The Highlander’s English Woman (The Stelton Legacy)

by Ruth A. Casie

  “Fire,” he yelled and pulled the bolt. It didn’t budge. He ran into the kitchen and searched for anything he could use. A mallet, used for setting stones, leaned against the wall. He grabbed it along with a bucket of water that sat on the table and rushed back to the pantry door.

  He pounded the bolt until it released. With great care, he opened the door. Overwhelmed by smoke, he covered his mouth with his shirtsleeve and stepped into the room.

  Billows of smoke rushed at him from the back of the room. Laura must have left the lantern. No one else could get in here, he reasoned. She was the only one with the key. He’d get the fire under control then search for her. She must be off speaking to someone about Evan or Angel. Yes, that’s what she doing.

  He raised the bucket to dowse the fire, but stopped upon seeing an outstretched hand on the floor.

  Laura.

  He threw the water into the smoldering embers. Quickly, he picked her up and carried her into the courtyard. Fresh air. She needed fresh air. Oliver and soldiers rushed past him in such haste that water from their buckets sloshed and created a small stream from the trough in the courtyard to the pantry.

  He held her in his lap and pulled her hair away from her face. Black soot edged Laura’s lips. A fine powder mixed with soot rimmed her nose. He tore her petticoat, ripping off a strip of linen. Gently he cleaned off the soot, then shook her face.

  “Laura,” he said, straining to keep his tone even, controlled. She didn’t answer. He cursed. The thought of her being harmed turned his anger into a scalding fury.

  Her eyelids twitched, but didn’t open. He bent close, then sat back. His left brow arched a fraction. Was that whiskey he smelled on her breath? He leaned close again. Had she fallen into a drunken stupor and neglected the lantern?

  “Laura. Open your eyes,” he demanded.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Jamie?”

  He breathed again. He could hardly hear her through her choked and hoarse voice. She tried to sit up, but was overcome with a coughing spasm.

  “Stay still.” He held her back.

  “Fire’s out. Someone had their wits about them and spread salt to dowse the flames.” Mrs. Turner came up next to him.

  Glistening crystal specks on Laura’s skirt caught his attention. “Salt?” Jamie asked Laura.

  “From the pantry barrel,” Laura said between coughs.

  Mrs. Turner took cloth from Jamie and gently removed soot around Laura’s eyes. As she worked, her expression darkened.

  “Deadly nightshade,” she whispered. “I can see the signs in her eyes.”

  The housekeeper stared at Jamie, then rushed toward the kitchen, pushing Oliver and his men out of her way.

  Poison. His chest heaved. Who would dare? Alarm and anger rippled up his spine. His head throbbed with a dull deafening beat. He took deep breaths, one, then another as he fought to keep the berserker within him buried deep. There would be plenty of time for him to let him loose once Laura recovered.

  Mrs. Turner ran from the kitchen carrying a cup of whiskey.

  “This is strong. Drink slowly.” The housekeeper knelt beside them and held the cup. Laura pushed the cup away.

  “No, no more,” she said.

  “A little more. There isn’t much left,” Mrs. Turner said. “Lord Herbert’s wife uses deadly nightshade to brighten her eyes. I keep whiskey, an antidote close by in case she uses too much.”

  “That explains the vial we found in the pantry. Lord Herbert identified the bottle. How deadly nightshade got into it puzzled us both.”

  Laura’s cough came in spurts and her ashen face turned pink. Mrs. Turner rose, a look of satisfaction on her face.

  “She’ll recover,” Mrs. Turner said.

  “How did you get locked in the pantry?” Jamie asked.

  “It’s the ghost, I tell you,” Mrs. Turner said.

  “No,” Laura said. “He knew where to find Herbert’s whiskey. He gave me a sip before I fell unconscious.”

  “I’m sure The Maxwell will be happy to learn that his whiskey is safe. Right now, I want to know what happened to you in the pantry.” He struggled to keep calm. His anger diminished somewhat when she looked up at him with a warm smile. Her trust humbled him and wore away some of his rage. At the moment, his arms ached to hold her close and keep her safe.

  “Someone came into the room.” She turned to Mrs. Turner. “I thought Mary, you, or Jamie, had come to help me. I couldn’t see in the dim light. I was attacked from behind. I never saw him. He grabbed my hair and held a cloth over my face. I struggled and pulled at his hand. When I lost my footing, I turned over the lantern. That’s what started the fire.”

  Oliver came into the courtyard. “I found this on the floor.” He held out a smelly, sooty linen.

  Jamie took the rag from him. He brought the cloth to his nose to discern the odor. Rotten eggs. His head snapped back is if someone slapped him.

  “This must be what he held over your face. Did the attacker say anything? Did you see anything? His hand? His clothes?”

  “No. The room was dim. I caught a glimpse of him when he stood in doorway. The glare behind him made it impossible to see more than a silhouette before he shut and locked the door.”

  “You’re sure the silhouette was a man?”

  “Strong hands held me and the shadow wore pants.”

  “Jamie, the castle gates have been closed for some time. Whoever attacked Lady Laura is still here,” Oliver said. “I’ll take a group of men and search for the intruder.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll join you when I’m done.”

  Oliver hurried off.

  “Mrs. Turner, take Laura to her room and stay with her.” He held up his hand to ward off Laura’s argument. “I need to know you’re safe while I work with Oliver. Besides, someone should be with you until we’re sure the effects of poison are gone.”

  “I’m fine. Really. I can help you.” She rose on wobbly legs. Jamie grabbed her before she fell.

  “I’ll tell you everything, but I need you to be safe.” He held her in his arms. “Go with Mrs. Turner,” he said softly.

  She grabbed Jamie’s sleeve. “Don’t let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

  His hand caressed her face. Her eyes closed at his touch.

  “I can bear anything, but something happening to you,” she whispered.

  “I will do as you command, lass. I will always do as you command.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “Come with me,” Mrs. Turner said. “I’ll get you cleaned up and comfortable. Whiskey helps, but you need rest. You gave me a fright.” Mrs. Turner took Laura by the arm.

  “I gave me a fright,” she mumbled

  “Before you leave.” Laura and Mrs. Turner stopped. “Did you find anything in the room?” Jamie asked.

  “Only this. The intruder tried to take it from me.” She opened her hand.

  Jamie unwrapped the pin from the rag. He stared at the brooch with the black gem in its center, then handed the jewel to Laura. He thought nothing of the jewel’s wrapper at first until he spread open the cloth.

  Laura gasped. In the center was a bloody handprint. The little finger on the left hand was crooked.

  Chapter Eight

  Laura either buried under blankets to get warm or threw them off to cool down. Evan. She needed to get out of bed and help him. She tried to sit up several times only to be encouraged back onto the pillows and falling into another fitful sleep.

  Faces loomed before her: the innkeeper’s wife’s treacherous glare, Mrs. Turner’s watchful eye, Bryce’s scowl, her Mother’s concern, and Sonia’s anxious expression. She didn’t have strength to speak to them. Instead, she closed her eyes tight and waited for them to leave her alone.

  The touch of a cloth cooled her forehead, a trickle of water eased her parched throat, and a soothing baritone spoke to her even though she couldn’t make out words. His gentleness calmed her and at last she fell into a restful asleep.

  The thu
d of a falling log in the hearth startled her awake. The fire was the only source of light in the room. Groggy, she took a deep breath, then screwed up her nose at the nauseating odor of rotten eggs.

  An unusual misty haze gathered by her door. She lifted onto her elbows and tried to focus. Laura was mesmerized by the moving mist, Evan’s ghost slowly took form.

  Her heart broke. She had nothing new to tell him. The poor boy was different today, a troubled expression about his eyes screamed urgency.

  “I don’t know what to do. We’ve spoken to everyone.”

  He didn’t move. Did he understand? He started to fade.

  “Don’t go. There must be something more we need. I vow I won’t give up until I know who murdered you and Angel.” Tired and weak, she collapsed back onto the bed. Breathing hard, she turned toward him.

  He shook his head. With a soft smile, he tapped his head with his forefinger.

  “Think. What do you suppose we’ve been doing?” she said through a moan.

  He grew larger. Or had he stepped forward? He tapped his head more insistently.

  “Think?” She tried to sit up, but couldn’t muster the strength. “Are you telling me we don’t need any more information? We have all the information we need?”

  He nodded, then faded away.

  “Wait, I didn’t thank you for the whiskey.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Her eyes too heavy to stay open, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Laura opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Sunlight filtered in between partially closed curtains. She blinked to focus and struggled to make out wood beams on the coffered ceiling. She concentrated for several more minutes to remove the cobwebs from her head. She stretched, rolled onto her side, and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. Her arms braced behind her, she sat on the edge of the bed. The room spun until she thought she would faint. Deep breaths helped. The spinning slowed and finally stopped. There was no time to put up with this inconvenience. Looking at shadows against the wall, she estimated it was late morning. Only a peek out the window would confirm her suspicion.

  With great determination, she rose on wobbly legs. She grabbed onto the bed post for balance. Work. Damn you. She reached for the back of a nearby chair. From there, she slid her feet along. She looked from side to side searching for something to grasp. Nothing. If she wanted to reach the window she had to cross the floor without support.

  “Straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath,” she said. “Yes. Now step toward the window.”

  The tips of her fingers strained to remain on the back of the chair. Another step. Good. She was steadier.

  “Don’t get over confident, you’re not there yet.” She removed her hand and took another step.

  Her legs started to wobble. Don’t panic. One foot in front of the other. She dragged her foot and moved one step farther. She reached out for the wall. She wiggled her fingers as if that would make the wall closer. Almost there. Again.

  Her legs more steady, she took one more step and reached the wall. She took a breath, pleased with her accomplishment. She peeled back the curtain and leaned her forehead against the cold pane. After a few steadying breaths, she looked out at the activity. Her head cleared. The tremors in her legs eased. People rushed about the bailey. The sky was clear, the sun past its high point. She had slept the morning away.

  She made her way to the chair with almost no difficulty. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Fragments of her dream about Evan surfaced. His sense of urgency made her anxious. He must sense time slipping away.

  Sitting here was a waste of time. Best she dress and start her day.

  “Lady Laura. You’re awake.” Mrs. Turner came in carrying a basin of fresh water. “Should I call for a bath?”

  “No, I’ll wash up and dress. Where’s Lord Jamie?”

  “He’s in the solar. He’ll be glad you’re awake.”

  She washed while Mrs. Turner took out her clothes.

  “We didn’t expect you to be out of bed so soon after such a fever and sleeping so long.”

  “A fever?” She washed and put on her chemise and hose. She was familiar with fevers. Jamie wouldn’t be concerned unless the fever was serious.

  “Yes, after the effects of the poison was gone.” Mrs. Turner helped her on with her dress. She held on to the back of a chair for support and slipped on her shoes.

  “How long did I sleep?” Her mind spun trying to grasp what was happening. She waited for Mrs. Turner’s answer.

  “Three days.” Mrs. Turner straightened the back of her skirt.

  Laura whipped around. “But—”

  “Let me finish.” Mrs. Turner spun her around, draped her shoulders with her wool, and kept it in place with a black gem from the table. “There. You’re ready. I suspect you’re hungry. I’ll bring you some fresh chamomile tea and bread with honey. It’s in the solar.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll join Lord Jamie.” She’d wasted three days. Hopefully Jamie had some success.

  She made her way from her room into the solar with Mrs. Turner. Jamie was at the table. He raised his head and stood.

  “Laura. You appear well this morning.” He stood as she entered.

  Jamie, on the other hand, didn’t look his usual self. Dark patches circled his eyes and he moved a bit slower.

  “Did you find Evan and Angel’s murderer? Why did you let me sleep so long? Three days.” How many days since they left Glen Kirk? She concentrated, forcing her sluggish mind to function. A jolt of realization struck her. “We must find our answer before... midnight tonight.”

  “First, no, we didn’t find your attacker.” He counted his fingers as he went through a list. “Second, you obviously needed your rest or you would have woken sooner. Third, I’ve looked at everyone’s hand these last three days and did not find one with a broken finger on the left hand. And fourth, Evan’s ghost will wait.”

  Laura walked to the window. His first three items were upsetting, but she quickly put that those aside. That didn’t mean she would give up. The fourth item, Evan’s ghost, was another issue. She had no right to be disappointed Jamie could easily put Evan aside. She could not.

  Mrs. Turner whispered in her ear. “We kept you awake until the effects of the poison had worn off, but when the fever started, Lord Jamie stayed by your side. He wouldn’t let anyone near you, not even me.”

  Mrs. Turner poured her a cup of tea, then left the room.

  He gave nothing away in his stance or expression. He handed Laura her cup.

  “We interviewed everyone. No one gave us any information that could help find your attacker. The castle gate closed after we found you. Your attacker no doubt fled to the village.”

  “I wouldn’t let anyone near you. You were too vulnerable. The only way I could keep you safe was to stay with you myself. Oliver made sure there was no mention of an attack, only that there was a fire and you tried to dowse it. Many already blame the ghost. The last thing we need is a rumor the ghost is attacking people. It would start an uproar and put Evan’s family in the middle.” He ran his hand through his hair. “We need to resolve this before Herbert returns. Once he’s back, he’ll be in danger, too.”

  She stirred her tea, stepped to the window and peered out. Her spoon clattered onto the saucer.

  “The tinker.” She spun toward him. “He’s returned. Did you speak to him?” She sipped the warm liquid. She breathed in the earthy, daisy-like fragrance of the tea. A sip of the sweet flowery liquid soothed her throat and warmed her.

  “I had other things on my mind.” Jamie shook his head and stared at her with guilty eyes. “I never should have left you alone. What would I tell Darla and Wesley?”

  Is that what drove him to protect her? Was she nothing more than an obligation? She had hoped... She swallowed around a knot in her throat and pushed the thought down.

  “It was as much my fault,” she said. A wave of nausea hit her. Not from the poison. That was long
gone. One deep breath, then another calmed her stomach as much as her thoughts. Childish dreams of Jamie flew away and left her empty. “If we spend time placing blame, we’ll never move forward.”

  She put the tea on a nearby table and headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’ve no more time. I’ll speak to Holger.” She turned too fast and stumbled. Jamie rushed to her side and caught her.

  “Are you sure you’re recovered?”

  Laura pushed away from him.

  She needed to be as far away from him or she’d look like a fool. Stretching to straighten her back, she brushed imaginary wrinkles out of her skirt.

  “Yes. I’ll be fine. When you report to my family, you can report I’m quite well.” Laura gathered her pride, glad she hadn’t made a fool of herself and turned to make a quick escape.

  His arm shot out in front of her, braced against the window jamb and barring her way. She struggled to fill her lungs with air and tried to object. His closeness, so close she could see the vein pulse in his temple, unnerved her. She made the mistake of looking up. Her breath caught. She stared into his eyes, dark green and filled with passion.

  “I’m not concerned about your family. I’m concerned about you. Have you any idea how I worried? I thought I lost you. I won’t let that happen again.”

  His nearness made her senses spin. She closed her eyes and savored his words. She was back riding tandem with him racing away from the reiver. The fright and exhilaration when they flew over the hedgerow surged through her, but this time, the sensation nestled warm between her legs.

  Jamie bent close. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She didn’t want to.

  He covered her mouth with his and captured her lips in a passionate possession. Heat swept away any remnants of doubt. Her only thought, to be in his arms.

  Her heart thumped wildly and echoed in her head. His kiss was surprisingly gentle. His hands slid up her arms, then brought her closer. She arched against him. The feel of his hard body against her made her step closer until she didn’t know where she stopped and he began. Strong arms tightened around her. Lost in his kiss, her heart raced faster.