The Highlander’s Healer (Blood of Duncliffe Series)

by Emilia Ferguson

  She shook her head, dismissing the thought. She wasn't considering settling down with anyone just yet. Her own firmness on that point surprised her. Having gained her independence so recently – her cottage, her own calling in the form of nursing here at the infirmary – she was reluctant to let anyone, no matter how mild and genteel, consider taking it from her.

  At the edge of her mind, another face appeared. Arrogant and self-assured, this one had red hair. She brushed away the memory, annoyed.

  “Ah! Private Randell,” she said, greeting her patient formally, now that she knew his title. “How are you?”

  He grinned and said something cheerfully incomprehensible. She turned to Maybrooke, who translated his answer. “I reckon I'm about ready to get out of here soon.”

  Prudence sighed. He'd been in here for just under five days. His shoulder would take a month to heal, she judged, at least – and that was only if he followed strict instructions not to move it. He should stay in here for a week at least, to let the flesh around the wounding heal over.

  “I think you might find you need a longer stay,” she cautioned. “I'd like to see that wound healed over before we say goodbye.” She mimed the flesh pulling together on his shoulder, and held up a hand, indicating a halt.

  He nodded, grinning, and Prudence had no idea whether he'd understood or not. She heard while Maybrooke rendered her words into Gaelic – the language sounding like a special music to her – then turned to him.

  “I think he's looking better,” she said, starting to remove the bandage from around his wound. “I would like to wash this with yarrow and thyme, perhaps – see how the flesh is weeping a little, around the stitches? – and then bandage it with clean linen, and a little fat to stop it sticking to the wound. Have you those?”

  “I'll check the stocks in my office. Excuse me, miss.”

  “Thank you,” Prudence murmured, and then bit her lip while she focused on the wound.

  She felt calm and absorbed in her work. This was what she loved, and she couldn't quite believe the strange chain of events that had cannoned her into the very life that she'd so greatly wished. She accepted the supplies from Maybrooke with murmured thanks, and then started to clean the wound, watching critically as clean, yellowish fluid leaked from it onto the linen swab.

  “Looking quite nice,” she murmured. There was only a little heat from it, and the discharge smelled sweet and ordinary, not corrupted.

  Her patient saw her smile and grinned, nodding his head. Prudence bit back a smile.

  The fellows here make me feel like some sort of heroine, simply for living my calling.

  She sighed. She liked doing this – healing wounds, soothing fevers, even stitching up the bullet holes. It was what made her feel fulfilled and useful, she realized.

  The admiration of the men was endearing, but unnecessary. She frowned, recalling the angry face of the captain from yesterday.

  There's one man who doesn't look as favorably on me.

  She sighed, frowning, annoyed that the memory had soured her peaceful morning. Whatever was the matter with that man? She frowned. He treated her like some sort of tiresome servant, bound to do his bidding. At the same time, he seemed to take a more-than-usual interest in her.

  I can't fathom it.

  She sighed and, turning away from the wound, looped the bandage round one last time and tied it off, neatly, setting the ends in a neat tuck underneath the back of it.

  “Easy?” she asked, miming that he roll his shoulder. He did so and nodded, sighing.

  “You need a rest,” the tender voice of Maybrooke said over her shoulder.

  Prudence nodded wearily. “Thanks.”

  “If you want to rest, you can go down to my office,” he continued, heading out through the door. “I am going to be spending the morning at an...Oh.” He stopped uncomfortably, and Prudence turned to see why.

  In the doorway, appearing there after an absence of two and a half days, was the red-haired captain.

  “I trust you will have a pleasant day attending to your duties,” he said thinly.

  Maybrooke, to whom he spoke, raised a brow. “I trust I shall. Miss Prudence? If you need me, send my assistant, Bates. He'll come to me directly should you need anything.”

  “Yes, doctor. Thank you. Have a pleasant day.”

  “You too,” his mild voice called, echoing slowly up the stairs as he climbed upward.

  Prudence, uncomfortable, looked down at her hands.

  “So, you are still busy here,” the captain asked.

  “I am, yes,” Prudence said, willing herself to face him. She looked up into that hawk-like face, with its self-assured stare, and felt her temper flare. Something else in her shifted too, a fluttering in her chest, as if from excitement.

  Why do I seem so to enjoy my encounters with him?

  It was annoying. He was arrogant, presumptive, insulting...and yet, somehow, tangling with him made her feel strangely alive.

  “I came to inform you I will be leaving today.”

  “Good for you,” she murmured, knowing it was rude, but unable to resist the impulse to ruffle him.

  “What?” he said.

  “I said,” Prudence said mildly, standing and walking to the doorway, aware of her patient's eyes on her, watching her eagerly as if this was a mummer's play, “you must fare well, then, on your journey.”

  “You're coming with me.”

  “Am I?” she frowned lightly, walking to the door and ducking out swiftly into the hallway.

  “You damn well are,” he ground out. He'd followed her into the hallway too, and they stood there now, he in the misty-light of the doorway, her leaning against the wall in the dark hall.

  “I would disagree with that,” she said lightly. “I have found my calling. I intend to stay.”

  “Calling?” he said the word as if it were an unknown thing. “It's dangerous and I have a duty to return you to your home. You're coming with me.”

  “I see no danger in the infirmary,” Prudence said mildly. “Here I am well provided for, and there is no danger of wild men from the woods ransacking my home and dragging me from it on a wild ride across the moorlands.” She felt her own temper fray.

  How dare he, who had whisked her from her home, heedless, had exposed her to danger, had brought her here with no questions asked, speak to her of security?

  “I only took you because there were raiders at your cottage!” he protested. “Unless you brought them there. Unless you are a spy.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Prudence asked, trying not to laugh in open scorn.

  “Well, you are not from here. A woman on her own, in the woods...in these times that's suspicious enough. And you're a foreigner!”

  Prudence laughed, then. “And a fine crime it is to be from England in these days. Yes, I'm English. What difference does it make? Many who support the Cause are English. The Stuarts ruled there too, or did you forget that?”

  He closed his eyes a moment – she presumed in annoyance.

  “Fine,” he managed to say at last. “As you say, there are some English followers. But...but you're alone in the woods, and you own that cottage, and...How came you to be there?”

  Prudence narrowed her eyes, thinking fast. “That's none of your business,” she said hotly. “And I'll thank you to recall that you have no right to order me. I am outside your commands.”

  She saw his brows shoot upwards, and felt a grim satisfaction.

  Hadn't thought of that, had he? she questioned mentally, mouth twisted in grave amusement. It was a shock for him to realize, it seemed, that he couldn't command everything. His jaw was set hard and she saw a muscle twitch in it. It was strangely exciting.

  “Fine,” he said, clearly discomforted. “But have you considered how you will get back?”

  “I'll stay until the encampment moves on,” Prudence said, deciding as she said so, “and then either return, or continue with the hospital staff.”

  “In pe
rdition's name, you will!” he said. “You'd return alone? In these times?”

  “I trust there would be someone to guide me,” she said, thinking as she spoke.

  “The doctor, eh?” He chuckled bitterly.

  “Yes, mayhap the doctor. Why not?” Prudence asked gently.

  “No reason,” he murmured quickly. “Well, then. I see I am wasting my time here. I take my leave.”

  “As you say,” Prudence murmured. “And good day to you, too.”

  “What?” he shot back, eyes suspicious.

  “I gave you wishes for a good day,” she replied, already heading toward the stairs that led to the operating room.

  “Good day to you,” he mumbled. He walked down the full length of the hallway, taking the stairs that went to the far end of the inn and the stables beyond.

  When he had gone, Prudence leaned against the wall, feeling weary. She was utterly confused by his argument. “Why did he come and find me? Just to interrogate me?”

  She sighed, closing her eyes. She had been working for more than half the night. She was tired, drained and stiff from so long bent at a bedside. On the other hand, oddly enough, she felt invigorated, not wearied, by the encounter.

  “Oh, Captain Alexander,” she murmured, not knowing what else to call him. “You are a peculiar type.”

  She sighed. She had only known him for seven days in all, but already she found him the most bewildering, contradictory sort of person she'd ever met. At once assured and oddly vulnerable, he was easily the strangest mix of characteristics she'd ever seen.

  “And,” she murmured as she headed outside the inn to the courtyard, to get some fresh air, “he's annoying.”

  She shook her head, a wry grin twisting her lips. She couldn't help it, but she did find his possessive ways with her bewildering and vexing, but somehow also endearing. He had no reason to assume any kind of command over her. She grinned, recalling his expression when she had said just that to him.

  That stung, didn't it?

  She smiled wryly to herself. The trouble with men like him, she reflected, grimly, was that they assumed that because their servants and crofters and soldiers all had to do as they bid, everyone else should do the same.

  “Well, he'll not find me so easy to suppress,” she said aloud.

  She sighed. Why was she even giving him these few moments of her concentration? This was time she was supposed to be enjoying a well-earned rest.

  Her shoulders were stiff, and, after rolling them, she went out into the cool wind of the courtyard.

  Out there, she noticed soldiers standing with their horses, men exercising, more men marching. The garrison was leaving, as he'd said.

  She surprised herself by feeling a brief stab of sorrow at the thought that soon, Alexander would be leaving.

  Good. The sooner we are rid of his commands and temper, the better.

  She bit her lip, trying to find within herself the brisk anger he always aroused within her. Oddly enough, it was dampened. As she watched the men walking back and forth in the courtyard, officers shouting orders, men polishing weapons, packing satchels or pausing in the wintry sunlight, she felt oddly sorrowful.

  “Where's that Bates got to?” she asked herself under her breath.

  Private Bates, the doctor's assistant, should have been here by now – she had heard Maybrooke send him out to fetch clean linen from the supply wagons. If he didn't get back soon, she would have to send someone out to look for him.

  Pushing straggling blonde hair off her brow, Prudence went inside. Her mind was too disquieted for rest, and, besides, the hubbub out here didn't lend itself to calmness.

  She headed inside to work.

  “Ah, Miss Prudence,” the other surgeon, Lammoor, greeted her.

  She tensed, nodding toward him. “Hello, doctor.”

  She didn't like Lammoor – he had a heavy hand with his patients and a curt manner with everyone else. What was more, she didn't care overmuch for the way he looked at her, or at the other women who served as nurses. She looked at the floor as she stepped past him into the hallway.

  “Maybrooke is out at the cottages,” he continued, still watching her. “I am taking over until then.”

  “Oh,” Prudence nodded. “Well, I will be working with the men on the ground floor.”

  “I am just starting my rounds.”

  “Good,” she shrugged, wondering why he didn't very well get on with it. “You should know that in the upstairs ward we had a fellow with a fever. In the third bed. It broke this morning and he's resting easily.”

  “I'll pay him some attention, then,” Lammoor said, heading off. “You'll be in the upper ward later?”

  “I'll go into the village for supplies,” she said lightly. It was, she reckoned, none of his business where she spent her time off. In addition, the less he knew of her whereabouts, the more comfortable she would feel.

  He headed wordlessly up the stairs and she let out a long sigh suddenly.

  Yes, she thought, as she went up the hallway to the lower ward, it was just as well the army was moving on. Soon, she would be able to return home, if she chose to.

  “Would I want to do that?” she asked herself aloud as she paused on the threshold. In the ward, one of the other assistants was changing the sheets around a wounded man.

  He nodded to her cheerily. “Morning, miss.”

  “Hello, Lewis,” she said and nodded crisply. “How's our patient this morning?”

  “Rare fine, lass,” Lewis grinned, showing his Lowland origins with a broad dialect. He nodded to the soldier, who sat up, grinning. A Highlander, the fellow was swathed in bandages, but nonetheless contrived to look jaunty.

  Prudence shook her head, smiling. “Nothing gets you fellows down, eh?”

  “No, miss! Reckon it don't,” Lewis commented. Prudence nodded to herself.

  Again, to her surprise, she thought of Alexander. Like the rest of his countrymen, he seemed to take adversity as a challenge. However, she thought, unlike them, he took any will to disobey from any other person as a challenge, too.

  “Like to see him try to challenge me,” she grinned to herself.

  Her reaction surprised her. Resourceful, but by no means confrontational, it seemed to her that he brought out a new side of her.

  “I'm not sure I like it,” she added, bending over the table in the back of the ward, where she ground her pastes and prepared other medicines.

  “What's that, miss?” Bates asked.

  “Just talking nonsense, Bates,” she nodded. “Oh! Have you the linens?”

  “I do, miss,” he nodded. “Just got new supplies. Heaven knows where the fellows are finding it all.”

  Prudence looked away. They were, she reckoned, finding it by ransacking villages. A sudden, painful recollection of her cottage flashed into mind. She tried not to imagine it devastated.

  “Och, lass, when you have a moment, step upstairs awhile? Doctor Maybrooke is in and wished to speak with you.”

  “Thank you, Bates,” she nodded absently, already distracted as the man in bed three – the one with the leg-wound, whimpered. “I will.”

  When Bates had gone out, she went to tend to her patient.

  She still had no idea how she felt about Alexander. One thing she knew for certain, and that was that she was not going to leave her patient now.

  UNFORESEEN EVENTUALITY

  “Come on, men. Let's get going.”

  Alexander looked around with mild irritation at the troops set ready to follow him into the trees. Soaked by the slow drizzle that insisted on falling, they looked as downcast and disgruntled as he felt.

  “Hey, Jenkins! Step lively,” he reprimanded Jenkins, who stood, slouched, at the head of his horse. They would lead their mounts the first part of the way down a sheer slope.

  “Yes, sir,” Jenkins mumbled.

  Alexander, bristling with an annoyance he only partially understood, led the troops down the hill. His own horse walked slowly, giving a n
eigh of uncertainty as they reached the head of the path. Alexander soothed the creature, and then pulled his hat down over his eyes, trying to keep out the drizzling, insistent rain.

  It's this weather, he thought to himself firmly. It would be enough to disgruntle anyone.

  He knew deep within that it wasn't true though – it was the cursory goodbye he'd exchanged with Prudence that upset him. Why, he couldn't fathom. What did he expect? That she would be sorry to see him go? He'd wrecked her life.

  He recalled the moment when he'd gone one last time to the infirmary to say farewell. He'd been dressed formally as he was now, his tartan cloak resplendent about his shoulders. He'd greeted her crisply. “I am leading my men south now, to Sunderland.”

  “Oh,” she'd said in that musical voice with its slight accent. “Well, fair journey then, sir.”

  “I do not think I will come this way again,” he said stiffly.

  “Oh,” she said again. “Well, my thanks for bringing me here then, sir. And safe journeys.”

  “You will remain here then?” He looked at his hands in their white riding-gloves.

  She coughed. “I will,” she agreed. “It suits me well here.”

  “Well, then,” he said, straightening up stiffly. “Fare you well.”

  “And you, Captain.”

  She had turned away then, walking back into the inn-cum-infirmary with no backward glance. He had walked away resolutely.

  She couldn't even look me in the eye one last time. She is utterly indifferent.

  “We'll mount up at the foot of the slope and break at midday,” Alexander informed Jenkins, his sergeant, who walked just behind, doleful as usual.

  “Hear that, you lot?” Jenkins bawled happily over his shoulder. “Break at midday.”

  Alexander bit back a sour smile, hearing the groans of protest. At least they were as annoyed by the ride in the rain as he was. It made it seem less likely that it was his sorrows that were doing it.

  I am more sensible than to be upset about a woman I hardly know.

  He dug his teeth into his lower lip, willing that to be true. He wasn't going to miss seeing her in the courtyard in the mornings, when she came out for her rest. He wasn't going to miss their forceful banter. He wasn't going to regret his discourtesies.