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

by Emilia Ferguson

  The day wore on. Garrick walked, and rested, and then lay back in the straw, armed with a piece of soot-covered twig. He used it like a pencil, idly chalking things on the wall. He had learned a little about writing, though he'd never actually learned to read or write. He could make the characters for his name, or some of them.

  G...A...R...I. The next letter stumped him and he gave up, setting aside the makeshift pen. He drew stick figures instead – a man and a horse.

  The thought of a horse made him wander where Dunstan was. She had brought him back with them, he recalled dimly. The thought amazed him.

  Lady Marguerite had been completely at home with Dunstan.

  Always disinclined to trust strangers, Dunstan was far from a friendly horse. He hadn't so much as snorted at Marguerite though. He shook his head.

  She is remarkable.

  He recalled all the things he'd seen of her since they’d met. That first night, standing by the fire. In the woods, saving him. Helping him to his feet. Bringing him back here, unafraid of Dunstan. Tending his wounds. Holding his hand. Smiling as she ate her breakfast. Making some funny comment. Grinning at him.

  He sighed. She was like nobody – man or woman – he knew. He wondered what she was doing now.

  Dancing, sewing, riding...how did he know how ladies spent their time? He grinned. In his imagination, she was in a hall, wearing that blue velvet dress. A merry tune was playing and she was dancing. His pulse quickened, imagining her gentle grace.

  Come on, Garrick! He chuckled. It is not even nine o' clock in the morning! At least as far as he could tell that was the time. Why would she be at a party, dancing?

  All the same, the image would not leave him. He had never seen someone so delicate and graceful and his mind fed him pictures of her in a grand hall, surrounded by other folk, richly clad, dancing a – what was it called? – a roundelay.

  He idly wondered about her. About who she was, and where she came from – and, inevitably, why Mr. Crae was interested. The merchant had told him nothing about her, save that he must deliver the invitation to her and to her husband, were he at home. He had asked him to take particular note of the pair of them, and of the castle itself, well enough to be able to describe them all in detail when he returned from the trip.

  Now, he frowned. Why would Mr. Crae want that? If all he wanted was to bring whiskey through their land and store it at their cellars a while, what did he need descriptions for?

  Something – some alarm – fluttered inside him. He decided immediately that he was going to dissemble. There was no reason for Mr. Crae to know anything about Marguerite, and he wasn't going to pass on any more than he absolutely had to.

  I'll say I was attacked on the road and my mind's too addled.

  He grinned, and then frowned. Was he really going to lie to his employer? Mr. Crae might be brooding and scary, but he was absolutely not stupid. He would know Garrick was hiding something.

  And is there any point in my concealing the truth? He could just as easily send someone else, with no scruples about doing the job, to find out for him.

  That would probably be worse.

  He decided to reveal only what was harmless, and no more. As for the story about encountering Lady Marguerite in the woods, being saved by her and staying there, in her care, for three or four days – well, that was unbelievable.

  I wouldn't believe myself if I told myself that.

  He grinned. He had no doubt that no one would believe him anyway. They'd probably assume he'd been drinking too much whiskey and just forget about it. He had no need to worry about the secret coming out.

  At that moment, he heard someone scrape at the door. It was the signal they'd agreed on earlier. He hastily dropped the twig he'd been using to draw pictures on the wall and leaned back, composing his features.

  She came in through the door. Tall and beautiful, with her long black hair bound back in a plait, just escaping the bonds in fine wisps, she made him stare.

  “I wanted to check your wounds,” she said, by way of greeting.

  Garrick nodded. Oddly, the intimacy between them was becoming harder, not easier. He felt a strange tension as she knelt before him and gently ran a hand over his scalp.

  He tensed as she ran her fingers down the gash in the back of his scalp. It wasn't because it was painful though – it was the intimacy of the contact that was hard to bear. This close, he could smell the fresh, sweet scent of her and see the softness of the skin of her neck.

  “It hurts, I know,” she said gently.

  Garrick grunted, not wanting to explain his real reason for objecting.

  “It's almost healed,” she said, sitting back and looking at him. “I think the day after tomorrow you should be able to leave us.”

  Garrick nodded. He felt, if anything, a little hurt that she would speak so lightly about his leaving. However, he wasn't about to say that – what would she think?

  “I should leave today,” he said gruffly. “My master will be expecting me back.”

  Lady Marguerite nodded. She looked sad. “You should,” she said. “Your horse is ready for you – I think we've got rather used to him in the stables,” she added with a little chuckle.

  “Thank you for taking care of him,” Garrick said. He looked at the floor, feeling overwhelmed. “And...Thanks,” he added gruffly.

  “It was nothing,” she said tightly.

  They sat quietly for a while, neither saying anything.

  “I should...”

  “If you...”

  They both spoke together and Garrick stopped at once. “You first,” he said.

  She frowned. “I was just going to say that if you need provisions or medical supplies, come down to the kitchen. I'll ensure you're well equipped for the road.”

  He chuckled, though there was little warmth in him to put into it. “Thanks.”

  She frowned. “I interrupted you..?”

  “No,” he said, shrugging. “I was only going to say that I should check on Dunstan.”

  She looked worried. “I'll see to it that he's brought up from the stables.”

  “No need,” Garrick said.

  He leaned back, feeling weary, and noticed that she was frowning. She looked sad, he realized, and that moved him more than his own sorrow had.

  “Milady,” he asked, wondering why she was being so uncharacteristically changeable this morning. “What is it?”

  She said nothing, just shook her head, lips tight, a small frown on her smooth forehead.

  “Milady?” Garrick asked. “What is it? You seem worried.” How else was he to understand?

  “Nothing,” she said tightly. “It's silly of me. I...”

  She sniffed then and he had the alarming feeling she might cry. He gently reached for her hand. “If I've done something...said something...” He looked around desperately. “I...please, milady! Tell me what it is that ails you! I want to right it.” He felt desperation fill him.

  “It's just...” She shook her head, a tear almost falling now – he could see them at the edge of her eyelids, sparking like dew on grass-blades. “I just had thought we might take a walk together, so I know you're well enough to travel. I'll worry too much about you else.”

  “Milady..?” He breathed, but she was shaking her head, face covered with her hands.

  “It's ridiculous of me,” she said, sniffing, voice muffled by her hands. “I'm being foolish. I just don't want to risk that you're not fully recovered. What healer would I be, else?” she countered, letting her hands fall from her cheeks again. Her eyes scalded him, a challenging stare.

  “You're right, milady,” he murmured. Inside, he felt something strange happening, as if his heart was melting completely. He smiled. “I think I would like a walk. I've been in here too long,” he added as her eyes met his, and he saw warmth and suspicion mix. He didn't want her to think he was making assumptions.

  “Of course,” she said, looking down at her hands, flustered. Garrick felt an urge to rea
ch across and hold one of her hands, but knew it would be terribly improper. All the same, he had to loop his fingers through the fastening of his belt to stop himself.

  “So,” he said. “As soon as you think we should go, we can depart. I'm eager to see whatever it is out there you wish to show me.” He felt his heart melt a little further as her oval face cleared, springtime coming to the winter of her sadness, too. She nodded.

  “Well, then,” she said “I suggest we go now, before the stable-hands are about.

  He nodded and stood, simple, rare joy slowly filling his heart in a way he'd not felt for years. He’d never imagined he would be so lucky as to spend time with this beautiful, wise lady, much less escort her on a walk. Life, it seemed, was full of wonderful surprises.

  A WALK OUTSIDE

  Ettie felt happiness blossom inside as she waited under the pine tree at the start of the woods. She was wrapped in a shawl over her linen dress – the best one she owned – and she probably should have felt cold, but she didn't notice. Her heart was full of joy.

  She was here, on the edge of an adventure.

  Whist, Ettie, she chided herself, grinning in spite of her admonishments. It's a walk in the woods, not a trip to Cammfield fairground!

  All the same, she couldn't help it. She was excited.

  She watched the path for a while, waiting for Garrick to appear from the west gate – a small secondary gate to the courtyard that led down the hill along a winding path – but after a moment she was distracted, watching the flight of a bird over the manor.

  A crunch of boots on stone made her look up. He was coming down the path. He limped slowly, and she could see that he was in pain, but he too was smiling, a warm grin on his rugged, squarish face that found an answering glow of happiness inside her body.

  “There you are,” he said, raising his hand in an ironic wave. “I thought I might be too late.”

  “Too late, indeed!” Ettie smiled, flushed with the joy of seeing him again. It was strange, but here in the woods it felt as if they were crossing onto unknown ground. It was, she realized as he looked down into her face, smiling, the first time – besides when she'd come across him in the woods those days ago – that they'd been truly alone, outside of the manor grounds.

  “Well, as it is, I'm grateful that I was in time, after all,” he said. “Where shall we walk?”

  Ettie swallowed, aware of his proximity to her as she stood there, and of the isolation. She shrugged, lightly. “In this direction?”

  He raised a brow, nodding. “Why not?” he asked reasonably. “We can walk as far as we care to in that direction. I don't know how far I need walk to prove I am in good working order?”

  She laughed. “Oh, Garrick! You make it sound like you're a piece of farm equipment.”

  He blushed. She realized she'd used his familiar name and swallowed, feeling foolish. A lady would never do that! It was rare now that she remembered the role she played, but his surprised frown made her recall it suddenly.

  He chuckled. “Farm equipment?” he said lightly. “I'm afraid you do me more compliment than I would have. I was thinking of a rudder on a ship.”

  “A ship?” Ettie asked, seeking for a neutral topic. “I know little of ships, I am afraid.”

  “I wish I didn't know as much as I did,” he said, grinning. “I'm afraid I learned it all living a wicked life.”

  “Wicked?” Ettie frowned. Oddly, for all that she knew he was a servant for a merchant at the dockside, she had never associated anything mercenary or wicked with this man. He seemed so upright, so serious.

  He shrugged. “I ran away to join the navy,” he said. “Merchant navy, that is. When I was fourteen.”

  “Fourteen!” Ettie exclaimed, heart filled with sudden compassion. She had left home at almost the same young age. She knew how it felt to be robbed of the last years of one's growing, thrust into a harsh, alien world before one was fully ready to understand.

  “Aye,” he nodded. “It was hard.”

  “I can imagine,” Ettie said. Her hand moved to his without her thinking of it, and when she found herself gently patting his hand, she tensed, pulling her own away.

  He looked down at her hand, and it was not surprise she read there, but regret almost, as if he wished she had not pulled her own away so hastily. She shook her head.

  Nonsense, Ettie! What flights-of-fancy.

  All the same, she swallowed hard, acutely aware of his closeness. He raised one shoulder in a surprisingly-elegant shrug.

  “Well, it wasn't so bad,” he said. “Saw some things I shouldn't have. Learned some things I wish I hadn't. Learned useful things, too,” he added, shrugging again.

  “You did?” Ettie asked, fascinated.

  He laughed. “You sound surprised, milady. I'll admit; there wasn't much useful to learn. But I did. How to fight, how to climb rigging, how to eat ship's biscuits...”

  She laughed. “I take it that's a difficult thing to do?”

  “You can't imagine,” he said fervently. “There's all sorts of methods to it. They're hard as bricks, you see. It was all we got to eat, some days. Some of us soaked them a while in water, but I didn't like the taste. Some of them whacked them on the deck, to break them up a bit...” He shrugged again. “You learn what works best.”

  Ettie laughed. “Well, I'm glad my dinner was never such a challenge to my wits.”

  She shook her head, remembering how she had often been hungry. It had taken a long while to get used to Estmoor, or Duncliffe, where there was always enough to eat. She had eaten twice her fill sometimes, or hoarded things for later, until finally coming to terms with the fact that meals would always be there.

  He seemed to sense her serious mood, for he fell quiet too. “It's a pleasant day,” he said.

  She looked up, nodding, as the sunlight broke through the green canopy above them, casting dappled light on the scene below. It was autumn, but many of the trees were pines, still dark green against the bright sky.

  “It is,” she said.

  He walked more slowly beside her, and she felt him gaze down at her. She looked up and he almost stopped.

  Her eyes met his. He was looking down at her with a peculiar intensity of feeling in his face. She frowned, feeling a strange response to it in her own body. It confused her. She looked down, flustered. “Are you weary yet?” she asked.

  He frowned too, and then his frown cleared. “Um, no,” he said. “Sorry,” he chuckled, seemingly-self-conscious. “I don't know why I stopped. Confused, maybe. It's been a few days since I was out in all these woodlands.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, wondering if that was truly why he'd stopped. “Woodlands can be confusing, sometimes. Many paths the same.”

  “That's it – exactly,” he nodded. He looked relieved.

  She frowned and looked away.

  Her body was, once again, acutely aware of the warmth of his body, close to her shoulder as they headed onward. She felt impatient with herself, wondering why it was she kept noticing such things.

  It's the heat. With this sudden sunshine, I'm almost overdressed.

  She knew it wasn't that though.

  She was quiet and they walked onward together, quiet in the silent woodlands.

  As the path twisted, Ettie tripped. She stumbled and, almost before she'd reacted herself, a hand shot out and took her arm, righting her.

  “Careful, milady.”

  Ettie swallowed hard. She was looking up at him, and he looked into her eyes, his own wary. His hand was on her wrist, still clasped gently around it, as if it were precious. She swallowed hard.

  He was very close, and it was quiet, and her heart throbbed as she looked up at him. He was so handsome, she realized, with those thin lips, square brow and firm jaw. His dark eyes looked into hers, fringed with lashes.

  Her heart throbbed. It was quiet, and they were alone. His hand gently held hers.

  She looked up at him and he leaned down toward her. She felt a need for him rise i
nside her, and longed to be able to take him in her arms, to touch his lips. To feel them over hers.

  A crack of a twig made them both start, and a pheasant took flight, squawking through the canopy overhead.

  She laughed. He chuckled, too, the tension broken.

  They turned back.

  “I think perhaps I should rest this leg,” he said, and she noticed for the first time that he was limping heavily.

  “Och, you should,” she said, almost relieved at the need to change focus from him as a man to him as her patient. It was less tense. “Let's walk back slowly.”

  He nodded. She noticed his jaw was tensed and realized he felt more pain.

  “Come on,” she said gently. “We'll take it slowly. Sorry we were out for so long.”

  “No,” he said, his voice firm. He turned to look at her, and that intensity was back in his eyes again. “I'm not sorry.”

  Ettie swallowed hard. She shivered, and again there was a moment when he looked down at her and leaned a little forward. This time, his lips brushed hers. He tensed and shot backwards, as if afraid of punishment.

  “Yes,” she agreed, barely able to speak. “Let's go back.” It was too risky now to stay longer.

  ON THE WAY

  Garrick walked beside Ettie, his heart full of all the most conflicted, confusing emotions he could imagine. He headed up the hill, wincing as his leg carried weight, yet at the same time barely feeling the pain that would be, under any other circumstances, intensified.

  He was lost in his wandering feelings.

  He was aware of her presence, slight and gentle, beside him as they walked up the slight slope back toward the manor. He couldn't help but be so. Everything about her – each word, each gesture – called up a fire in him. It always had.

  They reached the gate. She looked up at him.

  “You go in first,” she suggested quietly. “I'll follow.”

  “Yes,” he said, swallowing hard. “We'll do that.”

  She nodded and he made himself walk in, wishing he didn't need to leave her there, his body feeling the loss of her presence in an unexpectedly-vivid manner. He reached the stables and waited for her to join him.