The Highlander’s Healer (Blood of Duncliffe Series)

by Emilia Ferguson

  He wanted to get undressed and change into a fresh set of clothes, for he had a new shirt and trews provided by the earl of Duncliffe. He just wasn't sure if Prudence would wake up or not. He swallowed, feeling a delicious embarrassment. What would he do if she woke?

  Dressing as quickly as possible, he shrugged off the old shirt and into the new one, unbelted his trews and stepped into the new ones, hoping that he had been fast enough for her to see nothing, should she choose to open her eyes at that moment.

  Then, still pink with embarrassment, he turned in the doorway and silently mimed a kiss, then left. He hurried down the stairs toward the door.

  “Morning, sir,” a young officer greeted him.

  “Morning,” he nodded. “I'm here on orders from Brewer. Looking for a fellow called Jenkins.”

  “Sergeant Jenkins?” the fellow smiled. “He's out there, sir. Men garrisoned over the stables.”

  “Thanks,” Alexander nodded, wondering how it was that Jenkins was already notorious. Shaking his head – the fellow was a perpetual thorn in his flesh, a source of minor martyrdom – he headed in the direction the officer had indicated.

  As he reached the yard, he heard a commotion.

  “Nay!” a familiar voice was droning. “Nay, I will nae move on. Not wi'out the captain's say. And ye can play the pipes with yer own arse, I'll no listen to ye any more than I'm doing now.”

  “Jenkins!” Alexander called.

  He saw Jenkins turn and see him, face lighting up. The fellow he'd been addressing stifled his retort and whipped around to face Alexander, looking confused by the interruption.

  “Sir!” Jenkins said, sounding happy. “By! It's you, sir! I never thought I'd see ye again!”

  “Jenkins,” Alexander smiled, touched but trying not to show it. “I'm back. How are the men? Where are you?”

  However, Jenkins, as usual, wasn't listening. He'd turned toward the stables, shouting. “Hey, you lot of lazy scalawags! Guess what! Guess who's here? Come on, let's up and out! The captain's back! The captain!”

  Alexander, grinning, shook his head. “Jenkins,” he called to him, laughing. “That’s enough. What were the orders?” he asked, turning to the officer Jenkins had been arguing with at the moment that he arrived.

  Seeming worried, the fellow shook his head. “Och, sir...it's nothing. We just thought that, seeing as...”

  “He were going to make us betray ye, sir!” Jenkins said, eyes narrowing. His face – always homely at the best of times – took on an ugly glare. “He said we should march out of here, and not wait for you. The captain, I said!” He shook his head angrily. “He always comes back, so he does. And see? And wasn't I right? Here you are!”

  Alexander smiled fondly. “Yes, I am.” He nodded. “I am pleased by your faith in me, Jenkins. Now,” he added, turning to the officer, who had gone pale. “If you could go to your superior and report that there is a change of plan? I am here now, and will gladly lead my men wherever it is they are required to go. If you can inform me of it.”

  “Y...yes, sir.” Gulping, the man nodded once, twice. Then he turned and walked away, as fast as he could go without actually breaking into a run.

  Alexander watched him go, feeling faintly amused. The poor fellow! A heckling by Jenkins was the last thing anyone actually needed. And then to find that he was right, after all...He shook his head, considerately.

  “Sir!” Jenkins said excitedly. “Sir! We have to get going. The war's on and we have to join the fray.”

  “Yes, Jenkins,” Alexander said gently. “I know.”

  The thought made his heart ache. He had lived for this, had trained for it since he was a boy. Nevertheless, now, when it finally came down to it, he had discovered something. He didn't want to die for his country, for his Cause. Not anymore. He wanted to live in his country, to share his life with it and Prudence, to build something for the future. Not to destroy.

  “Sir! Come on!” Jenkins said, looking excited. “Let's go. Hey, men! Captain's here! Look lively...we're joining the march!”

  In the general air of celebration, Alexander felt almost guilty at being unable to share it. He looked at the men, seeing excitement on some faces, relief on others. Most of them seemed at least pleased to be escaping from the inaction at the fortress. He wondered if any of them felt as dead inside as he did.

  I don't want to do this. I choose life.

  He swallowed hard, knowing how strange that would seem to them. There was no reason, he told himself firmly, that he would not live through this battle. That all would not go as well as possible, and he and Prudence wouldn't be together in a free Scotland, with a Stuart king upon the throne.

  Somehow, though, it all seemed so trite. He looked round the circle of happy, excited faces, and thought about the fact that, if not he, then some of them would die. Those cheery grins would be snuffed out, cooling on the battlefield. Was any cause worth one grin, one spark of life in someone's eyes? No plan or cause of men could make a life. Was it not abhorrent for a cause to take it away?

  Alexander, you're being fanciful, he told himself firmly. You're in love. It's making you think strange things.

  He caught that thought, and frowned in surprise. In love? Was he? He glowed. “I'm in love with Prudence.”

  Saying it aloud, even whispering it, made his whole body glow. He was grinning like a fool, then, and unable to stop it. He was in love! It had sneaked up on him so subtly that he'd barely noticed, but now he saw it, in all its glory.

  The men were thronging round him, whooping and grinning, and he tried to join in their mood. “Come on, lads,” he said encouragingly. “Go up and get your packs. Assemble in the yard in twenty minutes. We're heading west.”

  This was greeted by whoops. The men grinned and yelled excitedly, then hushed each other, each hastening to do as they were bid. As the yard transformed, suddenly, into a hive of activity, Alexander leaned back against the wall, feeling drained.

  I am in love with Prudence, he thought. And now I am marching off and losing her.

  He closed his eyes, unable to even countenance such a thing. He had to do something, to say something to her. His mind filled with memories: dancing in the hall, her hair like a living cloak of flame about her as she danced, smile glowing. Her joy. Her smile.

  As the men started to return eagerly, packs on their backs, he cleared his throat. He looked for the irrepressible Jenkins. He found him at his elbow, a vast pack on his shoulder, struggling to get his other arm through the strapping. “Jenkins, keep an eye on the fellows, eh?” he requested softly. “I need to go and see to things.”

  “Aye, sir!” Jenkins saluted crisply, homely face crinkling with a conspiratorial wink.

  As Jenkins called out orders, mixed with his own array of inventive filth, Alexander headed back into the town, desperate to reach the officer's quarters. He raced back through the streets, hoping against hope that Prudence would still be there. He had to get her to join them. Or at least, he had to say a proper goodbye.

  He slipped through the streets, running toward the inn. When he got there, he leaned against the door a moment, exhausted.

  Panting, he climbed the stairs, and tapped on the door.

  “Prudence?” he called softly.

  Silence.

  He looked around the room, heart thudding in fear. Prudence had gone.

  The stables were cold. Prudence, shivering, gathered her cloak around her and wished she had thought to bring some warmer clothes. She had another coat in her pack. She would fetch it out, along with the basic herbal supplies that she'd brought.

  “Then I'll find the infirmary,” she spoke aloud. “I might as well make myself useful, being here.”

  She opened her pack and drew out the cloak, and reached in further to find the bundles and little bags wrapped in a handkerchief that she'd taken from the still-room with Merrick.

  As she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, she tensed. Someone was out there, watching her. She spun around
.

  “Pretty,” McGrear lisped. “Hey, pretty. Come here...”

  Prudence drew in a breath, and then found she was too scared to scream. “How dare you?” she hissed instead. “Get out of my way. If you think anyone would let you touch me, then you're mad.”

  He chuckled, harshly. “Who will prevent me?”

  “Alexander,” she said, mind whirling with fear. “The colonel...anyone would stop you. How dare you think you can lay hands on me, you...”

  She made herself push past him. He leaned against her, blocking her way. She closed her eyes, feeling as revolted as she'd ever felt by anything. He was close and repulsive and she tried to squeeze past, but he tightened his arms around her and she found she couldn't fight him.

  Thinking fast, she lifted her knee into his groin. She saw his eyes widen in astonishment and he hissed out painfully. Then his eyes narrowed and she realized she'd made a bad mistake – that any hurt she did him would be inflicted back at her, only worse. He growled and hit her head back, sharply, against the wall of the stables.

  She cried out and he hit her again, and her vision swam and clouded, and then, the third time, she passed out.

  TURN OF EVENTS

  “Prudence!” Alexander called out. “Prudence?”

  He looked in the room again, searching for any clues as to her whereabouts. Where might she have gone?

  “Breakfast, you fool,” he told himself firmly. “She's gone down to breakfast.”

  He was being stupid – why was he frightened? Running downstairs, he headed into the inn dining room. There, a wounded soldier was still sitting at a table, a bandage around his head, eating soup.

  “Sir?” he said, looking up. His eyes were sleepy, his manner hesitant.

  “You,” Alexander stammered, nerves making him incoherent. “Have you seen Prudence? I mean...was there a woman in here just now, taking breakfast?”

  The fellow frowned. “A woman? Sadly, no, sir. Haven't seen any women. Why?”

  “If you see one, tell Jenkins,” he said, thinking quickly. He would look all over the inn himself, he planned, and then return to Jenkins. He was not leaving this camp until he knew where she was!

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, giving him a level look.

  Alexander bridled, sure the fellow thought he was mad, and then, shrugging, ran out. “Prudence?” he called.

  “Sir?” a soldier said, frowning at him. Alexander recognized him as the fellow who'd taken them to their sleeping-room the other night. His heart leaped, relieved.

  “The woman who accompanied me yesterday? You saw her earlier, perhaps?” he asked quickly.

  “Um, yes, sir, I think I did,” the man said, and Alexander's heart soared.

  “Where?” he almost shouted.

  “Um, she was here, sir, having breakfast,” the man said, haltingly. “Then she left. Reckon she went to the stables. She headed that way.” He jerked his head in the direction.

  “Thank you!” Alexander breathed. He felt almost elated. Of course she was here! She'd probably just gone out to fetch something from their saddle-bags. She would want to start doing her healing work. Now all he had to do was find the infirmary, and...

  At the stables, he saw nobody, save the lame youth who worked as a stable hand. He rounded on him. “You saw a woman in here, this morning?”

  The youth frowned. “Don't reckon that I did, sir,” he said, evidently casting his mind back. “I just came here, though. Bates was here before me.”

  “Where is he?” Alexander said.

  The youth frowned again, making Alexander want to hit him. Curse his slowness! At length, he replied.

  “He should be at the store-house, sir. Where the marketplace is, there's an old tavern. In there.”

  “Thanks!” Alexander shouted, and then ran off.

  He found the tap-house and burst in, wind whipping around him. There he found the supply-chief, and the stable hand, in earnest discussion.

  “Have you seen a woman?” he asked dramatically.

  They both looked at him. One of them grinned, then, seeing his face, wiped off the grin.

  “Aye,” the stable-hand replied. “There was a lass in the stables, earlier. She were just fetching something, like, with the tack. So I left it at that, and went to muck out. I minds my own business, sir,” he added, as if he expected to be accused of something.

  “Fine,” Alexander almost wept. The frustration would kill him! “Did you see where she went next?”

  “No, sir,” the fellow shook his head. “But you could ask McGrear. He were there just after. Looking for his saddle bags.”

  “Oh?” Alexander frowned. McGrear? That name seemed familiar. “Thanks,” he nodded. “Where will I find him?”

  “In the officer's quarters,” the man supplied. “He's batman to Colonel Brewer.”

  “Oh!” Alexander stared. A face suddenly came back to him, associated with the name. A broad-faced, ugly fellow, he'd met him the night before.

  And, he recalled, with sudden alarm, the fellow had paid an unhealthy interest to Prudence.

  Heart pounding in his chest, he started to run.

  “McGrear?” he yelled, reaching the officer's mess. “Where the hell is he?”

  “McGrear?” an officer looked up from where he sat on the bench, cleaning a rifle. “Haven't seen him. You seen him, Lucas?”

  The fellow opposite set aside his gun, and shrugged. “Saw him earlier. He was at the stables. Saddling up at a fine rate. ‘Where're you going, McGrear?’ I asked him. ‘Urgent business,’ he answers. I shrugged, and headed back here. Hard to imagine what he needs to do that's so urgent. Or where he was taking all that grain.”

  “Grain?” Alexander frowned. “He had something with him?”

  “Yes. A grain cart, with some sacks,” he nodded. “Don't know why, mind. He's not in charge of supplies,” he chuckled. The other man laughed too.

  “Maybe the colonel told him to get it delivered.”

  The first man shrugged. “Probably.” They both looked at Alexander. “Why?”

  “This cart,” Alexander spoke slowly. “Where did it go?”

  The first man shrugged. “Out to the woods, that way.”

  “Thanks,” Alexander said. He started to run. Back toward the stables.

  Prudence felt the jolt and rock of the cart underneath her, painful and jarring as they raced over cobbled streets. She woke and tried to sit up. The cart was going too fast.

  Memory came back to her suddenly, and with it, terror.

  I have to get out of here.

  She sat up, too quickly, and felt her head ache terribly. She looked to the front of the cart. A man sat there, hunched over the reins. He was driving like a madman, far too fast for the track they followed.

  Prudence made herself lean over the edge of the cart. She looked down at the wheels. They were rolling over the cobbles at a stupidly-fast rate. She considered jumping off the cart, and looked at the trees growing close to the path, the drop at the side of the road.

  If she threw herself off, she would hit a tree and risk breaking her neck. She knew how lethal it could be to fall off a cart. If she avoided being crushed under the wheels, she would hit the tree with a force as if she had run full-tilt into it.

  Is it worth killing myself? Will he kill me?

  She looked at the hunched form at the reins. No, she judged. He wouldn't kill her. She knew precisely what he was thinking and, while it repulsed her and terrified her, she wasn't sure death was a preferable alternative. His death, maybe – not hers.

  Reconsidering, she wondered if she could grab him from behind and make him let go of the reins.

  Recalling how he'd grabbed her, and how she'd felt utterly unable to dislodge him, she realized how quickly she'd have to move to get him off guard. Surprise was her only strength.

  She took a steadying breath, feeling fear root her to the spot. If she got it right, she could make the cart stop. Then what? She would have to try and escape him, hide i
n the woods. If she got it wrong, he would simply be even angrier with her than he was now. Her head ached, reminding her of the pain he'd already inflicted. Could she risk what would happen if she made him angry?

  “Come on,” he yelled to the horses, which had started to slow.

  They had almost stopped now, and Prudence seized her chance. She launched herself at the side of the cart and slid over.

  “Hey!” he yelled. She started to run.

  Terror gave wings to her feet and she ran into the woods, hearing him crashing through the brush behind her.

  No. Don't stop. Don't let him catch up with me...no...

  She was thinking it, panting, and then screaming it. “No! No!”

  Her voice was a hoarse cry, barely above the register of a whisper, for all her breath was involved in running. Nevertheless, saying it gave her strength and voiced her terror.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. No. No. In. Out. No.

  She ran, and heard him coming after her. She stumbled and screamed, but got up and ran. She dodged between trees, having no idea where she was going, but simply knowing that she had to find a way to vanish. She had to find somewhere to hide.

  “You doxy!” the fellow yelled behind her. “You...”

  She shut her ears, not wanting to hear the fell names he was calling her. Her stomach heaved and she knew she would be sick, and soon that terror and revulsion would make her unable to continue.

  She took a steadying breath and ran.

  At the end of the path, she stumbled. He almost caught her. She dodged and screamed, and, at the last moment, doubled back. With renewed strength, she ran toward the road. This time, she screamed. “Help!” she called out. “Please, help!”

  As she hit the road, a horse was riding up. She heard the hooves and the neigh as the rider tried, vainly, to pull the horse back. It reared and she screamed and threw herself back, terrified that the creature, itself frightened, would pound her to bits with his hooves as he fell.