by Fiona Faris
Her hands were in repose, no longer flailing over him as she watched. All his courage, his unfettered daring, would surely be the death of him one day. It wasn’t safe for him to harbor an infinite supply of valor. If he was only just a bit afraid for himself, he might be more cautious in his actions. But if he had, they would have never met, and she was not willing to give up Ethan; as ferocious a Scotsman she had ever heard of. It made shivers run down her spine sometimes just to look at him.
As long as Georgiana lived, she was ready to stand beside her husband as his strength and shield, refusing to let anything happen to him.
Georgiana would die for him if she had to… as she knew he would die for her, protecting her.
Forcing herself to look away, she removed Ethan’s hand from the water and began to clean the scrapes on his knuckles, careful to minimize the pain.
“Let me know if I'm hurting you too much.”
“Ye canna ever hurt me. I dinna feel anything, but ye’re gentle hands on me, healing me.”
Her hands stuttered in their work, as her heartbeat did the same, throat pulsing as she tried to swallow the lump that had formed there, her fingertips squeezing Ethan’s fist to regain composure. If it were possible, she would have screamed. Her emotions had been out of control for some time, a phenomenon the doctor had assured her was common in pregnancy. Nevertheless, nobody could make her come undone like Ethan.
As she worked to make sure he did not get infected or bleed to death, she couldn’t help but notice scars. Evidence of Ethan’s tumultuous past, one that was shaded with immeasurable pain. He had not spoken much of it, but the long hours of back-breaking labor for minimal return, the hunger, beatings from his stepbrother, and others who regarded him less than…all of it was written in his skin.
Ethan was as much in mortal danger as she was. There was a target on his back, and next time, his stepbrother might not miss. Their world was far from safe. Why did he not seem to understand this?
“We have to find a way out of this,” she said as she worked on the grooves scratched into Ethan’s knuckles, her voice soft and breathy.
“Aye, we will.”
“What if we don’t? We’re about to have a child. I cannot lose you,” she stated, firmly but fearfully.
She felt his defensiveness. “I can protect ye and myself, Georgie, dinna fash.”
“I know you can, but I am scared. You’re not invincible. Your brother is clearly unafraid of hurting you, and that makes him extremely dangerous.”
“Ah’m nae helpless, Georgiana,” Ethan declared, and Georgiana felt her eyelids descend in fatigue.
“No, you’re not. But flesh is nothing against the barrel of a pistol or both ends of a knife. You’re a man, and men get hurt.”
Stubbornly, Ethan went silent, jaw rigidly sharp and teeth grinding so hard that Georgiana could hear them.
“The world is a cruel place, you know this. And I'm not going to mother you, this is just a warning. You’re old enough to know when to back down and when to stand up. All I ask- all I want you to promise me is that you’ll never end up in dire straits. Please, it’s all I want.” She gave him a look of love, but he would not meet her eyes. “Ethan,” she insisted.
“I hear ye,” Ethan nodded grimly even as his jaw unclenched to release the tightly woven words. “All righ’.”
Her hands enveloped Ethan’s large fingers, stroking his skin. She swallowed and searched his eyes, desperate now. Her eyebrows furrowed as her lips turned downwards.
“Promise me.”
“O’ course I do. Whatever ye want.”
Their gazes met and held for a moment before Ethan looked away. Georgiana suspected he was not quite as honest as he usually was. There’s not a deceptive bone in his body, Georgiana thought, honesty is the only language he speaks, whether in words or actions.
“I said promise.”
“Heavens, Georgiana, I promise. I’ll be more careful,” he said, exasperated, and tried to move away from Georgiana’s grasp, wanting solace, not scrutiny.
Georgiana didn’t enjoy these conversations any more than he did. She did it because she loved him
“Thank you,” she said eventually, eyes dropping away from Ethan’s face and trailing to his knuckles, resuming her work.
She would rather Ethan be angry at her than dead, and that’s what she continued to say for the next three days while he suffered through a fever, pain so intense he could not sleep, and yet remained stubborn in the face of her suggestion that they refrain from engaging with his family. He’d come around soon, Georgiana reasoned.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Lady Buchanan!”
Georgiana turned as slowly as she could away from the rug she was beating, dragging out the last few moments before being summoned inside. For weeks she had been attacking any task that took her out of the house with particular fervor- examining fruits and vegetables at the markets with careful attention before making her selections, washing the windows until they were near invisible, sweeping the front step like the King himself might be stopping by. All to gain respite from watching her husband in pain and dealing with her own emotions.
“Lady Buchanan.” It was one of the maids’ older girls, either Ùna or Maisie or Iseabail. She tried her best to keep them straight, but she had been introduced to so many of her maids’ family members since she arrived, it was difficult to keep up. They all seemed to be red-haired, freckled, wide-eyed creatures in the same hand me down gowns.
“There’s a man in the courtyard asking for ye.” She had her arms crossed over her chest, and at this, pushed her hands a little deeper into her armpits. Georgiana caught a glimpse of sunlight on a coin before it was tucked away.
“Thank you…er, young lady,” Georgiana added, glancing toward the house before hurrying away.
“Maisie,” the girl called after her, in the tone of someone well used to the exchange.
* * *
A peculiar mix of disappointment and relief washed through her when she caught the familiar blue and white checked tartan of Fergus. For a moment she thought that perhaps Ethan had ventured out and was desirous to see her.
“Lady Buchanan,” he said, inclining his head, then more warmly, “Georgiana.”
“Fergus, what brings you – and your coin – out today?”
He shrugged. “I have just returned from scouting the Daltern neighborhood, and the thought came to me that I have not inquired how ye fare. It canna be easy for ye to have gone through what ye did, with Ethan.”
She spread her hands out at her sides. “As you can see, I’m quite well.”
“Well enough to walk with me a while?”
She hesitated for a moment, but if she was honest, just a few moments chatting with him had made her feel lighter than she had in a while.
“Where are we going?” she asked, taking his arm.
“Let’s walk down by the loch where it’s quiet and peaceful.”
At her sidelong glance, he guffawed. “Not that kind of quiet. Here.” He pulled a small, non-descript knife from his pocket and laid it on the forearm she was holding, the sheathed blade toward himself so she could grab the handle. “I thought, with a bit of practice, we could make sure that should Lachie and his father return and try to kidnap ye, they’ll regret it even faster than Lachie did last time.”
“I’m hardly planning to get kidnapped, Fergus.”
“O’ course not. Ye’re going to stay home and fold linen and silk, bring up yer bairns and stay oot o’ th’ action for the rest of yer life.”
She made a face, but he was right. “Perhaps. But I’m hardly helpless.”
“O’ course not,” he added quickly. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I’m not a fighter. You know that?”
Fergus waved a hand. “Details. Ethan isn’t an actual fighter either. He’s just a man defending what’s his.”
“So, you’re what? Making me your apprentice?”
“O
ch, I like that,” he grinned and gestured to the loch.
As he’d suggested, it was out of the way and reasonably private, but also vast and empty. It would be an excellent place to practice without feeling a fool even though the loch did not exactly have good memories for her.
“Where shall we begin?” she asked, holding the little knife up to examine it. It was simple and functional, as most of the things Fergus owned were. She wasn’t sure she could ever use such a weapon in battle, but she could understand that it was better to have the knowledge than not and wondered what Ethan would have to say about it when she told him. She imagined it would include a lot of outraged ranting and fear-filled raving.
Almost smiling, she turned back to Fergus.
“Tae start, we need to ken where ye’ll be pulling it from. Where do ye intend to hide it?”
She weighed it in her hand, considering. It was a little large to be tucked into her corset, but she could hardly go about with it hanging from her belt. “Here?” she suggested, pointing to a pocket at her waist.
“Not bad, although I’d recommend putting another pocket in here.” He twitched the fabric of her skirt a few inches below her hip, about where her hand would hit when her arms were by her sides. “If ye hide it away somewhere too high up, yer opponent is going tae see yer arm come up to grab it. Ye want it in yer hand afore he e’en realizes ye have it.”
She let the hand holding the knife fall to her side, and mimed pulling it out of a hidden pocket a few times.
“Now.” He beckoned to her. “Ah’m going tae come at ye. Ye try to stop me from dragging ye back to my lair to twirl my mustache and tell ye all aboot my plans to overthrow the crown.”
He lunged at her, and she swung out with the still sheathed knife. He knocked her wrist to the side like it weighed nothing.
“What’s the point of this?” She complained. “You’re clearly too much of a fighter for me to take you on.”
“Ye canna assume yer next attacker will be deterred by yer husband or me. If I go easy on ye, and ye walk away thinking ye ken this, ye might just end up in more trouble.”
He let her come at him a few more times, knocking her aside quickly before he held up a hand. “Ye’re trying to fight the way ye’ve seen us do it, but that’s not the way. Ye don’t have the defenses or the brute strength.” He smiled ruefully. “Ye ken, in a perfect world there’s a woman I’d have had teach ye, but ye’re stuck with me. I got into enough scraps with her that I picked some of it up. Ye’re small, and ye’re fast, and yer opponent will be o’er confident. A man starts a fight with a woman and thinks he’s already won. Ye need to use tha’ against him.”
* * *
An hour later, they walked back toward the fortress, both tired and bruised from some of her better attempts.
“So, am I ready for the kidnappers now?” she joked.
“Absolutely. That’s all it takes, an hour of training. Don’t spread it around though, we try to keep that quiet.”
“On my honor.”
“Just to be safe, we might want to try a few more lessons before we fit ye for a sword and armor. I’m busy for a few days, but could ye spare another hour next week?”
Georgiana nodded before even thinking about it. It would be hard, and her husband might be vehemently opposed, but she couldn’t give any other answer.
They walked in silence for a while, and then Fergus turned and asked quietly, “How are ye really, Georgiana?”
She let the silence carry on long enough to be its own answer.
“I don’t know. After the attack at the inn, the outer bruises faded quickly. I thought he would defile me. But he didn’t, thanks to Ethan. Then I thought I was going to die in the loch. But I didn’t – I got very sick instead, and now I’m pregnant. Then I thought I was going to lose Ethan when he was carried bleeding into the house after his step-brother attacked. He’s hurting so badly right now. It’s one thing after another.”
She stopped and squeezed his arm once before dropping it. “I’d best go on ahead. I don’t know how he’ll react if he sees me like this; I have to go and clean up...compose myself.”
* * *
Fergus watched her go, watched the way she seemed to collapse into herself as she approached the front door, her chin drooping and her shoulders pulling together. But he’d done what he could for her, and he knew people.
He knew this: when you gave a person a knife and taught them how to use it, they would very quickly find something that needs cutting.
* * *
Lachie pulled the reins to bring his horse to a stop as soon as he caught sight of his father, who was mounted and surrounded by men on horses.
“Did ye find where yer brother is?”
Lachie sneered, “He is nae braithair o’ mine. But aye, I did find where he is.”
“Guid.”
“He saw me, though, recognized me. I had tae fight my way oot o’ there.”
Barclays narrowed his eyes. “He attacked ye?”
“Aye.” Lachie nodded and then leaned to the side and spat, “I was lucky tae get away.”
Barclays snorted. “He will just make things harder for himself.”
“Shall we attack him then?”
“We mun’ still speak to two lairds, but then we will be ready to go.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Ye should always be anticipating what comes next,” Ethan told her as he gently threw her into a pile of hay. His reaction to her learning to fight had been quite the opposite of what she’d been expecting. In fact, he’d asked to teach her himself. Not even his injured leg would stop him from helping her.
“Fergus is a braw laddie, but he’s been on a boat for a long time. Ye need to ken how to fight on land.”
Sword training or not, ladies demanded a certain level of dignity. Piles of anything were not dignified. He had never seen a dignified pile in his life. But she managed to, at least, pull off indignant with an amazing amount of charm. There was hay sticking out of her hair, and she was beautiful.
“Ethan!”
Her admonishment, coupled with an appropriate gasp, made him grin. “Yes, Lady Buchanan?”
The joy he was feeling only blossomed as she sat up, and he saw that she was laughing too. Ethan added to the comedic effect by hastening to put his sword behind his back.
“That was a cheap trick,” she said, combing the stray pieces of hay from her chestnut hair in a way that he couldn’t help but watch. The impulse came to kneel before her, pick out each strand of hay himself, and weave his fingers through the soft strands, but he resisted.
“No trick,” he assured her, bending to offer a hand back up, “only a lesson. Ye should be prepared to defend yerself from everything. Any surprise attack.”
Georgiana, in all her pristine glory, scowled at him.
“It was dirty fighting,” she accused.
Despite this, she accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her up, dusting her pants off in the process.
Her swordplay was still quite amateurish – not that Ethan was the best judge. He had learned his own swordsmanship through trial and error. His father had spent a few sessions with him, just to see how well Ethan could fight. But he had not received the benefit of a trainer or mentor as Lachie had.
His absent thinking had him staring, and when his wife raised an eyebrow, Ethan blinked into focus, banishing darker thoughts before they could come to light.
“Should I constantly remain ready to be seized?” Her tone was sarcastic, but it was the use of the word ‘seize’ that did it. His traitorous, easily-distracted eyes wandered down her body and away.
The look was brief, but she had no doubt what the type of seizing had come to his mind.
He tried to concentrate on the task at hand. “It’s good to be careful.”
Her pause was even briefer. It was enough to confirm that she noticed.
“Good to be wary from threats you have given me no preparation for? It seems to be a training under-s
ight.”
Ethan sighed, “It is only day one. This is the lesson.”
“And what lesson are you teaching me?” She stepped nearer.
The burn at the tips of his ears was probably giving him away, but his gut clenched, and the grip on his sword - his broadsword, obviously - tightened. Her nearness ensnared him, and she knew it.
“To be prepared.”
Oh lord. Georgiana was intent in her advance and kept his gaze. “Prepared…?”