Love For A Reluctant Highland Lass (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  The servant's corridor was quiet, the kitchen hushed – she could hear a low voice murmuring in there as she reached the door and pushed it open, almost collapsing into its dark, ruddy-lit warmth.

  “And the turnips are growing well...” Mrs. Yates was saying. She trailed off.

  “Aye, Faith,” Merrick said to her. “If you're going out that way, can you check if the milk's been delivered? I need some for finishing dessert.”

  “Aye,” Mrs. Yates, her assistant, murmured, hauling herself to her feet. She went out. Merrick turned around.

  “You came down here to talk,” she said, looking straight at Ettie, who nodded, feeling the customary disconcerting feeing she always had whenever talking to Merrick. She hadn't known Merrick had seen her come into the kitchen.

  “I did,” she said.

  “You need some tea,” she said. She went to the stove and started to brew water. Ettie said nothing. While the woman who was, to all intents and purpose, her employer, busied herself with the tea, Ettie thought about how to ask her what she wanted to say.

  “What do you do when you...have visions you don't want?”

  Merrick stopped stirring. “You have visions.”

  It didn't sound like a question. Ettie nodded. “I never told anyone,” she whispered.

  Merrick turned around from where she focused on the work. Suddenly, her face was alive, black eyes filled with intensity Ettie had never seen in them before.

  “You weren't sent here by accident,” she said, sitting down beside her. Suddenly, it seemed as if she was filled with a vibrant liveliness Ettie never imagined seeing in her. “Now, I have so much to say. First, you should know that your visions are true. Second, know that not even you will know what they mean sometimes. They come as they will. All you need to know is how to care for yourself when they arrive.”

  Ettie swallowed hard. “I never know what to do when...I feel them,” she said, swallowing hard.

  Merrick nodded. Her hands rested on top of Ettie's and she felt, for the first time in her life, a sense of real care from someone. “Well, that's where we'll start then.”

  Ettie nodded. She had the strange feeling that a new chapter of her life was about to begin.

  They talked for what felt like a long while, though in reality it couldn't have been too long, as it was only the time it took Mrs. Yates to gather some herbs – though, if Ettie thought about it, she took an awfully long time gathering those herbs.

  At the end of the discussion, all of which was simply wonderful – finally, someone understood what was happening to her, and how it felt – Merrick fixed her with a look.

  “You have a long road ahead of you, Ettie Lomond,” she said. “Some of it will be frightening, and alone. Some of it, you'll walk in company.”

  Ettie swallowed hard. “In company?” she asked. Her heart leaped. Something about those words made her think of the man she'd just met. Garrick Hale.

  She pushed the thought down as soon as it occurred to her.

  Garrick Hale thinks you're crazy.

  She had just prophesied something to him without warning. He had no idea she had the Sight – and likely wouldn't have believed in it. Why would a practical, able-bodied merchant's right-hand man trust anything she said?

  She must have let some of that show on her face, because Merrick smiled and squeezed her hand briefly.

  “You need some tea,” she said. “I know how draining visions can be – ‘specially when they come over you suddenly like that.”

  Ettie nodded wearily. She was exhausted. The whole experience – pretending to be the mistress of Duncliffe, giving audience, taking a meal in such, for her, unnatural surroundings – had worn on her. The unexpected vision had been only part of what exhausted her so.

  “I'll add honeysuckle, to raise your spirits, and woodbine, for a clear head.”

  Ettie nodded and thanked her. It was only after Merrick set the tea in front of her that she recalled she hadn't told Merrick about how the vision had taken her so suddenly – she simply already knew.

  Ettie sighed. She took the teacup upstairs with her to her new chamber, and settled down on her bed – so much more comfortable than the one she used to have. As she drank, she thought about the day.

  Marguerite came to her mind first. Her employer had seemed pleased with her performance – all the more relieved because the man Ettie had seen was not her uncle. She had dismissed Ettie early, letting her take herself off to bed to rest, with the promise that she would discuss the meeting in more detail in the morning.

  I don't know how much to tell, and how much to leave unsaid.

  She closed her eyes, drinking the strongly-flavored tea. The next thoughts she had were of Merrick.

  She promised to teach me about visions.

  Merrick had suddenly become interested in a way Ettie would never have expected anyone to be in her. This new care and instruction was something she would never have dreamed of. It made her heart feel warm inside. She leaned back, smiling. Merrick might be stern and remote, but speaking to her had made Ettie feel happier than she'd ever felt in her life.

  Her thoughts of the vision led her back to Garrick. A strange feeling crept into her stomach – not quite excitement, not quite longing, but a mix of both those things.

  She sighed and recalled the way he'd looked at her, the way he'd taken her hand.

  The look he'd directed at her had confused her utterly. Nobody had ever looked at her like that before. It was...a look of admiration. It scared her.

  Why did he look at me that way?

  It made no sense to her. She was plain, unworthy of notice. Invisible, more or less, except when she was being a nuisance to people. Everyone in her life had always told her such things.

  So why would a man look at her like that? Like he was intrigued by her? And not just in a dangerous-feeling way – in a way that showed real interest? It made no sense.

  She set the cup down on the shelf by her bed, where her clothing and other things were stored. She stretched and felt tiredness suddenly wash over her.

  “Come on, you,” she harshly said to herself. “Get yourself to bed.”

  She stood and undressed quickly, laying out her uniform on the wooden chair by the door, ready for tomorrow. Clad in her shift, she washed her face, and then burrowed into the bed under the linen covers.

  It was so much warmer in this room than her old one upstairs had ever been, and she curled up under the blankets, almost half-asleep already.

  Her mind was filled with a patchwork of thoughts. Marguerite, the meeting. And that man – Garrick Hale. She recalled fragments of images – a dark road, the form of a man. A sense of some safety at her shoulder, even in the dark.

  Part of the road you'll walk together.

  The words stuck in her mind and when she dreamed, it was a troubled dream of waves, and seas, and darkness. Through it all, there was a thread of light.

  The next morning, she rose at five o' clock and headed downstairs to fetch her mistress' clothing from where it was airing, and to see to the fireplace in her chamber. She tiptoed into the room. Marguerite was fast asleep, her red curls falling in a tangled heap over her shoulder, just touched with flame-brightness. Her shoulder rose and fell with low, even breaths.

  She's fast asleep.

  She knelt by the fire, blowing on it to stir the coals, and setting a new section of log on the hearth. Then she tiptoed out quietly.

  Who would want to hurt her?

  She had no idea. The thought of Garrick Hale having anything to do with any threat to Marguerite was disturbing. He might be working for a man who would kill unthinkingly, but he was not such a person.

  Was he?

  Ettie sighed. She had no idea, save that there was no warning in her heart about him. Yes, she had felt disconcerted by him – intensely so – but she hadn't felt endangered.

  As she thought, her footsteps headed automatically to the kitchen. She pushed the door open to get breakfast, automatic
ally sitting down at the table. Merrick was already busy at the stove. She turned and set a plate of bread on the table, then nodded to Ettie.

  “You're looking worried.”

  Ettie frowned. “I'm thinking,” she said.

  Merrick nodded. “It's not that bad, lass. You'll see.”

  Ettie inclined her head, drawing her shawl about her shoulders though the room was really quite warm. “I hope so.”

  Merrick didn't say anything to that. “Faith, have you taken the bread down to the stable-hands?”

  “Aye, I just did,” Mrs. Yates replied, where she sat at the end of the table with a cup of tea. She looked half asleep still, very much in her own world.

  “Good. They'll need to be getting ready – that feller wants to leave early.”

  Fellow? Ettie's ears pricked up at once. Automatically she thought of Garrick Hale. “Fellow?” she asked.

  Merrick nodded. “Aye. He's out yonder.”

  Ettie craned her head to see out of the window, heart thudding. It was almost pitch-dark in the courtyard, and she should have known she would see almost nothing. She just made out the form of a tall man, dark-clad, standing at the stables. The torchlight played over his form, warming the dark hair and making the strong legs and straight back more obviously-defined.

  She felt her heart flip. He had something – some indefinable quality – that drew on something within her and made her feel strange things she'd never felt before.

  “He'll be needing a good breakfast, if he's going far,” Mrs. Yates said with a chuckle. Ettie realized that she'd been staring out of the window at the man and leaned back in her seat, feeling stupid.

  What would they think if they thought I was staring at him?

  Her cheeks burned.

  “Here you go, lass. You'll be needing some o' this.”

  Ettie looked up into Merrick's face as she set down a plate of hard-boiled eggs before her. Her stomach clenched with longing – the eggs were usually for the laborers, and she usually had porridge or a slice or two of bread.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Merrick's eyes held hers, and warmth danced in them. Ettie swallowed hard. For the first time in her life, she was wondering what it might feel like to be loved.

  She helped herself to a hard-boiled egg, relishing the strong, rich flavor. Then she hastily pushed in her chair, going to start her daily tasks.

  “You'll be needing strength today, lass,” Merrick said as Ettie left the kitchen.

  She swallowed hard. “Thanks,” she said. She reckoned Merrick meant for the interview with her mistress.

  “Don't think you know where you're going,” Merrick said, making Ettie frown. She was going to ask more, but she'd already turned away.

  Ettie wandered out and up the stairs, the words echoing in her mind. She had no idea at all what they meant. All she knew was that half her thoughts were still in the courtyard with that tall, dark form and the other half was with those strange feelings in her body, somewhere right inside her heart.

  ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK

  “Damn this weather,” Garrick swore. He was cold, weary, and nervous. He was also, despite it being five o' clock in the morning, stiffly alert.

  The woods did not feel safe to him.

  He rode down a path he could barely see, the tree-shadows painted black against the gray half-light of morning. Mist still hung over the forest and he could see his exhales and those of Dunstan, his horse – white clouds on the chill air.

  “Come on, lad,” Garrick whispered, shivering. “The faster we're through here, the better for us.”

  All the same, he could barely see and it was wise to go slowly as possible – collision with an overhanging branch would mean certain death by a broken neck, or an injury that might see him lying here on the forest floor, dying alone.

  Better the risk of meeting unsavory company than the risk of a certain end.

  He sighed. These woods had been dangerous once, but there had been work done to make them safer, or so he'd heard. Now, with the conflict in the north, it seemed as if the woods were dangerous once again. Outlaws and brigands found shelter in them, a place out of the reach of the guards.

  A twig cracked and Garrick jumped.

  A deer fled, lithe, out of the bushes, and Garrick let out a breath, shaking his head in drained relief.

  “Whist, lad,” he said to himself. He chuckled ironically. He was seeing threats in every stand of bushes.

  The way the deer ran, so elegantly and lightly, made him think of someone else.

  Lady Marguerite.

  He sighed. He had been so tired after the interview that thoughts of her had not kept him too long from sleeping, but where he thought they'd have soon dissipated, when he woke, they were yet stronger.

  “I don't know what she did to me. Bewitched my sense.”

  He sighed. He knew full well that Lady Marguerite was not a sorceress, tempting though it might have been to assume that fact.

  She is a beautiful woman, with an uncanny foresight. And she has bewitched you.

  He sighed. He couldn't help it – every moment of the interview, from first sight to her sudden prophesy, was indelibly etched on his mind.

  Moreover, every single gesture in between was likewise etched there, from the way her lips and brows moved when she spoke to the way she moved her hand when the footman came in, to show him to set down the dish.

  She is maddening. Every single thing she did excited me.

  He sighed, coming back to the present. He was riding around a corner where it was hard to see ahead. He had to be alert.

  At least, he realized, thinking of her was taking his mind off his fear. While he couldn't be unobservant, he likewise couldn't afford to jump each time he heard something moving in the woodlands.

  At that rate, I'll have a fit of apoplexy before I get out of the tree line.

  He chuckled to himself. A sound in the undergrowth made him pause. He listened awhile, then nudged his horse forward and moved on. Whatever it was, it had stopped moving now.

  He rode ahead.

  The woods were more dense here, so that even though the morning was just fractionally paler, he still couldn't see further than six feet ahead at the utmost.

  His horse seemed nervous. He could just make out his ears, twitching back and forth. In addition, he could feel the tension in the creature.

  “Aye, lad,” Garrick said gently, patting his neck. “Can ye smell a wolf?”

  Only that made sense of his horse's behavior. His own hair stood on end. One wolf, alone, was one thing – but was there likely to be a group, this close to the manor?

  “Whist, Garrick,” he told himself. “Stop it.”

  He was not accustomed to being in the countryside. Growing up on the wharf side, he might have traveled by sea, but cities were his home. Wild creatures and woodlands were two things he knew little about.

  All I know is that there's likely to be someone hiding in these woods.

  His instinct for outlaws and vagabonds worked as well here as it did in the city.

  He shivered and gently nudged with his knees, urging his horse forward. “Easy, lad,” he said. “We'd best ride.”

  This time, his horse took a step forward, though Garrick could still feel the hesitance. The creature's ears moved, tuned to the sounds.

  Garrick couldn't hear anything himself, but he looked around, wondering what it was that Dunstan heard. Abruptly, a twig cracked. The woods were dense here, the trees thick on either side of the path. There was no way to short-cut through them.

  It occurred to Garrick, just then, that this was the perfect place for an ambush. That was when he heard someone moving about in the bushes and something hit his shoulder.

  He yelled, reaching for the dagger he wore. The staff swung again, connecting with the top of his right arm in a way that made him wince, and stunned it, making his fingers uncurl, rendered nerveless.

  Someone laughed. Another person grabbed for Dunstan's head
. The horse reared, bringing his hooves down in a way that narrowly avoided crushing whoever it was. His rider would have cheered for him, except for the fact that someone was tugging at him, trying to drag him bodily off the horse.

  “Let's have him, Bert,” someone yelled.

  “Aye. Keith! Get him unseated!”

  Garrick swore and reached for his knife again. This time, his fingers managed to curl around the hilt and he drew it, just as the fellow tugged on his leg in a way that made him lurch starboard abruptly.

  He fell, but stabbed down with the dagger as he did so, and heard someone scream. Whoever it was staggered back, letting go. Nevertheless, it was too late – Garrick was already falling.

  He launched himself off the horse, trying to land as well as he could, but it was difficult to control. He found himself in the middle of two thugs, both of whom came at him, fists raised. Garrick could only see shadowy shapes between black tree-shapes, but he ran at the one, dagger raised, and the man danced aside, and then slammed a fist into his stomach.

  Garrick grunted, doubling up. He spat and tried to draw a breath, but his lungs seared and he felt unable to breathe. Someone kicked him hard and he pitched forward onto his knees. He heard Dunstan whinny and he realized that other men had surrounded his horse, trying to lead him away.

  “No! You blackguards!” he yelled. Someone cracked a blow down at his head, making him almost collapse, vision breaking.

  He managed to get up on one knee and grabbed out with his hand, finding a leg. He twisted savagely and the man stumbled, yelling. He kicked out and Garrick felt the blow crack against his own knee, making him grunt in pain.

  His head was throbbing now as blows rained down on him. He couldn't get up, couldn't stop them. All he could do was try to stay conscious. He could hear Dunstan fighting still, and praised the horse's resourcefulness even as he gritted his teeth and jarred with a kick to his head.

  I am going to die here.

  He sighed. Somehow, in the midst of it all, he found peace, and some irony. He had survived countless street-brawls in the most dangerous towns in the country. Now he was dying unknown and unnoticed in the woods?