The Highlander’s Healer (Blood of Duncliffe Series)

by Emilia Ferguson

  He stared at her in surprise. She blinked, not sure why she had felt the urge to say that. However, she had.

  He looked away. To her further surprise, she noticed tears welling in his eyes. She frowned, surprised that such simple words moved him.

  “Thanks,” he said, voice choked. “I...appreciate that.”

  “It's nothing,” she said gently. “We can sit if you like.” She pointed to a stone bench set in the wall. She'd never noticed it before, never explored the garden to this extent.

  “Thanks,” he said. He lowered himself stiffly onto the bench. He looked up at her. “Will you sit too?” he asked, grinning nervously. “I feel silly sitting while a lady remains standing near me.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed hard. A lady, indeed! She felt her cheeks color with embarrassment. If he knew she had been a lady's maid not six months ago, what would be his opinion then?

  For certes, he wouldn't be so kindly toward me.

  She took a seat, feeling suddenly awkward. The secret, which ought never to have been broached between them, suddenly rankled. She felt discomforted. Suddenly, she wanted to be somewhere else. She wished she could tell him her story, but at the same time feared a return of that hard, scornful exterior.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  Prudence blinked, surprised. A chill wind and blown up with the advancing morning, and it ruffled her hair, but she didn't really notice. Her nerves, it seemed, were altogether too preoccupied with bringing her information about his closeness – the way she could almost feel the warmth of his leg through the thick fabric of his trews. She wondered, absently, who had helped him dress.

  “No,” she murmured. “Not really.”

  “Me neither,” he said.

  Suddenly, he was looking into her eyes and she stared back into his. She felt her heart start to thump. Nothing had changed and yet, somehow, everything had. They were very much alone, she realized suddenly, sitting together in the back corner of a garden, out of sight.

  His eyes were brown, she noticed, the same tawny mottling that a hawk's had, and the same slight arrogant expression loaned to them partly by one eyelid drooping a little. He looked at her with a lazy arrogance that was offset by the sweet quirk of his thin-lipped mouth.

  She noticed one brow cocked in a question, and felt her heart thud to answer it. Involuntarily, as though moved by some greater instinct, she leaned forward.

  She noticed his breath quickening and the feeling echoed in her. Her own heart started to thump.

  He looked into her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and pressed it to her cheek. With his palm against her skin, the thud of her heartbeat became unbearable. His eyes stared into hers.

  Prudence felt herself start to shake. It was as if a fire had started inside her belly, a dangerous, pulsing fire that threatened to consume her from inside. His hand stayed where it was. Gently, he leaned forward. Those thin lips hovered before hers. She could feel the moistness of his breath, mingled with her own.

  “And we'll have tae be quiet,” a voice murmured.

  Alexander's eyes widened. He shot upright. Prudence, gasping, did the same. He looked at her, eyes flurrying with warning. They sat silently.

  “Aye, I ken, Bradley,” an impatient voice said.

  “But we'll be cutting them off,” a third voice growled, savage.

  Prudence saw Alexander go pale. She was fighting to control her own breathing, still disturbed by the almost-kiss.

  “I ken. But how? And when?”

  “Tomorrow. When they move. We'll stop them. Head them off at the pass.”

  “If you say so,” the third voice growled. “But we'll need reinforcements.”

  “No, we won't. In that narrow pass, by the Linmore hills? We only need to be above them to hold off a hundred men, just by ourselves.”

  “How'd we do that?” a voice, rich with scorn, asked.

  “Drop things on them,” the first voice said firmly. “Up that hill? Only two at a time can come against us. It'd be like flattening sandcastles in the bay.”

  “Fine.”

  Prudence and Alexander stared at each other. Prudence saw horror written on his face. For her, it could have been anyone talking – maybe even their own men. However, his face suggested something bigger was at foot. Big, and worrying.

  “What?” she whispered.

  He held a finger to his lips, leaned closer to the hedge. Prudence, heart thudding watched. They both listened.

  “We need to move, chief,” the first voice said.

  “Aye, I know.” A pause. “They leave tomorrow.”

  “You think they're ripe for walking into our trap?”

  “Aye. Primed it, didn't we?”

  “We did, that. We did.”

  At that, Alexander leaped up out of the seat. Prudence, fearing then that he was going to go through the hedge and confront the plotters, leapt to her feet, her fingers clutching his arm. He gently waved her back. His throat was working and she could see on his face that he did his best to control a growing rage.

  “What?” she whispered.

  He shook his head, pointed to the door of the infirmary. Prudence, nodding, waited for him to gather his walking crutch, and together they headed back into the shelter of the building.

  The instant they were in the kitchen, Alexander shut the door. “It's them,” he whispered.

  “Who?” Prudence looked at him with mounting alarm, for he looked quite wild. His eyes were round and staring, and the vein on his forehead throbbed alarmingly. She looked around, worried lest he had an attack of the apoplexy. She might need to call Doctor Maybrooke.

  “Them!” He spoke with savagery, though his voice was bitterly soft. He gestured at the yard. “The ones who sent the false message. Who almost got me killed. It's them again.”

  “What happened?”

  He told her. While they were on the road, it transpired, they had been delayed by a messenger, claiming to be from a beleaguered captain. He had led them down a path where they were set upon and that was where he was shot.

  “You have asked here about the messenger?” she asked, when he finished the tale.

  “Yes!” He spoke urgently. “That's the thing! Others have received messages from this Bradway too, also leading them astray. And that...that's him! He's planning to ambush our men in the valley, near Linmore! I know it – it's steep-sided, perilous. He's right – they could defend it with a handful.”

  “What can we do?” Prudence asked, horrified. She stared up at him, heart thumping. If he was right, many men would be wounded, many die. The whole Cause could falter on an attack like that, if the men were meant to march to Falkirk, to relieve it.

  “We have to report them, now,” he insisted.

  “Or we could ambush them.”

  Alexander stared at her. Prudence blushed, feeling uncomfortable. She had no idea where that statement had come from. She instantly back-tracked, feeling foolish.

  “I...I mean, what do I know of military matters?” she demurred quickly. “I have no idea! I just thought...forgive me.” She looked at her boot-tops, sensing an impending explosion. Who did she think she was to gainsay him? That had gone too far.

  “Prudence!” he exploded. “I...it's brilliant!”

  “It is?” Now she was genuinely surprised. She stared at him. Her face flushed pink. “You...you're not vexed?”

  “Prudence!” He took her shoulders in his hands, shook them gently. His touch on her skin was hard, but not unwelcome. She felt her heart start to thump. “Prudence, you're brilliant.”

  At that moment, it seemed to become clear to both of them that they were standing alone together in a private place – an empty kitchen, admittedly – and his hands were on her shoulders, an intimate touch.

  “Um,” he coughed, clearing his throat. He looked away. Then his eyes came back to hers. He looked into them. His hands remained on her shoulders. “I...Prudence, sorry.”

  His hands fell to his sides. His vo
ice was strained, as if he'd just drunk scalding soup. He was flushed, too, and she felt a similar flush creep into her cheek, even as she looked up, dismayed.

  “You don't have to be sorry,” she said softly. “What will we do?”

  Alexander had stepped back, and he now faced her from the other side of the kitchen. She watched him. He had the stick with him, but hardly seemed to need it. This had brought more life to him than she had seen in days. He gestured to the barracks, excitedly.

  “Well, my plan is to take a dozen men and ride up behind their position. Linmore is two days' ride from here, so we'd have to ride fast – very fast – to outflank them.” His face fell.

  Prudence frowned. “What is it?”

  “I just realized – even if we leave now, we'll not be on time.” His eyes were wide, as if seeing the horror that would be unleashed – the flailing horses, the men shot, the chaos.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “The men who left to march that way went this morning. This lot,” he waved toward the direction whence the voices had come, “are only three. They will ride light and fast. They will be there before we can get our men to outflank them.”

  Prudence felt her heart thump. He was right. “Well...” she paused, thinking quickly. “How far is Linmore? Are there loyal men nearby..? Troops you could muster there?”

  He stared at her. For the second time that morning, his face lit. “Yes!”

  This time, he kissed her. It was a brief, chaste kiss, the sort given in praise, lips smacking against her forehead. Nevertheless, it caught Prudence off guard. She reeled backwards, at once shocked and delighted.

  He grinned. “Sorry. It's just brilliant! We just need to find the local estates, and if any of them are loyal. And then I can ride there tonight...” He was already planning. Prudence looked at him.

  “You can't,” she whispered.

  “...and when I get there, I'll go directly to the...can't what?” he asked absently, mind already on other things.

  “You can't ride,” she said softly. “Not with your shoulder shot.”

  Alexander stared at her. He rolled his shoulder experimentally, almost as if he'd forgotten it was shot at. Then he shrugged. “I can ride slowly.”

  “But...” Prudence made a small gesture. If they rode slowly, they would certainly not make it in time. No, they needed a better answer.

  Instantly, Alexander caught the sense of what she meant. She saw his face fall.

  “You're right.” He nodded. “But, damn it, Prudence! What can we do? We can't just sit here!”

  “Tell someone?” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “No. For several reasons. First, because they won't be able to go fast enough either. Second, why should they believe us? And third...how do we know whoever it is isn't in league with – with that lot?”

  Prudence nodded slowly. She hadn't considered any of those things. Especially not the last. She frowned.

  “What, then?”

  “I don't know!” Alexander looked agonized. “Damn this stupid shoulder!” he swore, alarming her. “Why did it have to be now?”

  “I'll go,” Prudence said, awed by her boldness.

  “Why, when I really need to be able to ride, does this damn thing have to happen?” he continued, furiously. “When the...what was that?” He looked at her, frowning.

  “I'll go.”

  He stared at her. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No. It's too dangerous. Prudence, I can't.”

  Prudence frowned. “Why not? When it's an easy way.”

  “Prudence, I cannot risk you.”

  Prudence stared at him. His voice was raw. He sounded as if he spoke of some very great occurrence, as if he were about to lose half his estate, or a jewel beyond estimation of its value. She looked at the floor, suddenly shy.

  He can't think about me like that. Imagine if he...likes me. If he found out I am just a servant, or was one, he'd hate me for fooling him!

  “You could, sir,” she said, continuing to look at the ground.

  “No, I won't.” His tone was dangerously stubborn. She looked up at him. His face was set. She nodded.

  “Well, then?” she asked, raising her shoulders helplessly. “What can we do?”

  “I have an idea,” he said slowly.

  A PLAN AHEAD

  Alexander looked down at his boots. He felt a lurching uncertainty in his stomach, which was not entirely settled by the silence of the night, or the hoot of an owl, low and thrumming, in the tree nearby.

  “You are ready?” he whispered.

  Beside him, Prudence was a silent form, clad in dark worsted. He looked at her, amazed and more than a little admiring.

  She is the strongest person, inside, I have ever met – male or female.

  He looked at her, the paleness of her face and hair shining dully against the utter blackness of the night, outlined by the distant light of the lamp in the kitchen. Her face was surprisingly fine boned, her pale flax hair that was so striking against the green tone of her eyes.

  She licked dry lips. “Yes,” she whispered.

  Alexander nodded. “Well.” He blew out his cheeks, feeling desperately uneasy. Then he took the reins of the horse he led. He stepped onto the path.

  Prudence walked beside him. They would ride together. She had a mare, whom the lad managing the stables had guaranteed him was of the mildest temperament in the encampment, but he himself was not so sure. He swore that he would break the fellow's bones if he had misled him.

  Prudence has never ridden alone before. I don't think I would forgive him if he handicapped her.

  He looked around at the horse, surprised at the strength of his reaction. White – not the best for night-time stealth, but unavoidable – the horse seemed of peaceable temperament. He withheld judgment.

  “When will we..?” she whispered, nervously.

  “When we reach the fence,” he said. “Let's get out of the yard, first. The sound of hooves on cobbles will arouse the watch.”

  He swallowed, his heart thudding in his chest with nerves. That was part of the plan he hadn't figured out – what would they do to sneak past the watch? The camp was well-guarded, with sentries, some of whom he'd likely trained himself – posted on the wall. Nobody should be able to sneak out via the back gate, as he'd planned. Nevertheless, they had no choice.

  “Yes,” she whispered back. “I'm ready.”

  He smiled at her, tenderness welling up within him. “Good. Let's go.”

  Side-by-side, leading their horses – he'd taken the precaution of instruction the hand in wrapping their hooves in cloth before they left the stall – they walked toward the gate.

  “Who goes there?” a voice rang out.

  Alexander stiffened. His injured shoulder burned like fire dwelt there. He cleared his throat. “It's me, you ox,” he shouted back, broadening his accent. “Wi' the night-soil. Ye want tae come doon and help muck it oot?”

  He heard a fellow on the wall chuckle.

  “No. Ta, Alec. But I'll live wi'out.”

  Alexander made himself chuckle. It wasn't hard: the danger was making him reckless and light-headed. “Fine,” he called back, airily. “Well, then. I'll be on me wa'.”

  “Night, Alec.”

  Alexander looked at Prudence and nodded.

  Side by side, their horses close, masquerading as the night-soil cart, they sneaked out through the gates.

  Only when they reached the edge of the trees did Alexander allow himself to breathe again. “Whew.” He chuckled, weakly. “That was the hard part.”

  Prudence looked up at him. Her eyes shone, though warily. He realized, in that moment, how afraid she was; how hard she worked to remain composed. He could have kissed her then. He remembered, vividly, the previous afternoon when he had done just that. His heart thumped, recalling the soft skin, her startled look.

  “So,” she whispered. “What now?”

  He shrugged. “Ken with the mail-horse should have left five hours
ago.”

  That was the core of their plan. They had risked taking a young dispatch-rider into their confidence – though not too far. They had written a letter, detailing what they knew, and sealed it, sending it to a local earl.

  That was where Prudence's expertise was central to their plan. She claimed to know the family of this earl. She had, she claimed, lived at Duncliffe awhile.

  “The earl and his wife, Lady Marguerite, are fine people,” she said stubbornly. “Jacobites.”

  Alexander had been skeptical at first, but she had given such a convincing description of the keep, the force of arms the earl could summon, the life at the place, that he had to conclude she was honest. Or she had a truly terrific imagination. One of the two.

  Alexander looked at her, and sighed. Why was it that he trusted her so innately? Part of him – what he deemed the sensible part – was certain she must be the spy. That somehow it was no coincidence she had led him to overhear that conversation, and she was even now leading him to downfall.

  But why? I am not so very important to any plan.

  To think aught else – that was arrogance. If the enemy had taken the trouble to target a spy to a particular person, they would now be dogging the footsteps of General Murray outside Falkirk, not some poor inoffensive captain whose only duty was to lead a much-depleted force to his aid.

  She looked up at him, eyes round. “We should move beneath the trees.”

  He nodded. She was right. Already, a sentry was walking on the wall, the light from his torch blazing like a beacon as he swung it, fitfully, out across the edge to light the gateway.

  “Yes,” he agreed. He reached for his horse and led him into the shelter of the trees. Then, under the concealing boughs, he turned to her. “Can I help you mount up?”

  “I'm not sure,” she whispered back, nervously. “I don't...”

  He bit his lip, nodding. She didn't know what she was doing. He knew that. He wondered why he'd let her come with him. He would have done better going alone.

  And if you fall, and your shoulder starts to bleed? Or if you're light-headed with the fever, and ride off the path? What happens then, to you and our ventures?

  He heard her voice, scalding him. He bit his lip, grinning. She'd given him such an earful about it that he'd been convinced into saying yes.