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

by Emilia Ferguson

  “I will do…as you say,” he said carefully. “But I need to know that she’s safe.”

  “The lass?” Merrick asked. Black eyes held his, scouring them. “You will know when she is safe. Beware the whisperer. Now, go and find Prudence, and tell her your wound needs salve.”

  “Prudence?” he frowned, recalling the pale-haired healer. “She is here?”

  “I taught her,” Merrick said curtly. “She’s upstairs. Third floor, in the old turret. You can finish the tea there,” she added, standing with a creak of stiff knees.

  As Merrick turned away, her own cup clinking in its saucer as she carried it to the sink, Alexander stood. He felt as if someone had hit him on the head, his thoughts dazed and fuzzed. It was all so surreal! He half-expected somebody to shake him awake, to find it was all a distant dream.

  “Who is the whisperer?” he asked himself.

  He sought through his memories, trying to find some thread of meaning. None came to him. Without any doubt, though, he knew it was correct. Merrick seemed to know everything about him, from his name – which was not McRade – to his most secret heart. He knew without a shred of dissembling that she was right about this, too.

  Still frowning, he headed up the stairs. When he got to the top, tea still held in his right hand, the cup balanced precariously on the saucer, he heard someone call a hello.

  “Hello!” Prudence said, her face grinning. “A surprise to see you here! You come to help with the repairs?”

  Alexander pulled a face. Even if he’d wanted to, he was in no fit shape to go lifting planks or doing whatever else needed to be done about the estate. She knew that even better than he could.

  “I’m here because Lady Adeline sent me here,” he said instead. He sat down in a low wooden chair, made to put his tea down on the big work desk and met with an icy stare. He lifted it, putting it on a side table.

  “And you’re here to have your wound dressed, aye?” she asked. She was reaching up to get down a bunch of rosemary, which was hanging from a frame to dry. The place smelled fragrant, he noticed, the dusty hay scent of dry leaves mixed with the pungent, rich scents of perhaps twenty different sorts of flowers and herbs.

  “That’s right, aye,” he nodded. He sipped the tea again. It tasted strong, and bitter. He wondered at the taste. It seemed to be making him drowsy. He eyed it askance, and looked at Prudence again.

  “Well,” she replied, “you’re well used to all this now – if you can take that shirt off? And no being shy – I’ve seen plenty of chests in my years.”

  He blushed and she grinned, and he did as she told him. Sitting down on the table, he opened his shirt. The bandages were stiff over the wound and he winced as she ran a hand over them, then gently started to cut through them with the little sharp knife she produced from somewhere on the side table.

  When the wound was bandaged, he stood, wincing. Whatever she had put on it, the sting was sharp. He bit his lip.

  “If I…had to get word, quickly, to or from Dunrade,” he asked her, “would you take it?” Of all the people he had seen here, besides Mr. Blackwood, Prudence seemed the only person who regularly commuted.

  “If you had to get word there quickly?” she asked, brow raised in question. “Well, I’d take it, but your best bet is Mr. Humewood – he goes there regularly.”

  “He’s a messenger?”

  “He works with the merchants,” Prudence explained. “Takes word from them to the manors, and from the manors to them, about when and where the fairs are, and that sort of business.”

  “I see,” he nodded.

  “Course, if you had time, you could go with me, in the cart,” she grinned. “My man and I go there about once a week. But I reckon if you need to get word there, you’d be needing to move fast. No, best to go with Mr. Humewood. And no riding there yourself…I’ll not have that wound reopened.”

  Alexander grimaced. It was not a prospect that filled him with relish, either. He tried to ignore the aching, bruised feeling of the wound where she’d just bandaged it.

  “Aye,” he nodded. “I can promise you that.”

  When Prudence had left, Alexander wandered down the hallway. With no clear plans and no particular place assigned to him, he fell into the habits of a soldier. He needed to find the lay of the land, and make a plan. Adeline might have need of him.

  I wish I knew what was happening there.

  He shivered. Remembering her closeness, the way her hand felt, touching his, he found he couldn’t really bear the idea of another man touching her. He had seen that tall, cloaked shadow and there was something he didn’t like about him. He was not – absolutely not – going to let himself think about Adeline, and him.

  “No. I’m going to plan what to do, should she have need of me.”

  Tam’s words were in the forefront of his mind, not letting him rest. He couldn’t forget how intense her son had been, how convinced he was that Adeline would have need of his help.

  Finding the room with many windows, he slipped inside. It was a parlor, he thought, but what a fine one! The table was long, the fireplace grand. Upholstered chairs that seemed even grander than the ones at Dunrade stood about the fireplace, a long one set right before it with a bolt of cloth left artlessly on it, its surface decorated with thin threads in fine embroideries. He could smell the forgotten scent of perfume. It made him think of Adeline.

  “The lass needs help.”

  He went to the window.

  The fortress on which this manor had been built must have been a fine one in the old days, that he saw straight away. It was situated so that it looked out far across the landscape, and in the distance he could see landmarks he thought he recognized.

  If I could see that cliff from Adeline’s window, that means Dunrade’s that way, about a day’s ride from here, probably.

  He nodded to himself. That fitted with his experience – the cart ride had taken the best part of ten hours, he guessed. He could probably ride it in eight, if he went a fine speed.

  “Sir?”

  A woman’s voice made him spin round. He found himself facing the red-haired Lady Marguerite. He blushed.

  “Sorry, milady,” he stammered, making a clumsy bow. “I was nae meaning to go poking about.”

  “I can’t blame you for being lost!” Marguerite smiled artlessly. “It’s a big house.”

  “It is, milady.” He smiled. “And very finely situated. You can see almost to Edinburgh from here!”

  She giggled. “Not quite that far!” She demurred. “But yes, we have a fine view. You must be wondering where your home is, from here?”

  “I was,” he agreed. “But me home’s far to the North, milady.”

  “I see.”

  He smiled inwardly. This fresh-faced, pretty lass was very different to the dark presence of Adeline. He found he missed her complexity, her humor.

  I like this woman, and she’s right kind, but I cannae talk to her, as I could to Adeline.

  He had to get back there and see her again.

  “You will be staying here long?” Marguerite queried.

  “I don’t rightly know.”

  She frowned, but then shrugged, as if she was used to visitors with strange stories.

  “I suppose we could find room for you in the guest quarters,” she said briskly. “And…have you an occupation? Something you could do, to bide the time?”

  Alexander raised a brow – apparently, being idle was not something people did at this estate. It was something nobody had actually asked him. He wet his lips, trying to think of an answer he could give.

  “Well, soldiering’s what I do,” he said slowly. “But, aside from that, I have skills at carpentering.”

  “I see,” Marguerite nodded. “Well, as it happens, we have sore need of repairs to the cart. Our own cartwright has been abed with the rheumatics a while. I will speak to Mr. Hale about employing you here awhile.”

  “Thank you,” Alexander said, meaning it. He hadn’t thought
about it, but the more he did, the more it made sense. He could stay on here and do work at Duncliffe indefinitely, if they would allow. In that way, he would never be too far away from Adeline.

  I could see her, sometimes, and at least ken she was safe.

  He knew it was strange – after all, he’d known her just over a week – but already she had somehow healed the terrible gaping holes that were still bleeding inside him.

  One of those other wounds Mrs. Merrick spoke of.

  “Well, then,” Marguerite said comfortably, as if it was all settled. “I’ll go down directly. And you? What will you do now that you have a day off, as it were?”

  Alexander felt his heart leap. “Reckon I’d like tae go for a walk.”

  The moment the words left his lips, he realized how he ached to be out in nature. He had barely been out of bed for the last week. His legs were fidgeting and his heart soared. He wanted to roam in the wooded hills and breathe fresh air.

  Marguerite frowned. “Well, if Prudence said yes,” she agreed.

  “She said it was alright,” he said gruffly, turning away before she could question him.

  Outside, the woods smelled of the high, clear scent of pine. He could smell rain, too, and the distant wood smoke of a charcoal burner’s cottage. Hurrying as fast as the wound in his side would allow, Alexander walked along the path that led up to the ridge.

  “'Tis grand out here,” he acknowledged as he walked. Stopping where a tree had fallen, gifting a walker a perfect view over the valleys beyond, he stared.

  Forest, dense and green, stretched out as far as the eye could see below him. Hills rose, granite cliffs standing out from their cloak of trees. Mist gathered, thick and clinging, like the breath of dragons, long forgotten. He breathed in sharply, his soul rising with the beauty of the scenery.

  “A Highlander cannae really be at home anywhere else.”

  At the top of the ridge, he stopped, where he found a quiet space by a big rock. Here, the view was every bit as spectacular as earlier, but the mist was closing in, eating away the valley and the tree line and leaving everything a cloudy gray swirl of mysterious shadows. He leaned back on the stone, glad of his thick borrowed cloak, and closed his eyes a moment. He had so much on his mind.

  “That lass has troubles in her life. Like as not, she’ll bring naught but troubles to my door.”

  He knew what the sensible thing to do would be – he should simply leave. Vanish into the hills.

  “But I promised her – and the lad. And so, I can’t go anywhere. Can I?”

  He breathed out, watching the way his breath showed, visible, like a little puff of steam. Even in springtime, it was cold up here. He would be here until summer, at the least. He felt resigned. He had no choice but to stay here. No matter how much he might simply want to run away and leave, he had promised.

  And let’s be honest, eh, Alexander? You dinnae want tae go, and leave her. Ye like her.

  He let his mind fill with images of her – the sweet smile, the surprising shyness. The way her cheeks went red when she blushed, how her eyes shone. Those red lips, damp and moist and made for kissing.

  His body responded and he winced, biting his lip. He was confused and undecided, but his body knew for certain how it felt. His heart, too – during the days of knowing her, he had come to really like Adeline. He missed her forthright bluntness now.

  Alexander closed his eyes, finally alone and safe for the first time in days. His body felt weary, as if all those days and nights had taken their own toll on him, and all he needed now was to rest, and sleep. He opened his eyes again when he was startled awake by a distant resonant clangor – the bells, tolling for vespers. It must be getting on for suppertime.

  Wincing, he got to his feet. His legs had stiffened in the cold, and his back hurt. He noticed that the sun was starting to set over the hills, painting the hilltops pale gold, weaving strands of fire through the mist. He had to go.

  “Och,” he said again, hissing in a breath as the wound pulled. He breathed in and out a few times, then headed down the hill the way he’d come.

  As he neared Duncliffe, he was surprised by the sight of a youth running out through the rear gate. The boy was perhaps sixteen years old, and running hard. His eyes were wild and he looked distressed.

  Alexander felt his heart start to beat faster and he instinctively reached for his dagger, and then swore inwardly as he realized he hadn’t brought it. Stepping out into the path, he raised a hand, halting the lad. He came up short, breathing hard.

  “Mr. McRade?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Alexander said, frowning. “I’m him. Were you looking for me?”

  “I rode from Dunrade. I have a message for you.”

  “Dunrade?” He stared. Surely not! He’d only been gone a day. What could have happened?

  “Best give it to me, then, lad,” he said as the younger man breathed steadily, trying to catch his breath.

  “Sir? It’s Lady Adeline. She’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Alexander stared at him. “Gone where?”

  “We don’t know,” the lad said, eyes wide and round. He looked frightened. “Can you help? Lord Tam sent me to fetch you. Said we need you back.”

  “I’m coming, then, lad,” Alexander said grimly. He started to walk briskly back to the house.

  CONTEMPLATION

  The walls of the cell at Linston Abbey, the monastery on the outskirts of Stoneshead, were undressed granite. Adeline leaned back against the cold surface and looked up at the small window. Essentially a hand’s span of square hole left near the top, it let in a flood of late afternoon light.

  “I never thought I’d have to run this far, to find peace.”

  Adeline shifted on the narrow pallet. For the first time in far too many days, she could feel a deep and abiding sense of calm.

  Escaping the manor had been easy. The ride through the woods had been terrifying. She had ridden through the afternoon and the first part of the night, terrified that she would not make it in safety to the abbey. She had, however, and now she allowed herself to lie back on the bed and relive those memories.

  “I’m safe, now.”

  She stood, wincing at how cramped her back had got. She must have been simply sitting there for the best part of an hour, her mind going over the journey.

  She heard a knock on the thick wooden door and went to it.

  “Hello?”

  “Milady?”

  She recognized the visitor as the monastery servant, a lame fellow with a friendly, earnest face. He was the only man allowed into the quarters where she stayed: the monks were banned from the guest wing where women might stay to visit their ailing relatives, or pray.

  “Yes, Brogan? What is it?” she asked the servant gently.

  He looked up at her, beaming. “I have a message from the abbot, milady. He invited you to his quarters, for dinner.”

  Adeline felt her brow go up. Abbot Dunstan was a friendly sort, but reserved and strict. He had more or less confined her to the little cell in the guest quarters and the tiny adjoining garden. She hadn’t expected to see him again.

  “Thank you, I accept,” she said, wondering what it was all about.

  “Grand, milady. I’ll take word back. Brother Arthur, who’s cooking, will be right glad to know you’ll sample his neaps and tatties.”

  Adeline felt her lips twist in a smile. “I am sure I will be very impressed. I have been most taken with everything here, from the buildings to how clean it all is.”

  Brogan blushed red, hearing the compliment. As he hurried away, still blushing, she couldn’t help but think of Alexander. Neaps and tatties, indeed! She knew they were vegetables and potatoes, in broad Lowland dialect. She wondered how he fared at Duncliffe.

  Probably getting well, forgetting me.

  It was stupid of her to even have entertained the idea. Alexander McRade was a handsome, funny man, but he was a laborer far below her status. She would either be forced to marry a fellow
like McGuide, or spend the rest of her life in hiding in a cloistered place like this.

  “Stop moping, and get ready for dinner,” she told herself firmly.

  The bell for Vespers had rung an hour ago, she realized, and the monks would soon be going to their dinner. The ordered, tranquil life had its appeal, she thought, hearing the slap of thick-soled sandals on stone as two monks headed down towards the refectory outside. Each day was the same, everybody had their tasks and knew what to expect. How different from her own unpredictable situation!

  She went to the small plain wooden washstand, glad that they had thought to provide her with a tiny mirror. At least she would have a chance to brush her hair, before visiting the abbot in his quarters!

  “That’ll do it,” she said, squinting at her reflection.

  Birds were singing in the clean evening air, the garden a jungle of song. She let that pervasive peace soak into her and ease her doubts. Abbot Dunstan was surely seeking only to address some secular matters concerning the abbey. Perhaps he wanted to ask for help fixing the boundary wall? Or for some profits from the wool fair to be directed to the support of the abbey. She would be more than willing to accede to his requests.

  I might be staying here, or at the convent, forever now.

  Wincing as her knees cracked, she got to her feet and headed into the garden. From here, it was a few small steps towards the abbot’s office, one of the only other places where women or outsiders were allowed to go.

  “Good evening, my daughter,” he greeted her.

  A tall, gaunt-faced man, the abbot had gray eyes that seemed almost transparent, giving him a stern, cold appearance. When he smiled, though, the corners of the eyes crinkled and he went from looking remote and fierce to rather friendly, like everyone’s generous uncle.

  “Good evening, Father,” she greeted him.

  She took the seat opposite his, looking about the neat, ordered place as she did so. The desk was plain wood, the chairs unadorned except for some half-stuffed linen cushions, the floor was plain boards without a rug. The window had glass panes, though, and the place smelled clean, lit with bright tapers. There were good sturdy knives and forks laid out at their place, and the candlesticks were held in fine silver.