The Highlander’s Healer (Blood of Duncliffe Series)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Well?” Prudence said firmly. “You take it off, then. And sit down over there, where I can reach your shoulder.”

  She indicated a chair by the bathtub, opposite the hearth-fire.

  Alexander, going red, reached behind himself to try and unbutton the topmost button and shrug off the shirt. The movement made him wince, pulling his shoulder wound. She tensed in sympathy.

  He pulled the shirt up over his head, then discarded it onto the side table and sat down awkwardly. “You can see it here?” he asked.

  Prudence came to stand at his left-hand side. She touched her fingertips to the edge of it, in a gesture that made him jump.

  “I can see it,” she said, her voice in that distant place he'd noticed it going to when she assessed wounds. “It looks good. A little blood – you must have strained it,” she added.

  “Um, yes.”

  Alexander felt how his heart stopped as she reached out and, so gently, pressed a linen pad to the bloodstained wound.

  Her touch was so gentle, the merest whisper as she dabbed at the wound, gently cleaning and pressing to stop the blood flow. Yet it seemed to spiral down through his blood vessels, reaching far inside him. He felt his loins ache as her fingers trailed over his collarbone.

  He hissed a breath.

  “Sorry,” she said distantly. “I was just brushing away a hair.”

  “Um, yes,” he murmured.

  Her fingers moved lower, gently pressing the edges where the stitching was. He winced, feeling again how his body responded to the lightest touch of those cool fingers. He looked down, hoping that his reaction wasn't obvious.

  “You have much pain here?” she asked, probing gently to where the wound reached to the front of his shoulder.

  “Um, no,” he stammered. “I mean...yes. Sometimes. When I move it.”

  “I see,” she said. “And here?”

  “No,” he responded.

  “I should take the stitches out soon,” she said, and he risked a glance sideways, seeing her tranquil frown. He loved the way her face usually went still when she was working, that calm cloak descending round her as she focused on her inner thoughts.

  I wish I could tell her how beautiful she is then.

  He swallowed hard. “Um, Prudence?”

  “Yes?” she asked, briskly wiping a little trickle of blood that had seeped from the wound as she probed it.

  “Um, when we were talking...”

  “You said it hurts here?” she asked, deliberately evading his statement.

  “Yes,” he said, wincing. “A little.”

  “I think I can take out the outermost stitches,” she continued, as if he hadn't said anything, “and leave the middle three in. That center part is still raw.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”

  She worked deftly, so that he was barely aware as she pulled the threads and snipped them, noticing only a stinging sensation as she drew the cotton loose. When she was done, she knelt in front of him.

  “You said you didn't care about the fact that I was a maidservant,” she said. Her green gaze held his levelly, no judgment or anger in it.

  “Yes,” he breathed. This close, he could see the little flecks of green in those eyes, and the moist trail on her lower lip where she'd bitten it, frowning in concentration.

  “I think you do care,” she said. “At least a bit. But I don't.”

  “You don't,” he echoed. His heart was racing, his entire sensory-body reeling from the closeness of her, drowning in her scent, singing with her touch.

  “I have decided that it doesn't matter to me what I was, or what you are,” she said. “What matters to me is the person I see when I look in the mirror, and the person I see when I look at you.”

  “Yes,” he echoed.

  “I know that doesn't make much sense, does it?” she said. She sighed.

  “Probably not?” he ventured.

  She smiled, wearily. “No,” she said. “I'm not explaining myself very well, am I?” she sighed. “But...I just wanted you to know that I understand your reaction.”

  “Wait,” Alexander said, clearing his throat. “When you said that, and you thought that I...” He trailed off, as she shook her head again.

  “I don't want you to explain it or to apologize,” she said slowly. “I am trying to say I don't care about what you think, or thought, or what happened. All I care about is now.”

  “Now?” Alexander croaked. She was kneeling before him, her hands resting in her lap, one on his knee. She was so close he could almost count the lashes round her eyes, and smell the soft scent of her hair.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Right now, with you there and me here, and who we are when no one else is watching.”

  Alexander swallowed hard, feeling his whole body respond to those words. He bit his lip, straining as he fought the urge to lean forward and enfold her in his arms. Her curvy form would feel wondrous pressed to his bare skin, and her lips would taste like rare sugar as he parted them with his tongue, tasting her sweet warmth.

  He leaned back, but before he could complete the motion, she leaned forward. Her hand cupped the back of his head and her mouth touched his and suddenly she kissed him.

  Alexander closed his eyes. Her breath mingled with his and the touch of her lips, so gentle, was the sweetest thing he had ever felt.

  She leaned back and looked into his eyes. Those green depths were a little defiant. Teasing. Dangerous.

  Alexander felt as if his heart was thumping like a bellows. He leaned back, his breathing strained.

  Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached for her and rested a hand on the back of her head, digging it into the sweet satin of her hair. He drew her to him and his lips parted on hers. He felt the curve of them and parted them slowly.

  Prudence leaned against him and he moved his hand from the back of her head, placing it on her shoulder, drawing her to him in a fierce embrace.

  She leaned on him and he could feel her heart thrumming against his as he held her and she held him and he tasted her lips, so sweet and soft, cushioning his.

  UNEXPECTED JOYS

  Prudence sat in her bedchamber, her mind reeling.

  She couldn't quite believe what she'd just said and done. Her mind relived each sensation. Her body flooded with the sweet recollections, and her heart sped faster as she recalled every sensation of his lips on hers, the sweet, probing-pushing feeling as his mouth explored her tongue.

  I have never felt anything like that. Never done anything so wanton.

  She blushed, thinking about what she had said, what she had done. Never in her freest imaginings would she ever have thought she, Prudence, would say such things, or do such things, with a man.

  I kissed him, with him half-dressed. I barely know him.

  She flushed again. That wasn't exactly true, she reminded herself. Though they had only known each other a few weeks, she had seen him in a state of undress before. At least, as undressed as he was earlier. Moreover, she knew the scent and texture of his skin, the quality of his blood. She knew him likely better than most noblewomen did when they married a man.

  And I kissed him.

  She recalled the kiss again in exquisite detail. Her face split with a smile as she remembered the look of almost-horrified astonishment in his eyes when she did it.

  It was the last thing he was expecting.

  She chuckled to herself, feeling a delicious tingle in her stomach that was different again from the sweet, throbbing ache she felt there when he touched her. When his hands stroked her hair, or his lips enfolded hers, she felt a sweet melting sensation in her body unlike any she had ever experienced before.

  “Stop it, Prudence; stop daydreaming.”

  In itself, she reminded herself firmly, their conversation had achieved little. She still didn't know what he thought of her, and she still didn't know whether or not he really scorned her for what she had been, or cared about it, or her, particularly.

  Oddly enough, it mattere
d to her less, on all three counts.

  “What matters to me now is what I think.”

  It was a strange new realization. All her life she had tried to fall in with the expectations of others, the identity others made for her. Now she felt as if she had her own identity – one that was partly Prudence the healer, and the rest of which was simply Prudence Newhurst. How other people perceived that was a reflection on them, not on her.

  Like the way I saw Merrick was what I expected to see, not her as herself.

  She sighed. It was late, she thought, as a distant church-bell chimed the hour, the sound carrying over the forested hillsides. She noticed it was very dark outside the windows, and stood, knowing that dinner was likely to begin downstairs at any moment.

  “I am invited, the same as everyone else.”

  She felt her lips move upwards in a little smile. The thought of being invited to a party was a pleasant one. She glanced to where Marguerite had, thoughtfully, sent up something to wear. She felt it. Soft and almost silky, the dress was a white one of linen so fine as to have a sheen on it. She felt it again, guessing it was a blend of both wool and linen, something more costly than anything she could legitimately own.

  Unfolding it, she frowned at the buttons down the back. Small and fiddly, she had no idea if she could fasten them alone. She had always helped Lady Claudine with such, but doing them up, behind her own back, would prove something of a challenge.

  Excitement tightening her belly, she decided it was a challenge she was more than happy to face. She would be wearing a beautiful dress. In addition, Lord Alexander would see her.

  Grinning at her own folly, blushing like a girl, she shrugged off her own familiar worsted dress and stepped into the white, smooth-skirted one.

  The buttons were a challenge, she realized, grunting with the effort to reach the ones behind her shoulder blades. She managed, after a good ten minutes of fight, and then she straightened up. She stared.

  “Is that me?”

  The mirror opposite showed her a fine-boned face, surmounted by a mass of fine pale hair. The eyes of the face were wide with astonishment, hazel eyes that shone as she contemplated the full effect of the dress.

  Cut in a fashionable style, with a waist cut in a plunging v, the skirts full on either side of it, the neckline a long rectangle that almost bared her shoulders, the dress was trimmed with white lace and the material shone like satin. She touched it, almost nervous.

  The girl in the mirror – who must be her, though she scarcely recognized that shell of fragile loveliness – turned sideways and let the skirts swing. Then she, grinning, looked away.

  “I can't believe it,” Prudence said aloud. She reached for a comb – again, provided courtesy of Marguerite, for she had brought no such herself – and dragged it through her hair. Having no idea how to arrange her own hair, she resorted to plaiting the top part and leaving the bottom loose. It was not curled, as was the fashion, but it would have to do.

  “I'm ready to go downstairs to dinner.”

  Casting one last rapt glance at the creature reflected back at her, she turned and almost ran down the stairs, her shoes – light indoor slippers, also white and silky – making a light tapping on the stone staircase.

  The entrance-hall was thronging with people. It seemed that all twenty men who had ridden with Douglas and Alexander that morning, and their colleagues and families, had come up to the hall to celebrate together.

  Feeling people's stares on her, Prudence swallowed hard. Looking at her feet, shyly, she wove her way through the guests, many of whom eyed her lingeringly. She made her way to the hall and ballroom, where she was sure nobody would yet be gathering, as everyone seemed to be standing in the courtyard and hallway, greeting each other.

  In the hall, she leaned back against the door-post, eyes closed. “Whew.”

  “Crowds, eh?” a too-familiar voice said.

  Her eyes flew open. She found herself looking into Alexander's gaze.

  He smiled, his thin lips quirking in a grin. His eyes looked into hers, a little puzzled.

  “I...” she stammered. “I didn't think anyone else...”

  “I too sought refuge from the noisy crowd,” he said, indicating the thronging hallway out beyond with a jerk of his head. “I find that after a battle, I need peace.”

  “I can imagine,” she said softly. His eyes, she noticed, had not stopped studying her. He seemed to approve, for they lingered appreciatively at her pale shoulders, traveling to her waist and down her body, then back to her face. Her whole skin flushed. She glowed.

  “So,” he murmured. “You also don't like gatherings much?”

  “I like gatherings,” she said, swallowing hard. Why did her voice sound so funny? She cleared her throat. “I just don't like noise.”

  “Me neither, usually,” he admitted. “The silence in the woodlands is what I usually like most.”

  “Me, too.”

  They looked at each other. She found it hard to breathe. There was so much between them – so many memories, so many thoughts – that the conversation, though commonplace, was thick with tension.

  “You will join the dance later?” he asked.

  “I...um...hadn't thought about it,” Prudence almost whispered. She swallowed hard. Dance, with Lord Alexander? Was he really asking her to do that?

  His smile was open and friendly. He looked back at her, and nodded. “Well, if you will, I would like to partner you. I must warn you that I'm out of practice.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered. As it happened, she barely danced at all, save one or two times at the village fair when she was a little girl. Then, the dances had been different – simple country ones to which anyone might know the rules, because they were not hard to guess at: hold hands, move in a circle, and follow each other. But these dances? Would he dance like the noblemen, in pairs, so intricately?

  He shrugged. He seemed a little nervous, too, she thought, judging by his shy giggle.

  “Well, here I am asking you such a thing. We don't even know if Douglas has brought a quartet. Mayhap we'll all sit down for dinner and just go away afterwards?”

  “Mayhap,” she said. Her mouth was dry. Here in the corner of the ballroom, with the candlelight soft on his hair, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the entire world, and such a wealth of memories between them.

  “Well, we might practice now,” he said. He grinned naughtily.

  “Here?” She swallowed hard. “But what if..? They arrive...?” She stammered her answer, but he had already stepped forward and was taking her hands in his.

  “We can practice a gavotte, if you would like?” he said. “Though I have my doubts that we'll do the courtly dances.”

  “No?” She swallowed hard. Suddenly her body was a mass of terror and elation. Terror, because she had no idea how to dance a gavotte and wouldn't have recognized one if she'd seen a hundred, and elation because his warm hands had gripped hers firmly, the strong fingers clasped remorselessly around her own, leading her forward.

  “Now,” he said, his eyes on hers. “We start like this. You stand there, and I stand here. Then, I take your hand, so...” he demonstrated, and she swallowed as his fingertips seemed to brush every nerve in her body. “And you come and stand beside me, like that. The music goes like this,” he added, counting out a measure and walking it as he did so.

  “And a one, and a two, and a...”

  As Prudence watched him, her whole body flushed with a mix of pride and admiration. He moved so gracefully! He was like a racing-horse – muscled and lean, built to run. She loved just watching him dance.

  “And now your turn,” he said.

  Prudence gulped. “No! I mean...show me again?” She realized she had been so intent on watching him that she'd barely heard any of his instructions.

  He grinned and nodded. He patiently showed her again. She tried to focus on his words this time, to watch his movements so that she could copy them.

  “The
re,” he said. “Now, you try it.”

  Prudence swallowed hard. “Alright,” she stammered.

  She stepped forward, copying what she had seen him do. In her head, she counted as he had done.

  And a one, and a two...

  As she tried to recall what he had done, wincing and stopping and twisting round to catch up with herself, she felt foolish. She looked up to see him watching her, expecting scorn.

  The expression on his face astonished her. His eyes were soft and gentle, his mouth a tender curve.

  Her heart soared.

  When she finished, albeit clumsily, he raised his hands. He mimed applause, as if she was the final act in a play. He grinned.

  “Superb, my dear Prudence,” he said. “Anyone would say you had a natural talent for this.”

  Prudence glowed. My dear Prudence. The words went round and round her brain, glowing with the fine gentle voice. My dear Prudence.

  “Well, I just did what you did, really...” she stammered.

  “If I could dance as gracefully as that, I am sure my father would have thought to hold more parties,” he grinned.

  “Oh, nonsense,” Prudence said, feeling her throat tighten with the praise.

  “I assure you, no nonsense,” he demurred. Then he grinned. “I suppose we should leave while the dinner is laid out, and the musicians prepare? I think we might be getting in the way.”

  Prudence turned, wide-eyed, as footmen came into the room, heading for the two long tables where the honored guests would sit. The rest of the hall was part-filled with long tables, weighed down with dishes. The local townsfolk who had been invited would eat at those, and leave most of the space free for dancing.

  “Shall we leave?” Alexander asked gently.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I suppose so.”

  Together, they crossed the threshold and headed out into the hallway.

  The noise was louder there, the conversation heightening and a sense of expectant waiting growing with it, so that Prudence, feeling deafened by the din, made a face at Alexander, who nodded.