

  She looked at Richard, who smiled. Her heart kindled. She was looking forward to seeing her family.

  “Lady Arabella!” one of the sentries, Francis, yelled as she approached. “Bless me! It is her!” he bellowed at his fellow guardsman, who hurried to open the entrance.

  “Yes, it's me,” she called up cheerfully. “Is my father in?”

  “He's out hunting, milady,” the sentry called down. “Lord Douglas is in. He'll be right pleased to see you.”

  He was.

  When Arabella stepped into the hall, she stared. Looking every inch the master of the castle in a long cloak, modest brown velvet doublet and hose, Douglas was no longer her little brother.

  “Douglas!”

  He saw her and his face took on a look of utter shock. He stared, brown eyes huge. Then, after about a minute, during which neither of them moved at all, a huge grin split his face.

  In that moment, he was her little brother entirely. He ran to her, she embraced him, and both of them were laughing, crying. Kissing each other on the cheeks, and exclaiming.

  “I thought you were dead!”

  “It's so good to see you!”

  “I can't believe it!”

  “It's so wonderful...”

  They looked at each other and Arabella started laughing and then hugged him again.

  “Oh, Douglas,” she said, her hand resting on one of his well-muscled shoulders. “It's so wonderful to see you.”

  He smiled down at her gently. “I should have believed Francine. She said you were alive and well and would come back to us.”

  “She did?” Arabella stared at him. Then she shook her head, laughing. She should have known! Of course she should have. Francine would know.

  “Yes, she did. She told me I should stop moping about and get on with it. That you would be vexed with me if I'd let the place go to ruin because I was mourning you.”

  “And she was right,” Arabella chuckled, her heart touched to hear how he'd mourned her. “Where is she?”

  “She's upstairs in the solar,” Douglas said. “Let's go. She'll be so happy to see you.”

  Drawing her along behind him, it seemed like Douglas hadn't noticed Richard. Arabella glanced over her shoulder at him and he smiled wanly, and then followed her up the stairs. It seemed he was resigned to invisibility now that they were back in her home.

  Upstairs, she paused on the edge of the door. Francine was there, standing at the spinet. Her long velvet dress brushed the floor, glowing in the light from the windows. She turned and smiled.

  “Arabella,” she said and walked into her arms. They clung together. With her sister's fragrant form pressed against her, Arabella felt her heart shift back to its proper fullness. She felt Francine tense and look to her left.

  “Ah,” she said, stepping back. “And you brought the piper. It is good to have him here.”

  “The piper?” Arabella frowned. She looked at Richard, who looked back, bemused.

  “Piper?”

  Then Arabella saw the memory dawn on his face even as it came back to her. Of course!

  “The piper!” she laughed.

  “The disguise.”

  Richard was staring at Francine with a grin of utter bemusement on his face and Arabella laughed happily, happiness bubbling inside her like the bubbles in boiling water. She caught Francine's eye, who was smiling serenely.
>
  “We'll tell you later, Richard,” she said fondly. “We'll tell you everything. But first, let's have something to eat.”

  “Yes!” Douglas exclaimed. “A feast! And please, let's have some luncheon now, as well. It is remiss of me not to offer that to you earlier. Apologies, sister. I forget my manners.”

  Arabella laughed. Her elbow through her brother's, with Richard on her right and Francine on the other side of Douglas, they headed downstairs to the dining room.

  While they ate, they talked.

  “The English led a raid against the fort,” Douglas explained, casting an eye at Richard, who just shrugged. They were speaking Lowland Scots, so he could understand them. All the same, he seemed indifferent to the animosity between the sides, and Douglas continued. “We repelled them, but we also made a truce.”

  “Oh?” Arabella frowned.

  “The men here were not happy about murdering guests in their own fortress,” Francine explained, her eyes reflecting the candlelight softly. “Many of them called for a redress. Douglas agreed to hear them.

  “We're no longer allies of Arnott anymore,” Douglas said quickly. “And the English I spoke to were keen to make agreements with us to hold the border against him. So we will.”

  “Oh?” Arabella frowned.

  “The men are glad to do it,” Francine said informatively. “They feel it rights the wrongs done here that night.”

  “Oh,” Arabella nodded slowly. “Yes. I suppose it does.”

  She looked at Richard, who nodded. It was right. It was perfect, in fact. Like his discharge and the role he played as escort. They had been very blessed.

  Later, they retired to the solar and Arabella leaned back on the cushioned bench, in her favorite place opposite the fire, feeling drowsy and content. Douglas sat on the big chair beside the fire, and Francine curled on the comfortable one closest to the blaze. Beside her, Richard had joined her on the bench, his hand holding hers. She smiled.

  “So, Richard,” Douglas said slowly, “I understand you have some experience in leading men?”

  “Um, yes,” Richard said. He looked tense and Arabella squeezed his hand, feeling his caution. Douglas was not trying to trap him, though. He wouldn't do that.