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

by Emilia Ferguson

  Garrick. He was dead. She was almost sure of it.

  Her heart was more pained than any pain she could imagine, a tight fist gripping it, crushing it inside. She shook her head, eyes blinded with tears. She placed the beaker on the table and turned away, heading to the door.

  A tarnished mirror on the wall showed her herself. She stared. Clad in a long white nightdress, gray rings around her eyes, a bruise flowered on her shoulder, spreading livid tendrils of gray and green up her neck. Another, smaller mark showed yellow on her chin, looking like fingers had gripped her there. Her gray eyes were dull.

  “I need to know where he is.”

  Biting her lip against the pain in her leg, her knee aching as if hot coals burned there, she headed down the stairs. She needed to see the body at least.

  My life might as well end now. I'm alive, but my heart is dead with him. Nothing matters to me.

  She could return to Duncliffe. She could move to Edinburgh. Or Lowkirk. She didn't care. Her heart was a floating autumn leaf, ready to follow any wind. She was dead inside – she'd died with him.

  “Miss! My!” a voice said, sounding shocked. “The lobby's just there! Anyone could see you in your night-things...”

  “Don't bother yourself with that,” Ettie said. “Where's Garrick?”

  The woman's eyes widened. A tall, round-faced woman with curly black hair, she looked as if Ettie was the devil incarnate, sent to plague her inn and stop her profits.

  “Whoever is that?” she asked. “Oh, him! He's in the room over the kitchen. You can see him later.”

  Ettie felt hope flare in her, but the woman's voice was so dull and flat that it died abruptly. “No,” she said. “I prefer to see him now.”

  The woman looked flustered. “It's most irregular...The physician said he should rest...”

  “The physician said I should be drugged with poppy, and if it were up to him, I'd likely still be so. Now let me see Garrick, or I shall tell everyone you water the brandy.”

  The woman's eyes shot open and her jaw dropped. “You little imp!” she said. “You wouldn't...you...”

  “I'd do anything necessary to see Garrick,” Ettie said in a small voice. “Now, if you don't have time to take me, I'm sure there must be someone..?”

  “Well, I...I never did!” the woman retorted, clearly so shocked by the prospect of someone exposing her thrift to the customers. “Of all the things! Shauna?”

  A girl appeared and caught sight of Ettie, eyes widening in much the way her mother's had done. “Yes, Mama?”

  “Take this...person to the fourth room.”

  “Yes, Mama. Now come along, miss! Whoever let you come down like that? You'll cause a scene...”

  As the girl – she must, Ettie guessed numbly – be about her own age, or only a little younger – went on and on about her apparel, she felt her chest go icy again.

  She was about to find out what had happened to Garrick.

  She followed the girl up the stairs again, this time going left, not right, as she would have done to find the bedchambers among which was her own, and heading along the opposite way, past another flight of stairs and the parlor. There, at a shut door second to the end, the girl paused and knocked.

  “Physician? Doctor Browne?”

  Nobody answered and Ettie's heart felt warmer. If they expected the doctor to be there, perhaps Garrick was alive! They'd hardly send him to see to a dead person, would they?

  “Och, he's gone. Physician...?” the girl called, tapping again, to make sure he wasn't in there. When no one answered, she shrugged and turned the handle. The door opened and Ettie stepped through. She looked down at the bed.

  There, as pale as the fresh snow, lay Garrick – his eyes were closed and his lips were gray, but she could see the deathly-slow rise and fall of his chest and somewhere, barely noticeable in his neck, was the regular flutter of a pulse.

  He was alive.

  WAKING UP AGAIN

  Cold. Garrick noticed it first. He could barely feel his toes. He was stiff with it. He stretched, feeling his feet come to some sort of life, and drew his knees up toward his chest.

  He kept his eyes closed. His hands were by his side, his fingers warmer than his toes had been, but still cold. He felt as a stone knight must, sleeping on a tomb in a cathedral. He tried to move his fingers, but that meant moving his shoulder and when he did that, the pain made him numb with shock.

  He heard a noise and reckoned he must have moaned aloud. He bit his lip to hold back the sound, but realized it was coming from somewhere just above his head. He licked his lips and spoke. “Who...”

  A hand stroked his brow, and his whole body remembered, suddenly, what he was doing here and what had happened, the cold disappearing in an instant.

  “Ettie...”

  “Shh,” the voice he ached for whispered gently. “I'm here. It's well.”

  “Ettie!” he whispered. He opened his eyes, but his skull ached and he shut them again, his whole body washed through with nausea.

  “Whist,” she said gently. “It's all well. You don't have to open your eyes, if you don't want. I'm here.”

  Garrick felt the knowledge of that spread through his chest, bringing his heart to life. He reached for her hand and found that his right arm could, after all, move. He found her fingers. They felt warm. His own felt carved of ice. “Cold,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she said back. “That wretched Browne...you have a fever, dearest. I'll get a warm brick sent up. Hello?”

  Garrick shook his head. Something was wrong. She shouldn't be looking after him like this, caring for him. She was wounded! For a moment he'd even thought she was dead.

  “Arm,” he murmured, reaching for her shoulder. “Hurt. Bad?”

  Damn it, why is speech so hard? His whole body ached, his ribs searing every time he tried to get a breath of air into his lungs to talk with.

  He heard her chuckle, and then her voice stifled on a sob. “No, dearest,” she said softly. “I'm not hurt. You were hurt, so badly. Oh, my poor dearest! I thought you were dead...”

  He heard her sob again and his brain roused itself from the sweet fields of cloud-pink it drifted in at the thought that, first, she had called him dearest, and then, that she was crying for him.

  “Whist, lass,” he said, carefully reaching for her shoulder. He made himself open his eyes again, and found himself looking into her face, her gray eyes tight with concern. “It's alright. Don't cry. I'm no' dead...”

  “You could have been,” she sniffled. “Oh, my warrior. Promise me you'll never do that again?”

  His heart glowed at her praise and he shifted where he lay, already feeling almost well again. His ribs seemed to hurt less, and the glow of pride spread through every inch of him, warming him from the inside out.

  “Och, lass,” he said. “I would promise, but I can't promise any more than you can. You saved me, too, remember? More times than I can count.”

  She smiled down at him, a slow smile dawning on her lips like morning's arrival. He saw it and felt his heart soar with the beauty of it.

  “I reckon we both saved each other about equally,” she said, her voice honey-soft with feeling. “But I think we'd both have died without the Watch. Which was, after all, your idea.”

  He felt his cheeks lift in a grin, which hurt. He nodded. “Well, you called them, lass. They wouldnae have come without your calling.”

  She closed her eyes, shaking her head. A grin bisected her face, warm and happy. “Och, you,” she said. “What must I do with ye?”

  His face twisted into a bigger grin. “I can suggest something,” he said. She blushed and he felt the warmth flow through every part of his body.

  “I'd box your ears for that, if you were sitting up,” she said, laughing in spite of the serious situation they suffered.

  He grinned. “I'd be delighted if you did,” he said. “Even so harsh a touch from you is music for the senses. But as it is, I think it'd knock me out where I lie.�
��

  She bent over, concerned. “Quite so. Hello?” she called again, looking up from the bed as someone appeared in the doorway – he heard a heavy footfall in the hallway beyond and the creak as someone stopped there – and saw her nod. “Some blankets, please? And a warm brick, to heat the bedding. This man has a fever we need to break.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Whoever it was seemed to be either too deferential toward her, or too frightened to argue. Garrick felt himself smile as his eyes closed, a wave of tiredness suddenly washing through him. “I think you have it all shipshape,” he whispered. Then he fell asleep.

  Later, he woke to find himself cold, but soaked in perspiration. He felt better. Someone was talking – he could hear low, urgent voices somewhere in the room. Someone arguing.

  “That, Doctor Browne, will be enough. I'll see he gets his gruel.”

  “Nothing solid until two days after he...”

  “Enough,” Ettie said dangerously. “He is under my care now. Good day.”

  He heard someone sigh and step back, as if trying to decide on another avenue of protest, and then he heard a weary exhale. “Fine. But if he never fully recovers, you have nobody to blame but you.”

  “When he fully recovers, I'll have you to thank,” she retorted. “But only if you kindly get out of here and let me do as I know is best.”

  Garrick felt himself grin. The woman was as unshakeable as an army captain! She would have been good in the forces, he reckoned. Dispassionate, but entirely unable to be shifted.

  “Fine.”

  Garrick heard firm footsteps cross the floor and the door slammed. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Then he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder.

  They were alone.

  “I need to sit you up,” a gentle voice whispered. Garrick opened his eyes. He found himself looking up at Ettie's face. She looked better, too – a little less pale. There were still rings around her eyes, but her color seemed better, her cheeks less sunken. He wondered how long he'd slept.

  “I'll...try,” he grunted, shifting upwards in the bedclothes. Someone had piled bolsters behind him and he leaned back, feeling as weak as a hank of rain-sodden mold-straw. He couldn't have done so much as raise a hand unaided, never mind argue with Doctor Browne. He turned to thank her.

  “Thanks,” he whispered. “What...happened?”

  “Your fever broke,” Ettie said, matter of fact. “And now you need to eat, to recover your strength. I'm feeding you.”

  Garrick felt his eyes stretch open with surprise. He felt himself about to laugh, but someone reached across to shift him where he lay against the pillows and he found himself with a bowl of soup on his lap, a spoon to his lip.

  “Now, swallow that and then I'll tell you about what happened since we came here.”

  Garrick, left with little choice in the matter, parted his lips and let the warm soup – which proved to be gruel – pass down his throat. He swallowed, and felt his feet start to tingle as the warmth and life-giving sustenance reached them. How long had he been lying here?

  “We came here three days ago,” Ettie told him, matter-of-fact. “I woke on the first day. You had a fever when I found you. And it broke this morning, so now I'm feeding you.”

  “A fever?”

  “Infection from the wound. Either the one in your shoulder or the one on your chest, I can't tell. I thought at first that the cracked bone had festered, but thank Heaven it wasn't that, or you'd likely be dead and nothing to remedy.”

  “Oh,” Garrick blinked. “The festering..?”

  He rolled his shoulder, noticing that the wound felt tight, and a little itchy, but no worse than that.

  “The ill-humors cleared yesterday,” Ettie said. “The wound in your chest was stitched. I packed it with a poultice of moldering bread, which often helps,” she said.

  He looked down, but his chest was swathed with blankets. “It's better now?” he hazarded.

  “A little pink, but the infection is being fought,” Ettie said carefully. “No, Garrick Hale, you're well.”

  Garrick swallowed gruel and nodded. “I think so.”

  She smiled. “And we can go home soon.”

  His face moved with a slow, wondering grin. His chest ached with sweetness. “Home?” he asked. “To your home?”

  “Home to Duncliffe,” she agreed.

  Garrick closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. He was recovering. She was safe. And they were going home.

  Garrick slept an hour after the gruel. Ettie waited for him to wake, spending her time between the parlor, where she was mending a pillowcase in an attempt to help the innkeeper's daughter, and the room he occupied.

  “Miss?” a voice called her. “Will you come down? Mama said there's someone in the parlor.”

  “I'll come down in a moment,” Ettie agreed softly. She put aside the sewing and stood – before she went down, she would be sure to check if Garrick was awake.

  She headed past the room. When she went in, she found him propped up as she had left him after his meal – his eyes were open though, and looked at her with such gentleness in them that she thought her heart might melt.

  “You're here,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she agreed, taking his hand. She felt it warmer than it had been and her heart rejoiced at even this little sign of his wellness. “I am just going downstairs, dearest. Then I'll come back to talk. Good?”

  “Mm,” he murmured. His hand tightened on her fingers and she felt the contact flood her senses. He was so close and his touch so wondrous and she wanted, very badly, to kiss him.

  He squeezed her hand again and she tightened her fingers and then let go gently. She headed toward the door.

  “I'll be but a moment,” she said, voice tight in her throat. He looked so beautiful, lying there, with his skin pale and his dark hair against the pillow. Her whole body responded lovingly.

  Downstairs in the hallway, she felt a mild impatience. Why should she have to come down here to see someone? It was likely the coachman asking for a fee, which she couldn't afford, or a trader asking for the same.

  As it was, she was worried. I have no idea how to pay the inn. Or the physician, however useless he might be. I need to pay.

  She had spent her last cash on the coach ride, over a week ago. She had nothing and she knew Garrick had none. All she could do was hope something would happen, or she could settle the bill at Duncliffe. She had the conviction that it would all be taken care of.

  “Miss?”

  She looked up in surprise. There in the hallway was Garwick, one of the carters at Duncliffe. She stared at him. “Mr. Garwick?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

  He cleared his throat. “Mistress sent me,” he explained. “Lady Marguerite. She, um...wanted me to find you. I went to Lowkirk, and then I had some word at the inn and so I followed the mail coach route and, well, ended up here.” He shrugged uncomfortably, looking about. “Sorry,” he added. “If I...am making things difficult?”

  Ettie frowned. Suddenly she understood. He reckoned she had run away – perhaps an elopement, perhaps something else – and was apologizing for revealing her.

  She laughed. “Garwick!” she said. “Don't you dare be sorry! You did well! Now we can go home.”

  It was possible suddenly. Everything had been settled. They could go home.

  UNEXPECTED HAPPENINGS

  The coach ride to Duncliffe was brief. Ettie felt her heart fill with a soft joy she’d never imagined. They were going home.

  “So,” Garrick said as he gently took her hand where they sat in the coach, riding back to Duncliffe as if they were gentry. “What do you see, eh?”

  Ettie frowned. “See?”

  Garrick cleared his throat. She noticed that his cheeks were red. “Um...in the future,” he said carefully. “For us.”

  Ettie felt a grin move across. She held it back, not wanting to make it too obvious. She was touched that he would ask her to use the Sight for
them. She bit her cheeks and composed her thoughts.

  “Well,” she said, closing her eyes and reaching for real inspiration. She wasn't going to mislead him – she really wanted to see if there was anything to be seen. She paused. All that came to her was a small, whitewashed cottage on a cliff-top, and the sense of blue.

  “Well?”

  “I see a cottage, by the sea,” Ettie said. As she spoke, it all flashed into view suddenly, unbidden, as if a hand painted it on the canvas of her thought. “I can see you, somewhere inside. I'm on the terrace,” she added. “And...And a little child is standing by my side.”

  She swallowed, feeling a sudden overwhelming intensity of feeling. The child – boy-child or girl, she wasn't sure – had blonde hair and dark eyes and they looked at her with a shy happiness. She felt her heart swell as if it would burst her chest. She loved the child already, though he or she was yet unborn.

  “Ettie?” a voice said. “Our child?”

  She nodded, her eyes tight shut, holding back tears. She was certain, though there was no way of telling. They were there, in that cottage on the hill, and this was their baby.

  She heard him let out a long breath and when she turned, it was to find herself looking into his eyes.

  “Ettie,” he breathed. “I...I wanted to ask you, if, well...if you'd settle with me. And, well...this...I don't know how I should ask now, and...”

  “I say yes,” Ettie said, feeling complete joy possess her. “I want to spend every one of my days with you, Garrick Hale. From now until my last. Forever.”

  She was crying, tears blurring her vision, cheeks stretched with a smile. She opened her eyes and focused on his face. He was clearly astonished.

  “Ettie,” he breathed. He reached for her hair, stroking it gently, as if he could barely believe she was real. “I...Ever since I saw you, I felt a love I never imagined could be,” he said. “And now...now...well, I am the luckiest fellow ever to be alive. I think I'm dreaming,” he added, and she heard his voice break, a sob.

  Ettie reached for him then and his arms enfolded her, and they sat together, silent, sharing the wonder that was him and her, and being together.