The Highlander's Brave Baroness (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 10)

by Emilia Ferguson

  She was already standing, turning away, the firelight playing over that enigmatic half-smile tossed to him, in parting.

  I must go. There is one coming, you must talk to them now.

  “Wait?” Alexander pleaded. However, she was already turning away. “Brenna,” he whispered.

  He stared out over the empty field, bereft. At that moment, his eyes caught sight of movement, the shine of hair, lifting in the breeze. He thought then he had crossed over and the field was now where Brenna and he were.

  There was someone coming.

  He opened his eyes wide. It was a woman.

  Her hair was dark, and loose, as Brenna’s was. Where hers was brown, though, shimmering with red, this hair was dense black, like a crow’s wing. The dress this woman wore was not linen, but taffeta, stiff and worked with thread, and her hands and face were pale.

  “Who…?” he whispered, gasping.

  The woman frowned. “Save your strength,” she said. “You are wounded. Son?” she called over her shoulder. “This one’s alive.”

  Alexander frowned up at her, confused. Who was she, and what was she doing here? She had knelt beside him, and he struggled to find the words to ask he what she was doing, what her purpose was here on the field of wounded. Then, all his thoughts stopped as she touched the aching mass of pain where the shot had hit him.

  “Milady?” he gasped, when he got his breath back.

  She was, undoubtedly, a highborn woman. He could smell a spicy floral scent of perfume, and her dress was of fine workmanship, shining in the pale light. Her hands were fine and soft, and she wore some sort of jewel at her throat, her black hair glossed and brushed.

  She looked at him, black eyes hard.

  “You’re awake, now,” she said, stiffly. “You called me something else, earlier. Barra or something. I think the bang on the head stirred your brain. Tam?” she called.

  “Mother?” a young voice answered. “What is amiss?”

  “This one’s alive, Tam. You were right. Can you get him on his feet? I think we can see to his wounds at home.”

  As the woman slipped her hands under his arms, he felt a sort of resignation. Why did these two not go back to whatever anteroom of Hell they’d come from, and leave him in peace? She was touching his wound again, and every palpation sent fire through his nerves.

  “Leave me,” he whispered. “I’m dying.”

  “Nonsense,” the woman’s voice snapped. “You have a shot wound in your chest, which just missed your vitals, and your ribs, and could be healed in weeks, if you’ll let it. You should be grateful, instead of murmuring about the end of days. Now, Tam? On the count of three, get him standing.”

  “Aye, Mother.”

  Alexander bit his lip, shaking his head in weary protest. He didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry. A gentlewoman and a stripling of a lad. What could they do to help him? He’d rather they let him die in peace.

  “And a one, and a two, and…up!”

  He gasped, unbearable agony searing through his body as young arms clasped around him and somebody suddenly hoisted him upright. He felt himself losing consciousness, swaying as his vision blurred and brightened, pulsing with soreness.

  “No,” he whispered. “Too…sore…”

  He heard the woman make a desultory sound, her voice dry. “Fine sort he is. Grateful as ever for our care. Best get him moving, Tam…we don’t want to risk capture, not now.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Alexander felt himself winded as he was heaved up and laid across a shoulder, the bone of it pressing into his chest in a way that stole his breath. He gave a strangled gasp.

  Abruptly, the pain stopped. He heard a low chuckle.

  “Bless me, Tam…” the woman laughed. “You ought not to carry him like that. You’ll get the last breath out of him. Best carry him across your arms, that’s it. Now. Let’s get him to the coach. We’ll have to leave.”

  His pain abruptly relieved, Alexander felt his conscious mind start to swim. As he floated into the white haze of a blackout again, he thought he saw a tight-edged flash of smile.

  “Thanks…” he whispered.

  A warm laugh, strangely amused, drifted back to him.

  “You’re welcome,” the refined voice said. “You see, Tam? He has manners, after all.”

  Alexander’s last thought, as he slipped into unconsciousness, was that the act of smiling no longer felt so painful.

  A CLOSER LOOK

  Adeline watched as the man’s eyes turned up in his head, the lids descending over them as Tam gently laid him down beside the wheel of the coach. She felt a pang of sorrow, which surprised her.

  I have seen so much death. One more life ended prematurely should mean little.

  All the same, as the rugged, handsome face went slack, Adeline felt a pain in her heart. She bit her lip, trying to hold back grief. It wasn’t just the sorrow of another man dying. It was this man dying.

  She looked over the tranquil face again. He’d had the strangest effect on her. Scarred and battered, the nose broken at least once, the chin firm, it was a face that spoke of a life lived fully. He was probably a farmer, she guessed, but whoever he was, he seemed to know something about life.

  He shouldn’t die so young.

  She guessed he was perhaps five and thirty, perhaps older. He wasn’t that young, not really…she didn’t think of herself as young, and he could be her own age. He was a man in his prime, though, whatever his age. Strong, vital, full of life. Except that he was dying.

  “I think we’re too late for him.”

  Adeline called it to Tam, who was looking out across the mist – waiting for the cart that McRae manned to collect the wounded. He turned, hearing her call.

  “He’s not dead.”

  Adeline frowned, hearing it. Her son sounded exhausted. He looked it, too, with pools of dark shadow, like bruises, below his gentle eyes. She felt guilty. He was too young to see all of this.

  “I don’t know, son,” she admitted, reaching down and laying a hand on the abdomen of the wounded man, near the bullet wound that tore through the doublet and shirt. She rested her hand on it, and then paused. “I can’t feel a pulse.”

  “He’s not dead,” her son insisted, and this time he came and knelt beside her. “Check his eyes.”

  Adeline bit her lip again, feeling sorrow for her young son’s hopes. He sounded desperate.

  All the same, she did as he suggested, lifting the lid of the man’s left eye. Brown with a reddish tinge like chestnuts in late autumn, the gaze was surprisingly unwavering. His pupil widened and narrowed, the iris searching, slowly, from left to right in random wanderings. Adeline felt her heart leap.

  “You’re right, son!” she said, voice an overjoyed whisper. “He’s still conscious.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say conscious,” her son demurred, a brief grin crossing his firm mouth as he came to join her by the man. “But he’s alive. At least for the moment. Can we do aught?”

  Adeline frowned. The bullet wound was not as deep as it could have been, and she could, if she pushed gently, feel the bullet still lodged inside, about half an inch from the surface. Her prognosis earlier seemed correct.

  “He’s lucky,” she said slowly. “The bullet missed his innards.” That would have been the worst – a bullet passing through into the intestines would mean a slow, agonizing death as lead and the putrefaction tainted his blood. This lively, strong fellow would be spared that. If they could get it out.

  “You think you can get him home?” Tam asked.

  “No broken bones I can feel, at any rate,” Adeline nodded, passing her hands deftly down both legs and arms. She couldn’t help noticing how muscular the fellow was – his legs were firm and corded with muscle, his upper arms thick and dense. She couldn’t feel any breaks in his limbs. She shivered, and it was not with cold. It had been a long time since she’d touched a man who evoked any response in her.

  “Help me turn him?” she asked.

/>   “Yes, Mama,” Tam agreed, and, together, they rolled him onto his side. Adeline winced as he made a small grunt – he might be unconscious, but he could still feel pain.

  As they rolled him over and she felt down his spine, she wondered, idly, what he did for a living. His body was lithe and firm, and he was strongly built. He could be a soldier by profession, but they were few.

  His hands have the look of a laborer.

  She glanced at his hands more closely, noticing how worn his palms and fingers were – the calluses were dense and closely packed on the skin of his palm. The skin of his hands, on their backs, was brown and dense over the knuckles. He had the hands of a rider, perhaps, or a smith.

  Who are you?

  She was surprised by her interest. The man was just another soldier, a casualty of a war that rich men waged and poor men died for.

  She couldn’t have said what had caught her interest, but, when she’d seen his eyes open, she’d seen the soul of an experienced, wise man. Something in her felt like she would like to talk to him.

  Foolish. How could you talk to a day laborer or a smith? You are a baroness!

  She was the dowager baroness Dunrade, and that meant that a man like this would not be able to approach her without tainting her with scandal – a scandal that would taint her son, too.

  “Mama?” Tam looked at her now, brown eyes wide.

  “Yes?” she frowned.

  “I like the look of the fellow. Can we help him?”

  He was grinning a little helplessly and her heart went out to him. She was pleased he liked the fellow as well. It made her feel less stupid about it.

  “I reckon,” she nodded. “I want to help him, too.”

  Suitors her family had sought to introduce to her – worried, as they were, about land left under the governance of a woman and a youth – her son instantly disliked.

  If he’d only taken to them as well as he has to this wounded laborer! We’d probably be living in a comfortable manor by now with good provisions against the winter and a future that was sure.

  “McRae!” Tam sounded almost joyful. The cart wheels rumbled over the ground, the wooden frame appearing slowly through the mist, announced by creaks and thuds. “Look, Mama! It’s McRae! He can take him to Lowkirk, to the doctor, with the rest.”

  Adeline stood, straightening her back. She looked up at the old carter’s lined face.

  “McRae! We have one more. Have you room?”

  “How bad’s his wounding?” McRae called down, grunting as he slowly lifted himself from the cart and wincing as his back hurt.

  “Fairly horrible,” Tam said honestly. “Shot wound. In the belly.”

  “In the side,” Adeline demurred. “It missed the belly.”

  “Good, good.” McRae nodded, though his weather-beaten face wore a frown. “I’m headed to the healer. Drive will take the night. He won’t make it – not with wounds like that.”

  Adeline nodded. She had thought that herself, and she a ready answer.

  “Well, then. He’s coming with us. In the coach.”

  The other two looked astounded.

  “Mama?” Tam raised a brow. “You’re sure of that?”

  It had been her who decided anyone so wounded that they would not last the night’s journey back was treated as best they could be on the field and left behind. Now, she was breaking her own rule. No wonder her son sounded shocked!

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I’m sure.”

  Tam looked surprised, but said nothing. He just turned to McRae.

  “We’ll see you at the manor tomorrow.”

  “Aye, milord,” McRae saluted, playfully, though his face was unsmiling. “See you and milady tomorrow. Safe journeying.”

  “Thank you, McRae.”

  Adeline looked at her feet. The wounded man still lay on his back. She could, if she watched carefully, just discern a flutter of breathing.

  Tam raised a brow. “Are we leaving?”

  “Yes,” Adeline said decisively. “If you can help lift him?”

  “Let me do it,” Tam said, smiling fondly at her.

  “Thank you, Tam.”

  He grinned over the top of the fellow’s head, a smile of peculiar sweetness. “I’m glad you let me help you, at least sometimes.”

  Adeline felt surprised. It was rare that she relied on Tam – or anyone – for anything. She hadn’t ever thought about how that might be interpreted by her son.

  “I’m glad you’re with me, Tam,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a great help.”

  He smiled again, and lifted the prone form into the coach.

  As the fitful light from the lantern swayed over the scene, Adeline studied the sleeping soldier, and questioned her choices.

  It was unlike her to become so involved in one man’s story. Since her self-elected role of battlefield nurse began, she had been aloof from them, feeling only the warm satisfaction she would feel upon giving alms at feast days.

  She glanced at Tam. Head back on the seat, eyes closed, he was already asleep. She smiled fondly, and then turned back to the man.

  “Who are you?”

  He was silent, but she asked it nonetheless as she studied his face slowly. A fond smile played across her face as she studied his weather-beaten countenance. His lips were thin, but the lines just starting to be etched alongside them suggested he smiled often. His broken nose gave him a jaunty air, like the veteran of many fights. On him, it seemed a trophy.

  “You’re a fighter. And now here I am, taking you to my home.”

  It was utterly unprecedented, but it felt right. She glanced down at his wound again. She knew she had made the right decision. The fellow was one of only five they’d found alive today. If they could get the bullet out and get the wound bandaged, he’d live, and, hopefully, recover completely.

  “And then? Well, then you can go back to where you came from.”

  She spoke to the fellow, and fancied he heard. Oddly, it was a thought that did not fill her with pure joy. She was surprised.

  The coach jolted.

  “What..?” Tam grunted, eyes suddenly stretching.

  “Just some stones,” Adeline soothed, and her son’s face relaxed. “We must be almost back.”

  “Ah, yes,” her son squinted through the window of the coach, nodding thoughtfully, awake again, and alert. “I can see the village of Duncliffe.”

  “Yes,” Adeline agreed, craning her neck to see barest trace of firelight. “Not far to go.”

  “No,” he agreed. “That’s good, for our friend.”

  “Our friend?” Adeline felt one cheek lift in a wry smile.

  “Well, he looks a happy fellow,” Tam said, looking down at the unconscious soldier. “I reckon he’d be good company.”

  “I suppose,” Adeline said. “As farmers or soldiers go, that is.”

  “Oh, Mama,” Tam chided gently. “You needn’t worry I’ll forget my status. But you raised me to think of no man as less than myself. And I abide by that.”

  “Yes,” Adeline agreed. “I suppose I did teach you that.”

  She wondered, leaning back, if that had been a failing. Her late husband had scorned her, saying some people were worthy of those and others were merely beasts of burden.

  I wonder where I fell in his hierarchy of things? A beast of burden, too? To mother his children, but worth no more than that?

  It was an unpleasant thought for a night already fraught with peril.

  He was a cruel man.

  He had never had a good thing to say, never a kind word. Never an apology. Not in all the years of their marriage. He had been as cruel in private as he was cold in public, and she didn’t want to think of the secret relief she felt when, finally, she had no longer been submitted to his demands.

  The coach jolted and jerked, and rattled over the stony ground, heading along the road across the fells. Adeline noticed that the night was brighter here, out of the tree line, the moon shining pure light do
wn on grasslands.

  “Almost there,” Tam’s voice said, cutting through her reverie.

  “Yes. So we are.”

  “Easy, lads,” the voice of the coachman shouted out, echoing in through the roof. “Easy, here.”

  The coach went rattling over the flagstones into the yard outside the Manse. Adeline looked up at the place as they stopped, filled with an uneasy concern.

  What is my household going to make of Burrell?

  Burrell. The name of her horse, a sturdy Clydesdale, it seemed to suit the man. Like Burrell, he seemed to have a truculent side, but he was also gentle tempered, strong and brave.

  “Help me with him, Tam?” she said. “You take his feet.”

  “Oh, Mama,” Tam sighed. “I’ll carry him upstairs.”

  “Be careful with his legs,” Adeline cautioned, jumping down to the flagstones, wincing as the impact shot up into her knees. “I think one of them’s bruised.”

  Her son’s fond grin was a thing to be treasured, shining into the darkening night.

  The house was quiet. Stepping into it, the walls of luxury and civilization closed in, making the landscape outside seem a thing from another time. Scotland, she thought, was like two countries – one where all was civil and genteel, the world of manse and manor and noble house. The other, where chieftains ruled and fought, and their men worked the land and reived and died, seemed as if it lagged behind this by a hundred years.

  Adeline followed Tam into the house, frowning as she looked about. It wasn’t just the contrast to the outside world they’d just visited, something was wrong. As they went up the stairs, feeling their way around the sharp corner, she realized what it was. There was no one here.

  The lamps were lit, but no servants rushed to greet them, which was strange. Where was everybody?

  She followed Tam upstairs, feeling uneasy. Her trips to the battlefield were not something her servants would approve of, but as far as she knew they did not know of them. Had someone said something? She shivered.

  All I need is my household in rebellion.

  “Where should we go, Mama?” Tam asked, his voice hushed as if he too feared to disturb the silence that surrounded them.