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

by Emilia Ferguson

  “The still room,” she said, trying to sound as if she wasn’t concerned. “We’ll lay him on the table. I will see if I can get Doctor Burnes to operate.”

  “It’s a long way to Dunrade village,” Tam observed, making a face.

  “Well, if the doctor cannot be summoned, who will do it, except me?” Adeline asked, feeling impatient.

  Tam raised a brow. “I can help.”

  “Tam…” Adeline let out a sigh. However, he didn’t seem that wrong…if, as it seemed, their servants had all mutinied overnight, they might be left with only that option. “Well,” she sighed, “at least let’s get him upstairs.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  A MATTER OF CAUTION

  They took him to the still room. A lamp still burned there, lifting Adeline’s spirits. It suggested that, at least, Barra, her maid, was present.

  Adeline let out a sigh of relief.

  “Barra?” she called, as she reached into the cupboard to find the lamp she kept there, for when she worked late up here. “Barra? Are you there?”

  “The fire’s still burning,” Tam called, from where he knelt by the fireplace, breathing into it. “Mama, do you think we should stoke it?”

  “I think we should wait,” Adeline said slowly, heart beating faster, “and see if we can find anybody.”

  The empty silence of her house was worrying her. Had all the servants truly left her, as her uncle was always threatening that they would?

  “Mistress!” Barra appeared at the door, suddenly, eyes wide with shock. “You’re here! We were just starting to worry. Where were you?”

  As she spoke, Adeline saw her eyes wander to the table, where the wounded soldier lay. Her face rearranged into a picture of amazement.

  “Who is that?” Barra asked.

  “We found him in the woods,” Adeline said, quickly cutting across whatever well-meaning explanation Tam might make. Wise as her son was, he was unsubtle, and he would not see the need to lie to preserve their status. “He’s quite badly wounded.”

  “I see, mistress!” Barra’s pretty face looked shocked. “Well…what can we do for him? Shall we call the doctor?”

  “It’s too long to wait.” Adeline said briskly. In the interim, she had already made up her mind. “He has a bullet in him and it needs removing. I can do it, if you help.”

  “Milady!” Barra’s eyes widened in shock. “What, you mean you…?”

  “I know a little of bullets, and of dressing wounds,” Adeline said firmly, with faint amusement at the woman’s horror. She wasn’t telling an untruth: she had helped her mother aid her cousin, when he and his friends had been playing in the woods at target practice, and one of them had fired into his foot. She knew as much as anybody besides Dr. Burne about the removal of bullets.

  “Well, then, if you reckon so as we can…” Barra sounded skeptical. She was standing by the table, and she was looking at the man as if he might bite.

  Adeline wanted to laugh.

  “I’m sure we can do him the favor of trying,” she said mildly. “At very least, he will die for certain if we do nothing. At least if we do something, we improve his chance.”

  “If you say so,” Barra said loyally.

  Rinsing her hands in the bowl of water on the counter by the window, she prayed she remembered something of what her mother taught.

  Start with the blood. Tie the wounded limb off, if you can.

  Adeline felt herself work as if her hands belonged to someone else. Tam had fetched bandages, hot water, and a knife, and then retreated to the doorway, leaving her and Barra at work. Now, her eyes focused on the wound, she prayed and sought her mother’s memory, for courage.

  “Right. Pass me the knife.”

  Wordlessly, eyes like pie plates, Barra did as she bid.

  The fellow gasped as she cut him. Tying the wound off had proved fruitless – she could no more isolate half his abdomen than she could make him stop breathing. She had thought he might wake, but had not expected it so quick – or so surprising.

  Eyes wide as saucers, the fellow let out a strangled yell. It would have made Adeline laugh, except that he was so scared it was tragic. She let the knife rest on the table. Barra was in the corner, clearly afraid.

  “Who…what…?” He was grunting, breath tight, eyes darting around. It reminded her of a cornered creature, seeking some way – any way – to escape.

  “Whist,” Adeline said, trying her hardest to sound gentle. “You’re alright. It’s safe here. I’m Adeline, and I’m going to take out the bullet.” She made her voice low, the way she’d talk to a frightened horse.

  “Oh.”

  Oddly, the fellow relaxed, hearing her. His eyes – they really were dark brown, with that fine haze of rusty-gold in them – stared peaceably.

  “If you lie down, it will hurt less,” Adeline advised. “If you strain the muscle, it will hurt more. Barra, you can go,” she added to her maid.

  Barra, looking like she might be sick, left. As she heard her shoes on the stone of the hallway floor, Adeline turned to the man again.

  “Lie down,” she said, more soothingly. “You’ll feel less pain that way. I have to draw the bullet from the wound.”

  “Aye,” he nodded, and, to her surprise, lay down with surprising resignation. “Get it out fast, then, please.”

  Adeline nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  He grinned, which took her breath away. His grin lit his face, taking it from a distantly handsome ruggedness to a blaze of good looks.

  “You do that, then,” he chuckled.

  To her surprise, she smiled back. “I will.”

  The second time, when she made the cut, her hand was level. She felt more confident now she was alone, more able to do what she must, and more focused on the task at hand.

  Blood welled along the blade, and she felt the hard shape of the bullet, just under the tip. She held her breath, smelling the coppery scent of blood. Reflexively, she grabbed a handkerchief and soaked it in the blood, stopping the worst of the bleeding. Then she waited.

  “I’m going to draw it out about now,” she said, reaching – where he could not see her hands – for the tweezers she used when threading beads on tapestry work. It was the only suitable tool that she had. She didn’t want to scare him, by letting him see it.

  She held her breath and opened the tweezers and let them close on the bullet. As she reached for it, the man on the table went stiff. He let out a strangled gasp that could have been a scream held back.

  She shut her eyes but continued, and she felt the bullet slowly tug loose. It came out with disgusting slowness, the muscle hard around it. She could feel him tense, his breath held, fighting to keep in the pain. She willed herself to move slowly, to keep a hold on it, not to let the bullet slide back. Her arm jumped, starting to shake. It was hard work. The motion was achingly slow.

  At last, the bullet slid out. A trickle of blood followed it, almost black.

  She sighed and the fellow lay back with a long breath. His face was white. He was, she noticed, starting to shake.

  “Well, that went easily,” she said.

  He opened one eye. The expression in it was humorous.

  “I’m glad as ye think that’s easy, milady.”

  She grinned, despite the seriousness of the situation. “I suppose it wasn’t all that easy,” she said. “Not for you, anyway. Here…now we have to bandage it.”

  He laughed. Then, as the motion hurt his side, he gasped, face twisted. As she started laying linen patches on the wound, he opened one eye, mouth twisting wryly.

  “You’re a bold lass,” he said.

  Adeline’s own mouth twisted in a grin. “I’m not a lass at all, I’ll have you know,” she teased. “I’m five and thirty, and a baroness, too.”

  His brow shot up. “Five and thirty? No!”

  She laughed aloud. “I will choose to assume that means I look much younger than my age, not that you guessed me older. Nor that five and thirty is so
very old that it surprises you.” Her hands unfolded bandages, but her face studied his, her smile twisting her lips.

  “I assure you, I meant no insult, milady,” he said, hissing a breath as she laid the first end of the bandage on it. “I didn’t…think…you were close to my own age.”

  “You have to sit up for the next part,” Adeline said, resisting the urge to ask him what his age was. Oddly, the fact that he was not so much younger or older than herself made her feel happier.

  “Sit up, eh?” He was grunting as he did so, his face twisted, and Adeline could see how painful that was for him. She reached out to take his shoulder, helping to support him as he twisted upright. The folds of his shirt fell open, letting her eye rest on the firm rippling muscle of his chest. She felt a strange heat pass through her body and looked away, focusing on his head. She hoped he couldn’t see her cheeks flushed.

  “Well, I need to bandage you up,” she said, speaking through a tight throat.

  “Bandage me, eh?” he looked down at her hands where they guided the bandage across his abdomen and round his waist, crossing his back and then appearing again under his arm on the other side. “You reckon I’ll live for long?”

  Adeline saw him chuckle, resignedly. His expression mocked his words, as if he was ready for death.

  She felt a sudden anger.

  “I reckon you’ll recover fully, Mister Soldier, if you decide to,” she said firmly, surprised by her own forcefulness. “If you decide you’ll die now, or a week later from the fever, then that will doubtless also be true. I have seen soldiers recover of wounds worse than this, and I have also seen men die of less, for want of hope.”

  She finished, the anger leaving her suddenly. She drew in a shuddering breath, chest heaving. She felt as if she had run a race. She looked down at the man, feeling suddenly ashamed. What would he think of her, now she had heckled him like that?

  He looked up at her. His brown eyes were wide, the whites showing. He didn’t look shocked, or affronted, or amused. He looked considering.

  “By, milady,” he said after a long moment of quiet, during which she wrapped the bandage round again. “You speak strong words.”

  Her eyes held his and she was surprised to see no rancor there, no judgment.

  “I speak my mind,” she said, twisting the bandage round once more, then tucking the loose end under. “I have been told it is a failing for a woman.”

  You have a tongue like a shrew. It’s an ugly thing for a woman. Why cannot you be more like Seonaid, who keeps a guard on her words?

  She shuddered, hearing the harsh voice of Camden fill her thoughts. How often had he said that, or something like it? How often had she lain awake at night, thinking herself useless, wishing she would die and expunge her uselessness, her misery?

  Now, the man laughed, surprising her.

  “Any man who says that’s just afraid.”

  Adeline was so surprised she dropped the tweezers she’d been cleaning of the blood. They clattered in the silence, a metallic clang. She bent swiftly to retrieve them, giving her time to think.

  “Why would he be afraid?” she asked, temporarily forgetting that this man was her patient, and she a baroness. He was a man who said things like nothing she’d ever heard, and she wanted to hear his answer.

  “Stands to reason he is,” he snorted, as if it was obvious. “Why else try to shut her up with such a daft excuse? No, milady, a lady who speaks to you – actually speaks – is a jewel beyond compare.”

  His eyes held hers. Adeline felt, strangely, as if he spoke directly to her. His words stroked her.

  A jewel beyond compare.

  His eyes still held hers. She fidgeted, making herself busy with tidying, turning across the room to rinse her hands in water. It wasn’t what he meant! He didn’t mean her specifically…He was speaking in metaphors. What did he know, anyway? He was a soldier or a rogue, more like, seeing an opportunity for pardon in joining the rebellion.

  “That’s as may be,” she said firmly, when the silence had stretched too long. “But now, you need to rest. And I need to find my son.” She was already turning to the door.

  “Your son the fellow with the black hair?” he asked, frowning.

  “Yes,” Adeline said, pausing, surprised he’d been consciously aware of Tam.

  He grinned. “He’s a fine boy. Got the strength of his mother.”

  Adeline stared at him. “Of…me?”

  He made a wry face. Nodded.

  Adeline shook her head. “You need some rest,” she said firmly. “I’ll see you in the morning when the pain’s worn off somewhat, and you’re talking sense.”

  “Talking sense, eh?” he chuckled. The sound followed her out. “I’d say I was talking sense already.”

  “No, you’re not,” Adeline whispered under her breath as she left. She walked hastily up the hallway, turning at the end and going left, taking the flight of steps that led towards the family’s sleeping quarters. As she passed the small room Camden had kept as his own study, she saw Tam. He was sitting by the window.

  “Son?” she called, not wanting to disturb him. He was leaning on the windowsill, his pale face restful. He could have been sleeping.

  He heard her, turning with slow sweetness and smiling. “There you are. How fares our friend?”

  She smiled. “He’s awake. I got the bullet out. His name is Burrell.”

  “Really?” Tam frowned.

  “No, not really,” Adeline demurred. “I don’t know what his real name was. I didn’t have a chance to ask.”

  “I see,” he nodded. “Well, Mama, you’re quite remarkable. I don’t know anybody else who could have taken out that bullet. You’re a strong woman, Mama.”

  Adeline raised a brow. “Thank you, son,” she said slowly. “That’s very kind.”

  “It’s very true,” he said. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, son,” she called over her shoulder. As she went into her room and sat down by the dressing table, the words went around and around her head.

  A lady who speaks her mind is a jewel beyond compare. Your son is as strong as you.

  She caught her own gaze in the mirror. Held it firmly.

  “Nonsense,” she said to herself. “You have the testimony of the sweetest boy, and a man in unremitting agony. I don’t think either of them are speaking sense.”

  Her long oval face looked back, stern and unwavering. As she blew out the lamp, it occurred to her to notice that her gaze was firm. As well as strong.

  THINGS GETTING CLEARER

  The scent of starched linen caught in his nose, and Alexander rolled over, feeling groggily awake. He wasn’t really present yet, half his mind lost in the dream images. He watched them, like he would watch strands of smoke blurring together. On the one side, he saw her, wearing her brown dress, grinning at him, brown hair swinging with her turn as she twisted to look over her shoulder.

  Alex, she said. My brave sweetling. You must go…there’s so much you have to do.

  No! His mind cried it, and it sounded to him as if he spoke that aloud. I don’t want to.

  He reached out to touch her, then she wavered and another vision stood before her. Black hair the color of night hung down her front to her waist, her oval face pale beside it. Level eyes held his, the color of winter fields.

  You’ll die for certain, if you think you will, the vision, which was the baroness, said. Rest. You need to rest.

  Her eyes were big and green-tinged and grave, and he felt pain as he faced her, knowing somehow right inside that he did not want to leave her, and that she wished him not to.

  Brenna? He called to the warm presence.

  I have to go, she said. The wait is not long, and it will be soon that I see you again. Go, now. Go, and be happy. I long for that.

  He saw her brow twist then, with sorrow, and he thought how foolish he had been, mourning her with secret tears, as if each tear were the stone in a bridge. No sooner had he thought it that his vision blurr
ed again, a wall springing up before him. Cold stone, it stretched between him and that warm, laughing presence.

  See that wall? Brenna’s voice said. That is made of tears. The only bridge between us is an open heart.

  Alexander, eyes filled with tears, nodded. He was awake, now, suddenly, the visions gone. However, he knew that what Brenna said was correct.

  As the visions departed, the present slowly returned. He recalled, distantly, the battle and being shot, then being brought here and the woman – the baroness of his vision – healing him.

  “And a fine job she did,” he grunted to himself.

  He lay on his side, feeling weaker than he could remember. His whole body felt like the strength had been drawn out of it. The site of his wound pulsed, and felt bruised. Somehow, though, he felt confident about it.

  He lay back and took stock of the immediate environment, eyes still closed. He could, if he breathed in, smell strewing herbs and starch, scents that he had never expected to smell again in his life. Smells he recalled from his life with Brenna, but never before or since.

  When he rolled over, he felt the weight of a blanket on him, and when he touched his side, he could feel a stiff bandage, and he recalled the baroness bandaging it the night before.

  Was she here?

  He half-opened his eyes.

  Through his lashes, he could see the leap of orange light that indicated a hearth fire, and if he listened carefully, he could hear a voice. Hers. “Burrell can’t be moved,” she said firmly. “He stays here.”

  Burrell? Alexander almost smiled. He assumed that was him.

  As he drew a breath, a man’s voice, remonstrative and harsh, replied.

  “Milady, are you thinking about what this can do? Have you no care to your reputation? Entertaining guests, male guests, in the Manse is utterly unthinkable! Think how you comprise Tam…”

  A slap rang out.

  Hearing it, his eyes stretched open. A woman’s gasp followed. He felt his blood boil, with rage. Had that ruffian struck her? He tried to stand

  “Sorry,” the baroness was saying. “I didn’t wish to strike you. I have a temper. Lord Ginsbrook knew of it, and now, I fear, you feel its effects. But, McInnes, I will not be threatened.”