by Fiona Faris
“Both The MacTavish and I are of the opinion that your man should be held accountable for his actions against my Commander. Since he very likely acted under your orders, MacTavish feels that he has no choice than to challenge you here and now.” Connell fought to keep his voice steady as he held defiant eye contact with Onesmus.
"Sir! We've decided on the rules, it's time for the duel!" Amos said aloud so that both parties could hear and understand him clearly.
They were using the field behind the manor, as yet unassigned to any usage thanks to Rebecca’s kidnapping and subsequent marriage. All were up at the crack of dawn, ready to get this duel done with. Despite his talk with Rebecca, Alexander had not been surprised to awaken from light sleep to find brigands sneaking into his quarters, no doubt planning to murder him in his bed. He had let the man come close before snaking his sgian dhu from underneath his pillow and burying it in the man’s thigh.
To his credit, the man had not screamed, simply grunted in pain, staggering backward. Alexander had swiftly got to his feet, catching hold of the man before he could manage to escape. He recognized him from the skirmish by the road as they had arrived at Dun Alba not two days before. He was disappointed but not surprised that while Chris pretended to want peace and friendship in front of Rebecca, he had sent an assassin to rid him of Alexander.
He had promptly had the man summoned from his bed and confronted him with his treachery.
“You think to hoodwink my sister while taking her family and her home away from her? You will die first.” Alexander had told him.
Chris had glared at Toby but said nothing.
“Pistols at dawn. We shall settle this like men.”
And so here they were.
Chris was furious with Toby and knew that the man better learn a lesson from all this. He had acted without Chris’ express orders and that had brought them to this pass. Reluctantly, he allowed Onesmus to place a pistol in his hand, hoping against hope that he would have a chance to repair the damage that would be caused here, today. He could understand why Alexander was not willing to listen to reason. He would be just as suspicious if the boot was on the other leg. Much as he wanted to resolve this, he knew he would not let Alexander kill him just to avoid conflict.
They had been standing fifteen feet apart when Amos’ booming voice told them to begin. The first thought that crossed Chris' mind was to cut off as much contact as he could with Toby after this: if he had to listen to the man’s rambling excuses any more he would surely go insane. It was time they want their separate ways.
He scoffed under his breath – trying to focus on the current duel. He had gone through so many fights before that his body acted on its own accord. Chris took on a defensive stance, observing Alexander. He lifted the pistol taking careful aim, hoping to hit his brother-in-law’s shoulder. That would incapacitate him enough…
Alexander lifted his pistol, the loud report of a shot reverberated through the dead of the forest. With a twitching brow, Chris fired. But the exact next second, he regretted that he ever did so.
Alexander's sky blue eyes widened as he dropped his pistol and lifted his hand to his chest. Mid-process, his knees gave in and he fell onto the snow, crimson staining white.
Chris was frozen in shock. His hands suddenly became cotton and he also dropped his gun. As soon as it hit the ground, the brigand rushed over to his opponent.
"Bollocks! How deep is the wound? Did it hit anything vital?" Chris carefully placed Alexander on his back, holding him up with both hands, "Why aren't you saying anything? Look at me! I'm here! Say something, god damn it!"
Rebecca scurried down the stairs and burst through the kitchen door at a run. “Frances! Wha’ happened? What’s happening? Why didn’t someone wake me? I heard pistol shots.”
Frances’ mouth trembled as she tried to think of something to say. Before she could come up with something, Rebecca was darting out the door and running towards the field. Frances immediately followed her with a curse. She could see both Chris’ brigands and Rebecca’s soldiers from the garrison converging on the field and knew something bad must have happened.
She prayed that Alexander was alright, but knowing that Rebecca had some feelings for Chris, she also did not want to see him hurt.
Why couldn’t men talk instead of fighting? She thought in exasperation as she tried to catch up with Rebecca.
Suddenly her mistress screamed, a loud piercing sound that had Frances bent over double and covering her ears. A scream so primal it could surely raise the dead.
“Alexander!” she wailed.
No. Frances thought in instinctive denial. Surely not. There was no way that the brigand could have defeated Alexander! She began to run forward, her heart beating like a lost bird in her breast.
He was lying on the ground, his white shirt discolored with so much blood it looked like a red shirt. The brigand was kneeling over him, a hand covering his chest. Frances collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.
Chapter Eighteen
Rebecca barely felt the first cold drops of rain splash against her bonnet. Her ears still rang from the pop of the primitive gun and her heart slammed in her chest at the sight of Alexander's body collapsed on the muddy snow. She paid no attention to her husband. Her only focus was the dark stain soaking Alexander's white sark that had seeped into the snow around him, turning the whole landscape around him into a scene from one of the many battlegrounds she had seen.
“Alexander,” she shouted, falling to her knees the damp mud soaking all the way through to the yellow muslin gown she’d thrown on when she heard the pistol shots.
His head lolled to the side as his eyes struggled to open. “Rebecca,” he gasped before wincing and falling unconscious.
“No,” she cried, gripping the lapels of his leather coat. “Alexander, ye have to wake up.”
There was shouting in the distance but all she could do was stare at the blood seeping from the bullet wound in Alexander’s chest.
“I’ve got to stop the bleeding and get ye back to the Dun Alba.” Her hands shook as she looked down at the muddied hem of her dress contemplating how to staunch the bleeding and move him. Beside her, Chris was saying something but she had no time to listen. Her brother needed her. Suddenly mud-splattered black boots, tan breeches, and black tail coat were directly in front of her, his hat long since fallen into the mud. She looked up with a raised eyebrow as he knelt by her side and examined Alexander.
“Your brother has been gravely wounded and requires immediate care.”
His words pounded the reality of her situation home. Her brother could die right here in this mud.
Trembling, she tamped down the panic threatening to consume her, reminding herself Alexander was counting on her. As her mind whirled grasping at a solution, a niggling doubt and guilt taunted her. It was only two days ago she’d stopped Alexander from harming Chris and now see, this was the result.
The fragile trust established between her and Chris, still tentative was completely broken.
How could he do this?
She could hardly bear to look at her husband. She had to fix this, couldn’t let her brother die. She needed to prove to him and to herself, that her judgment could be trusted not to be the cause of the destruction of their family, much less his life.
She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder and turned toward the man middle-aged man. “We must move him now.”
Rebecca looked into the man’s eyes and realized she had no choice. She needed help. “Are ye a sawbones?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Yes, I am. Your husband contracted me to be close by should the results of the duel go awry. Forgive me for my lack of manners but given your brother’s deteriorating physical condition…” He inclined his head.
She looked down at Alexander, now soaked by a light rain falling on the snow and mud covered earth. A shiver shook through her as her eyes lit on his pale and lifeless form.
“Please help us. I…” She paused her
mind scrambling for the right words vaguely grateful to Chris for having this contingency in place but not enough to even stand to look at him.
Her men dressed in worn trousers and long coats that had seen much wear arrived and lifted the unconscious Alexander up into an open cart. The kind gentlemen physician offered his hand and Rebecca grasped it allowing him to help her to stand. She was grateful as her now rain-sodden clothing was heavy and awkward to move in.
“Julius Frankenstein of Eastbourne, at your service.” He bowed formally as if they were meeting in his parlor rather than outside in the rain in a field dripping with the blood of her brother.
She curtsied perfunctorily, her mind still with Alexander. “Rebecca Ellis. Thank you for your help.”
“Mrs. Ellis, I am sorrier than I can say. I am certain this was not intended to end like this. I give you my word Mrs. Ellis, we shall do everything within our power to save your brother.”
Rebecca stared at him wide-eyed, unsure how to respond. Luckily, he assumed she was in shock and ushered her to a waiting covered carriage. Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself as she sat on the red velvet seat shivering as the rain pelted the outside of the carriage which ambled along the bumpy dirt road. She assumed that this must be the sawbones’s carriage since they did not have one like this. She wanted to ask him how he knew Chris, him seeming a respectable sort but refrained. It wasn’t the right time.
Mr. Frankenstein knocked on the beige leather interior of the carriage ordering the driver to make haste. He then turned to her, his face softening. “It will be alright.”
Rebecca just looked away. There was no way the doctor could guarantee that.
She stepped out of the carriage, onto a pebble-lined drive. The rain was now falling steadily as they moved Alexander inside, taking him up to the master bedroom which still had the most comfortable bed and certainly the only feather mattress in the house.
Rebecca followed the makeshift litter as they ascended the dark wooden staircase. When they reached the first floor, they crossed to the large bedchamber and her eyes were immediately drawn to the four-poster bed on which Alexander lay. Blankets were tucked up to his waist, his chest bare and pale exposing the ugly red bullet wound still oozing blood. Rebecca raised her hand to her mouth as she took in his still form and the shredded swollen flesh toward the center of his chest.
“Mrs. Ellis,” Mr. Frankenstein said by Alexander’s bedside, “I took the liberty of making your brother comfortable and cleaning his wound. It appears to be a clean shot, straight through.”
Rebecca lowered her hand and focused on her breathing. “That’s good, aye? I mean that the bullet’s not still inside of him.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellis. Clean shots are best. His recovery will depend on how serious the damage is and how well he heals.”
Rebecca walked over and sat on the bed, running her hand over Alexander’s cold, clammy forehead, her fingers running through his long auburn locks. “He’s always bragged about his superior strength.”
“We will all keep him in our prayers, ma’am,” Frances promised solemnly standing off to the side with Benjie. They had followed the cart back to the house and had not left Alexander’s side since.
Mr. Frankenstein bent over and began examining Alexander, his fingers resting on Alexander’s neck.
“Mrs. Ellis, I must ask you to step from the room whilst I examine your brother.” He looked at the maid. “Frances, attend to Mrs. Ellis. She has endured quite enough excitement and we do not desire for her to fall ill from the chill or shock.”
“But I need to stay with my brother,” Rebecca insisted.
“With respect. These matters are often of a gruesome and indelicate nature.”
Rebecca felt an angry retort at the tip of her tongue. She was no wilting flower and wanted to argue the point but it was apparent from the physician’s dismissive expression that he would question her behavior if she insisted.
She was torn.
She looked at Alexander covered with white and blue coverlets and swallowed hard.
“Mr. Frankenstein, ye will inform me at once if his condition changes,” she said slowly, clearly. “I…I can’t lose him.”
He looked up from his examinations. “Rest assured, he is in good hands. I will send word to Frances after my examination.”
Rebecca hated leaving him. Guilt waged a brutal war within her as her stomach cramped and her head pounded. She barely noticed much of anything as Frances led her to an adjoining room and undid her laces. She divested herself of her wet clothing, wondering fleetingly where Chris had taken himself off to. The warmth from the fireplace as Frances peeled the sodden clothing from her was her only relief until the maid brought her a change of clothing. She barely felt able to shiver from the cold knowing her brother was in much greater danger.
Frances vigorously rubbed her shoulders arms and legs with warmed linens until her skin had a rosier hue to it. This was followed by lacing her into white stays, petticoats, and stockings. Frances pulled a brown empire waist gown on her with delicate embroidery along the bodice and a gold ribbon tied about her waist. This was topped with a matching brown shawl.
She sat by the fire as they worked on her hair next. Staring into the flames as Frances ran a brush through her damp hair, she couldn’t stop worrying and thinking the worst. What if he died? How could she tell Emily that she was responsible for the death of her husband?
“Mr. Frankenstein is the finest physician in Eastbourne. Try not to fret, Mrs. Ellis.” Frances said.
“And how d’ye ken that?”
“I heard them say so when they summoned him. He’s a friend of yer husband’s.”
Rebecca frowned. “You heard who say so?”
Frances kept quiet, looking as if she regretted saying what she had.
“Frances?”
The maid sighed. “This morning when they were preparing to duel, Mr. Ellis said to that one they call Julius to go and get the sawbones. He said, ‘Nobody dies today, y’hear me?’” Frances shrugged aware that she had just indicted herself of eavesdropping and acknowledging that she knew it.
“He said that? Then why did he shoot my brother?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I wasn’t there.”
Rebecca nodded as she felt the maid twist her hair into a chignon and squeezed her eyes shut as Frances tied it on top of her head.
“There now, you’re all presentable again.”
A knock sounded on the door, which Frances went to open and she heard her murmuring with Benjie.
“Ma’am, Mr. Frankenstein prays you attend him to discuss Mr. MacTavish’s diagnosis.” Frances said turning back to the room and shutting the door behind her.
Rebecca felt her heart expand with the knowledge that Alexander was still alive. She pledged to have a long talk with him about fighting when he woke up. A little voice whispered inside of her: “If he wakes up.”
She rubbed at her temples forcing that voice away. Standing up, she wrapped the shawl tightly around her shoulders and held her head up high. No matter what Mr. Frankenstein told her, she would take care of Alexander. He would wake up and they would come to some resolution over what to do about Chris. Everything would be fine. With those words repeated in her mind, she followed Frances back to Alexander’s room.
She swallowed hard as she walked into the room. Her confidence ebbed as once again she was struck with the stillness of this man who she had come to expect in constant motion. She gripped her shawl like a lifeline.
“Mrs. Ellis, I have done all I can for him. He was most fortunate it was a clean shot and in an examination of the bullet, it does not appear to have fragmented. I have cleaned and bound the entry and exit wounds.”
Rebecca walked over to Alexander lying beneath the duvets, his head propped up against what seemed like every pillow in the house.
“But he’s still in danger,” she said as she gazed down at him, noticing his chest was rising and falling but he winced each time.
> “His lung was damaged. Infection is inevitable. If he develops a fever, call me and I will bleed him to help cleanse him. I cannot pretend your brother’s condition is not serious. You must prepare yourself.”
Rebecca looked at him, her eyes wide and filled with tears. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Alexander couldn’t die and not like this. She looked back down at him.
“He won’t die,” she said in a shaky voice. “I won’t let him.”
“I have asked Frances to keep you supplied with fresh linens and water. Keep watch and send for me if he worsens.”
Rebecca looked over at him, worry clearly etched on her face. “Thank you, Mr. Frankenstein.”
“Trust in God, my dear Mrs. Ellis.”