Destiny Of A Highlander: Blood of Duncliffe Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Ferguson, Emilia

  The last was as Francine dismounted, throwing the reins to a stable-boy who'd run forward.

  “Take my horse to the stables, please,” she said, feeling herself sway where she stood. Heavens, but she was exhausted! She could barely stand.

  “Yes, milady.”

  “Where is Douglas?” she asked, rounding on the sentry. “Where is my brother?”

  “If he's here, he'll be there, milady. At the lesser gate,” he said, waving his hand across the courtyard to the second entrance that led into the woods, used historically for hunting trips.

  “Thank you.”

  As she approached, she heard a voice. “And you, Alec – you lead the party east to Cambrooke. If they took the east road, they may have stopped there overnight. Blaine, Anything to report..?”

  “Nothing, milord.”

  “I...hellfire! Francine?”

  He stared at her and Francine was too tired to smile.

  “It's me, Douglas,” she said. He walked over and she clutched at his arm, supporting herself as she almost collapsed.

  “Thank Heavens you're safe!” he said. “How..?”

  “I'm too tired now, Douglas,” Francine said softly. “I need to sleep.”

  “Oh! Of course. My poor Francine,” he said. “I am a fool not to have thought of it. Come.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning on his arm. Her hand slipped into his and, smelling the familiar mix of smoke and spiced pomade that exuded from his jacket, she felt safe.

  “I was so worried, Francine,” he said. She smiled pallidly.

  “I'm safe now, Douglas. I will talk to you in the morning.”

  “Good,” he said, leading her in through the great front gate and into the hallway. Their feet echoed on the stones as they crossed the entrance-way, heading for the stairs. “I'll send Merrick to bring you something to drink.”

  “I just want to sleep.”

  “Yes, sister,” Douglas agreed. Leaning heavily on him, Francine let him lead her upstairs and to her bedchamber. At the door, she almost collapsed and he held her, supporting her against him.

  “You are exhausted.”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling wanly. “I am.”

  “We will talk more tomorrow,” Douglas said softly. “Don't worry about anything now. Just sleep.”

  He closed the door and she at last lay down on her own bed and fell, almost immediately, to sleep.

  The next morning, she asked Bertha to dress her in a plain day-dress. Every muscle of her body ached and she was still half-asleep. She sat down at breakfast alone, for which she was profoundly grateful. No Father. No McGuinness. What she would have done if he'd appeared there, like nothing had happened, she had no idea. However, so far, there was no sign of anyone. The clock on the mantelpiece told her it was half past ten. Perhaps she'd missed them all.

  “Francine?”

  She looked up at Douglas, who called from in the doorway. He, too, was pallid, his black hair in sharp contrast with his face this morning. He smiled, gray-faced with exhaustion.

  “Douglas,” she said softly. “You have breakfasted? Is Father...?”

  “Father's in his office. Fraser has gone,” he said.

  Francine stared at him. Slowly, she set down the cup she held. Then she leaned back and closed her eyes, tears of utter relief on her eyelids. “Oh, Douglas,” she managed, her voice a tight-edged whisper. “You know this?”

  “I know it. He left suddenly – his things are half still here in the guest-quarters. He left in some hurry, or so the servants tell me. Good riddance.”

  His voice was hard, like granite. Francine reached for the tea, wetting her lips, and sought to find her voice. “You know that he won't be coming back?” she asked, frightened.

  “I know that if I ever see that man again I'll murder him, so I will.”

  “Douglas...” Francine began, and then she stared in surprise as he came and sat down at the table beside her. He took her hands. His gaze held hers.

  “Sister, I know what he did. What he tried to do. And I am just so glad you are safe.”

  “Father...does he know?” she swallowed hard.

  “No,” Douglas shook his head. “And never will, until you wish it.”

  “Oh, Douglas.” Francine felt herself go weak with relief and slumped forward onto the table, her head resting on her arms. “Thank you, brother.”

  “Not at all,” Douglas said, echoing the words of Henry, from earlier. “Now. I do think we have to tell him something, though. So what should we say?”

  “Well,” Francine frowned, reaching for her tea. With the prospect of a future that was not, after all, entirely ruined, she felt strong again. “He will know Fraser has left.”

  “Yes, he knows. So that part of the story is closed.”

  Francine swilled the tea around her mouth thoughtfully. “In which case, we could say I got lost in the woods? Why do we need to include Fraser? We could just say that.”

  “With the small problem that a certain non-Scottish Jacobite lord was apparently perusing the woods at the same time?” he asked, meaning Henry.

  Francine swallowed hard. “He was seen?”

  “He was noted as absent, yes,” Henry nodded. “So the explanation might have to include him.”

  “Oh.” Francine felt her heart sink. If they mentioned Henry's name, it was only a matter of time before people started to add things up. Then, there was almost no time at all before one of two things happened. Either her father would be forced to charge Henry with the abduction – a scenario that was both ludicrous and terribly shaming – or he would be forced to broker marriage for her.

  She saw the thought reach her even as it affected Douglas. He grinned.

  “If...the story were told in a certain way,” Douglas said softly, “I do believe that matters might be settled somehow. Assuming that marriage with Lord Henry is not too abhorrent a prospect?”

  Francine looked at him – utter disbelief stretched her face. However, he seemed to be serious. She stared. “Douglas. Are you...”

  “I am. Is that awful, Francine? Or would it be alright if we...”

  “Alright?” Francine laughed in utter wonderment. “Oh, Douglas! Could you do it? I mean...do you think he would? That he'd say yes?”

  Douglas nodded. “Doesn't have a choice, does he?” he said with a quick grin. “In fact, the way I see it, Heaven sent this as a way for the two of you to legitimize things between you. If you wish it?”

  “If I wish it?” Francine was still laughing when Mrs. Mallory came up from the kitchen with a tray of cheeses and cream.

  “Indeed,” Douglas nodded. “Only that.”

  “Well, I wish it, Douglas,” Francine said softly. More than I have ever wished anything in my life.

  It barely seemed possible that her biggest wish was coming true.

  A MATTER TO DISCUSS

  Returning home had not been easy for Henry, he recalled shakily. Lennox, the butler, had let Henry in without asking, though the look on his face had spoken volumes. Henry was quite certain that the story of how he commandeered the Laird's horse was in quick circulation. Quite what they thought he needed it for was something he'd rather not dwell on just yet.

  “Well,” he sighed as he looked out of the window over the late-morning exterior, “I did it.”

  He had, thus far, managed to dress, wash, sleep and even breakfast on apples and a day-old bread-roll without speaking to anyone.

  Good that Mr. Prestwick is so unobservant as to leave my saddle-bags still full.

  Thoughts of Prestwick, his manservant, led to thoughts of getting more formally dressed and going upstairs to confront his father. It was something he would have to do sometime, after all. “And it might as well be now.”

  With a sinking heart, Henry went to the door and called. “Prestwick?”

  The sound of feet on the dense carpet announced his manservant, a tall, gaunt-faced fellow perhaps more than a decade older than Henry.

  “
Yes, milord?”

  “I need to dress more formally – my new shirt, and the doublet with the blue-and-white brocade, I think.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  While Prestwick dressed him – the silent efficiency of the man doing little to assure Henry that he wasn't speculating like the rest of them – Henry thought.

  I need to tell Father what happened.

  The question that filled him was how could he? If he told his father of Francine – of her abduction, the rescue, and then how he had escorted her to an inn, alone and not chaperoned, staying with her for some hours unobserved – his father would be scandalized.

  And if Father is scandalized, he will want to do something about it.

  Quite what the something would be, Henry had no idea. He just knew, with a sinking conviction, that it wouldn't be the something he wanted. With their father's preoccupation with them marrying English people, Henry was fairly sure he wouldn't agree with his plan – that of marrying Francine.

  I would say to him that I did it to erase the scandal. But that wouldn't be so, not according to me.

  That was the other matter which concerned him. He knew what he should do: tell the story, and then propose marriage to Francine to remove the scandal. However, if he did that, would she understand the intensity of his feelings for her? Or would she think he did what society would tell her – marry her to clear their names?

  “Damn it, I don't know.”

  “Sir?” Prestwick frowned, his face as neutral as it ever was. All the same, Henry thought he could detect a twinkle in the man's eye, perhaps of laughter.

  “Thinking aloud, Prestwick,” Henry muttered, embarrassed.

  “Very good, sir.”

  Dressed, with his hair brushed, the curls left un-powdered, Henry changed his shoes to his new heeled indoor boots and rapidly walked down the hallway toward his father's office. Upstairs, outside the door, he paused, nervous.

  “Come in?”

  “Father,” Henry said, swallowing hard. “I need to discuss a matter with you.”

  “Yes. The matter of where you were. With a certain person, I believe.” His face was stiff with disapproval.

  “Father, let me explain...”

  “I think I can guess what the explanation is, young man,” his father said tightly. “I may be old, but I am not devoid of memory. I know what young men are like.”

  “Father! Please! Let me...” Henry trailed off, mortified, as his father raised a hand.

  “Wait,” he said. “I can't believe you have compromised me like this. I have a plan, however. You are to go to her father and offer to pay her dowry in compensation. I have no idea what the amount is likely to be, but I suggest we use the savings I would invest in your shipping venture. That ought to cancel your debt, and wash this stain away.”

  “No! Father! You misunderstand completely.”

  “I do not think so,” his father replied coolly.

  “But, Father, there's an easy means of solving this: I can wed Francine Duncliffe.”

  “No,” his father said decisively. “That's out of the question.”

  “Father!” Henry protested. “Why? It is the most sensible route to follow.”

  “It's the most ludicrous route, my son. Why should you tie yourself to a nation that, in many ways, is barbarous compared to our own? Yes, the inhabitants of Edinburgh are civilized, or nominally, but out there in the Highlands? You have no idea what manner of customs and barbarity they express out there!”

  “Father!” Henry found that he was shouting, but found he didn't care either. “I have to protest. They are not barbarous; merely different to us. As, I might add, we are to them. I cannot imagine any of the clan chiefs settling a dispute by paying each other off. Can you? That is barbarous! Not this land.”

  He leaned back, sweat dripping off his brow. He stared at his father, regret forming inside him instantly. His father stared back.

  “Is that enough?” he said quietly. “Or do you have more to say?”

  Henry looked at his feet, feeling a fool. “No, Father,” he said.

  His father looked into his eyes. His own gray eyes were steely, and he had that look, as if he thought he'd won. “Good.”

  “No, Father,” Henry said. “I have nothing to add. Nor shall you. You can keep your inheritance, your name and your title. Disown me as of this moment, if you choose. I'm leaving this house. I will do what my conscience says is right. And my heart.”

  With that, he turned and walked out of the room.

  “Henry!” His father's voice cracked like a whip behind him. Henry stayed precisely where he was. He kept walking, step by slow step, down the hall.

  When he reached the end of the flight of stairs he stopped, and then leaned against the balustrade. He blinked, looking down the hallway but not seeing it. Not really. “What have I done?”

  His words echoed in his ears, echoes of wild folly. He must have been mad. How was he going to live? If his father disinherited him, he lost everything: Home, family, income. He had no means of making money, save the accounts and estates his father owned and managed, and which he, one day, would manage too. What was he going to do?

  “I'll think of something.”

  There were always ways. His mind ran through the list of people he knew from his years in Oxford. If he stayed with them awhile, perhaps they could start some venture. Invest in the East India Company, flour, or wool. There were ways that men could make a good living without having to rely on what their fathers owned. He would have to find them.

  He started on down the hallway.

  “Brother?”

  Henry turned, hearing his sister approaching fast. Her red hair was loose from its style, clashing with the yellow silk of her gown. She had two spots of color in her face and her pulse jumped at her throat, clearly.

  “Marguerite! What is amiss?”

  “I was in the drawing-room and heard what Father said. I won't let him disown you! He can't! Henry. I won't let him.”

  Henry smiled. He reached out to take his sister's hands. Gently, he squeezed them. “Marguerite, it is well, don’t concern yourself with me.”

  “Don't concern myself! Brother! I am concerned. You're my dearest friend. I won't let you starve because you have more principle and character than anyone else here.”

  “Oh, Marguerite.” Henry reached for her and hugged her, which allowed him to conceal the fact that he was crying. He sniffed, trying to stifle the tears before she saw them. Her care for him had touched him greatly, more than anything his father could say would move him.

  She squeezed him firmly, and then leaned back, looking up. “Well, Henry? We have to confront him.”

  “I have told him my mind on this,” Henry said, exhausted. “I can do no more than that.”

  “Yes, you can,” Marguerite said firmly. “Or mayhap I can.”

  “You can? Marguerite, don't risk yourself. Better one of us disinherited than us both jeopardized. You need to stay here, and see to your own means. Don't be concerned with me.”

  “Nonsense,” Marguerite said briskly.

  “It isn't nonsense,” Henry began protesting, but then stopped as his sister dragged him into the library and shut the door, pushing him to a seat.

  “Sit down. We need to have a meeting of our own. I think,” she paused, “that I will ride to Duncliffe. If I can talk to her father, perhaps the matter can be arranged?”

  “Marguerite!” Henry protested. “I can't let you do that! It's far. And dangerous. And besides, why should you...wait,” he paused. “With some adjustments, your plan will work. Sister!” He stood up and embraced her. She giggled, coughing.

  “You don't have to squash my ribs, brother. I'm wearing corsets. Now, what should we do next?”

  They sat together and discussed a plan. Henry would meet with Douglas and together they would arrange matters with the earl of Duncliffe, privately.

  “If Father is approached with a fact accomplished, there's little he can do, besi
des rail,” Marguerite said fairly.

  “Or disown me.”

  “Well, if he's done it already, there's no redoing it. And if he hasn't...? Well, I don't really think he will. He only has one son, you know.”

  Henry sniffed. “Be that as it may,” he countered. “I don't think that will concern him over-much.”

  “I think it will concern him terribly,” Marguerite said boldly. “You think he wants to leave all this to molder after he's gone? Or to my husband to look after? Well, if I follow my natural inclinations, he will hate my husband so much he will disown me too!”

  She laughed and Henry, catching her eye, realized what she meant. “Oh, Marguerite,” he sighed. “You want to come with me?”

  “I considered it,” Marguerite said quietly. “But I reckoned that it would be more sensible for me to stay here alone. If Father has the apoplexy, someone has to call the physician. And besides, I will have many chances to visit Duncliffe in the future, what think you?”

  Henry reached for her hand, feeling his heart melt even as he smiled. “I think that you are quite right,” he said. “And I love you, sister.”

  To his surprise, she blinked. “Henry Arthur Gracewell, you talk such nonsense,” she said, sniffing alarmingly. “Now, go on with you, do.”

  Henry grinned. He squeezed his sister's hand again and then stood, his own heart feeling somewhat raw. “I'll go and ride to Duncliffe Manor, then,” he said. “And see what I can do about this matter. I can't thank you enough, sister.”

  “Nor I you,” Marguerite grinned. “I wouldn't like to say I have an ulterior motive here, but the fact that you challenge Father on this makes it...easier for me.”

  “I am glad it does,” Henry smiled, feeling his heart fill with warmth. Marguerite was clearly rather taken with Francine's brother. The prospect seemed good and he knew his sister well enough to know that, once she had settled on something, it usually came to pass.

  I could do with learning from my sister. She has a way of following her convictions. Well, it's time I started to do the same finally.

  He walked down the hallway and to his bedchamber, to change for riding.