Rupert called loudly for Duncan without any result.
Then he handed the reins to Celina, climbed down from the trap and hammered on the door, shouting for it to be opened.
Celina’s sensation of disaster was by now so strong she felt sick.
Rupert came back to the trap looking very worried.
“I fear that your feelings of something being wrong are well founded. I am going round to the postern gate to see if I can get in there. Can you hold the horse and trap?”
Celina nodded, her head still throbbed horribly and she could not speak.
She watched him disappear through the rain and then she looked up at the walls. She could hear no sound from inside and her dread of what had happened here grew.
Eventually the gates in front of her creaked open.
She drove through and the gates were immediately closed behind her.
She drew the horse to a halt, then stared aghast at the sight that met her.
All over the courtyard was strewn a mess of broken furniture, pictures, papers, books, beds, pots and pans.
“What has happened?” she screamed.
“That is what I intend to find out,” Rupert replied grimly, as he helped Celina down from the trap.
As they stood contemplating the indescribable wreckage, Celina heard a weak cry.
“It’s coming from the kitchen,” she gasped.
There was just enough light for them to see Duncan lying on the floor, his face a bloody mess and one of his legs sticking out at an odd angle.
Celina threw herself down beside him.
His eyes were half open and he gave another groan.
“Mistress Stirling,” he moaned, “they came for us.”
“Ssh,” she soothed him. “Hush, everything will be all right now. Lord Fitzalan is here.”
She looked up at Rupert, standing frustrated beside her,
“Can you find something to put some water in and a cloth so I can clean away the blood? And bring my bag from the trap, please”
Rupert ran back outside.
She had already seen that there was nothing left in the kitchen. All the utensils Duncan had used for cooking had gone, so had the table and chairs. The only piece of furniture left was the stove and blessedly a faint heat came from it and the coals were still just alight.
Celina felt Duncan’s hand and took his pulse and it was rapid but strong. She felt gently round his scalp and instantly identified a nasty wound.
As her fingers explored his head, she had a sudden vivid picture of Rupert doing the same to her as she lay unconscious after falling off the staircase.
The image caused a sudden painful contraction in her breast.
Celina pushed the sensation away.
This was no time to dwell on her own feelings.
She tried to straighten his leg, but Duncan cried out, his eyes opening wide and his pupils rolling up so that all she could see were the whites.
She abandoned moving his leg for the moment.
Rupert came back carrying a bowl, an old curtain and her bag.
She took out the candles and gave them to him to light, and she filled the bowl with water from the kitchen pump and then she used the skean dhu to tear pieces off the curtain and started to clean the blood from Duncan’s face.
“I think his leg is broken,” she said. “It pains him too much for me to straighten it, but it has to be done, then it needs to be tied to a splint.”
Rupert began to scout around in the kitchen and the scullery, checking what damage had been done.
Suddenly he gave a cry of triumph.
“Look what I have found!”
He appeared bearing a battered leather bottle and then found some horn drinking mugs.
“This is extremely fine whisky,” he called, pouring it into one of the mugs. “Now, Duncan, this will make you feel much, much better.”
He knelt on the floor, carefully lifted his retainer’s head and put the mug to his lips.
“Sip this, my friend,” he urged, holding the utensil until Duncan had swallowed at least half its contents.
Then he laid him back on the floor.
“I’ll go and find something to make a splint and try to bring in some sort of a bed,” he suggested.
Celina blessed the fact that he, Rupert, was not only intelligent but also full of resource.
While she had finished cleaning Duncan’s wound, a chair leg was produced to act as a splint and then a bed was dragged in and a small pile of books found to prop it up.
The range was supplied with wood and the embers revived and the kitchen began to gather some heat.
Rupert poured out another mug of whisky.
“Now, I’m sure you’d like just a wee dram more of this, Duncan,” he counselled, again kneeling and holding it to his lips.
This time, when Duncan was returned to the floor, he closed his eyes and gave a gentle snore.
“Now I think it’s the right time,” cried out Rupert. “Thank Heavens for the Highlander’s kilt!”
Celina gave a most unladylike giggle, but knew that Duncan would have hated the thought of his nether regions being exposed.
“You hold his thigh, Celina, while I straighten the lower part.”
Celina gritted her teeth, drew the kilt halfway up his thigh and held it tightly.
Then she saw there was a large gash above his knee and it was bleeding.
Duncan’s eyes flew open and he screeched in pain as his lower leg was pulled into its usual position and then collapsed into unconsciousness.
“Best thing that could happen,” muttered Rupert, using the old curtain to bind the leg to the makeshift splint.
“There’s a bullet in his thigh,” exclaimed Celina, sponging the blood away. “I’ll need your knife again, my Lord, to cut a bandage.”
He handed her the skean dhu.
Without a second’s hesitation she lifted up her skirt and sliced into her petticoat, tearing off a large strip to bind Duncan’s wound.
“That’s the very devil. I beg your pardon, Mistress Stirling. You have done a superb job, but that bullet needs to be removed. I wonder if there’s a doctor around here.”
Celina looked down at the unconscious Duncan.
“We need to supply him with some sort of mattress and bedclothes.”
There was just enough light left to enable them to see what they were doing in the courtyard.
They then found a mattress that was almost dry and some bedclothes that had escaped the worst of the rain and together they took them into the kitchen.
“We’d better dry the wet blankets by the fire,” she advised, as Rupert gently lifted Duncan onto the bed.
He was so compassionate and tender, she reflected.
Here was someone who showed proper respect for a retainer. Neither her Uncle Robert nor Hamish had ever considered the feelings or wellbeing of their servants.
Rupert looked down at the injured man and then he turned,
“I must now go and see what has happened to the horses and stable Jessie. She has waited too long for her supper and I must try and find a doctor. I think Walt, the stable boy, must have run away.”
Celina checked Duncan’s condition and decided he was doing as well as could be expected.
She returned to the courtyard and, feeling like some kind of scavenger, sorted through the wreckage.
There were iron pots and pans that were still usable and she found a few vegetables and tins of beans. She took them inside and put a large saucepan of water on the fire to heat.
The kitchen table was still in one piece and Celina managed to drag it into the kitchen and then she went back and found two usable chairs.
The rain had stopped, but her clothes were wet and uncomfortable and she felt thoroughly chilled.
The range was now roaring away and the kitchen was nicely warm.
Duncan, however, was snoring in a way that worried Celina. Could it be delayed concussion? He surely could not have had enoug
h whisky to make him that drunk.
Moving quietly, she prepared and chopped up some vegetables and managed to open a couple of tins of beans. She placed it all in one of the pans, added some hot water and put it on the stove.
Rupert came in, leading a young lad by the ear.
“This is Walt. He must have a tale to tell, if only he can be persuaded to speak.”
“Where was he?”
“In the stables hiding behind a cask. Our visitors seem to have overlooked that area entirely. Both Molly and Prince are fine, thank Heavens.”
Celina sat down and held out her hands to the boy.
“Come and sit down, Walt.”
The boy looked up at Rupert, who nodded his head and held out the second chair.
Once he was settled, Celina asked him
“Why did you not come out when we arrived?”
The lad took a deep breath and drew the back of his hand across his nose.
“I was very afeard – Mistress,” he finally admitted, gulping his words.
He could be no more than thirteen or so, small with hair like straw and a snub nose.
Rupert took a look at Duncan, then poured whisky into one of the horn mugs and offered it to Celina.
She shook her head and he stood leaning against the wall beside the range, sipping at his mug.
“Well, Walt, there is no need to be afraid now, so please, tell us what happened today. You understand that we are very very upset at what has occurred here?”
Walt gulped again.
He looked from Celina to Rupert, who said nothing, as Celina smiled gently at him.
“They came – in the mornin’,” he mumbled finally.
“Who came?”
It took a little time, but eventually she coaxed the story from him – and rather wished she had not.
From his description of the team of marauders, and there was no other word for them, it seemed to have been her Uncle Robert and Hamish, accompanied by several of their retainers, who had swept right into the courtyard by the postern gate.
“I forgot – to lock it,” the wretched Walt confessed.
Duncan had come running out with his blunderbuss but, before he could fire, he had been first shot in the leg and then swiped with a broadsword.
He had fallen and crawled into the kitchen.
Celina, her heart nearly breaking, thought that he must have expected to die there on the floor.
Then the invaders had swarmed into the Castle.
As they had rampaged through room after room, not finding what they were seeking and frustrated beyond measure, they had thrown everything they could find into the courtyard.
“They cursed a lot,” said Walt. “I was hidin’ in the stables, but I could see what they was – up to and I heard them shout, ‘the Yankee must of found it. No doubt with that devil of our kinswoman.’ That’s what they said,” he added nervously with a look at Celina. “Then they was off to find the Laird and you, Mistress.”
She sank into the chair, the horror of the situation sweeping over her. Was there no limit to the damage her relations were willing to inflict on Lord Fitzalan?
She felt a deep sense of shame.
“Well, Walt,” came in Rupert, “it was just as well you hid in the stables. Do you know where a doctor is to be found?”
Walt looked up eagerly and nodded his head.
“Aye, my Lord.”
“Then you take Molly and go and fetch him. And tell the doctor that we have no idea who has inflicted these injuries on Duncan – off you go – he is depending on you.”
The lad cast a look at Duncan and was gone.
Celina rose and went to the stove.
“I’ve tried to make a sort of vegetable stew. I don’t know about you, my Lord, but I’m feeling hungry, as it’s been ages since we had our picnic lunch.”
“My word, so am I.”
Wooden bowls were retrieved from the courtyard and rinsed out and then Celina filled them with her stew.
Rupert ate several spoonfuls before he exclaimed,
“This is food for the Gods, Mistress Stirling. You are not only a delightful companion, you cook as well!”
He continued to eat with every appearance of deep enjoyment.
Celina felt an exquisite warmth running through her body at his appreciation.
What a strange situation this was, she was thinking, looking first at the unconscious wounded retainer snoring on his bed, then at Rupert, eating her simple vegetable stew with as much joy as if it was the finest haute cuisine.
Then deep shame came over her as she remembered exactly what had been done to his Castle.
“I have to apologise for the way my relations have – ravaged your home,” she blurted out.
“Which of us humans can choose our relations?” he answered her lightly. “We can, though, choose our friends and I hope very much that you can be mine. I am certainly yours and I have so much to thank you for – ”
Celina felt tears prick at her eyes.
How could he be so generous to her?
Yet she recognised that the closeness she had felt between them on the drive from the tower had disappeared.
A thought suddenly came to her.
“What have you done with the chalice, my Lord?”
He smiled at her.
“I have hidden it in the stable bran tub, still inside the satchel. Tomorrow morning I must search through all that debris to see if I can find the book with the family tree. We must discover exactly how the inheritance goes from generation to generation.”
Celina nodded.
Until that line was firmly established, the feud over the ownership of the chalice would continue. She was very much afraid however that it belonged to her Uncle Robert.
Which was yet another reason as to why any sort of relationship between her and Rupert must be doomed.
“Now I must find you a bed for the night,” he said. “By rights you should be restored to Lady Bruce, but I just cannot see how that can be achieved.”
Celina shook her head.
“I would not like to leave Duncan until a doctor has seen him.”
A further search of the courtyard produced another bed.
Rupert dragged it into a reception room, then found a reasonably dry mattress, bed linen and a feather coverlet.
He lit a fire in the salon, set all the bedding around it to warm, then once more went back to the courtyard.
He came into the kitchen with an armful of clothes.
“They threw a whole wardrobe down and look what it contained!”
He spread out a selection of garments. They were old-fashioned and smelled of mothballs but they were dry.
“I think these clothes belonged to my grandmother, but I hope you may be able to make use of them. Alas, my luggage has been scattered and all my clothes are ruined. However, I have found this old kilt – it must have been my grandfather’s.”
She recognised the Fitzalan tartan.
“And it’s dry too?” she asked.
“It is and it was in a chest with some other useful items. We can both change out of our damp clothes.”
Celina was overjoyed.
She chose the first gown that came to hand from the pile and some undergarments before retiring to the reception room.
When she returned to the kitchen, enjoying feeling dry at last, Rupert looked startled.
“Forgive me but you look so like my grandmother,” he cried. “Her hair was not your gorgeous red, but in the portrait that hangs upstairs, at least it used to hang upstairs, but I am afraid it’s one of the casualties in the courtyard now, she wears a dress so very like that one and she carries herself as you do.”
Celina had given no thought as to the attractiveness of the garments she had chosen. Now she looked down at the green velvet of her gown and was grateful that she had inadvertently chosen it.
“What do you think of my outfit?” Rupert asked, striking a pose.
Celina was stunned
at his appearance.
He looked almost unrecognisable. Gone was the sophisticated American in his three-piece suit.
In his place stood a Highland Clan Chief in kilt and velvet jacket worn with a linen shirt. His shoulders were not as broad as those of Hamish, but his legs were every bit as good – strong and muscular.
“Welcome, Lord Fitzalan,” she smiled. “You have entered into your Highland heritage!”
He gave a sheepish smile.
“I have been wondering if I should acquire a kilt, but I was afraid I might let my grandfather’s ghost down if I don’t have the knees!”
“You have the knees,” she assured him gravely.
They stood for a moment gazing at each other.
Then there was a knock on the door and the doctor entered.
He accepted the chaos all around him remarkably calmly and he questioned them closely about the treatment they had given Duncan and then he inspected the patient.
Finally he spoke up,
“I compliment you, Miss Stirling, on the way you have dealt with matters. Duncan, here, is fortunate to have had your services. Now, I will remove the bullet from his thigh. You have hot water? Excellent. Be so good as to attend me please.”
The bullet was efficiently removed.
Then the wound was cleaned and bound up with a bandage the doctor produced from his case.
At the end of the procedure, he enquired,
“You have no idea who it was who inflicted these horrendous injuries?”
Rupert shook his head.
“Unfortunately not.”
The doctor gave him an old fashioned look.
“I hope that we are not returning to the old days of feuds between the Clans!”
“I have recently returned from America to claim my inheritance. I know nothing about Clan feuds.”
“I see.”
The doctor eyed his kilt.
“Well, as to your patient, try to get him to drink some water and keep him warm. I’ll call again tomorrow and hope by then that he will have regained consciousness. I commend your nursing skills, Miss Stirling.”
After the doctor left, Rupert insisted Celina retire.
“I will be with Duncan in case he needs anything.”
Celina cleaned her face and her teeth as well as she could by the pump and retired to her makeshift bed.
She lay there hypnotised by the flickering shadows the fire threw on the walls and ceiling.
The Revelation is Love Page 11