The enormity of the task ahead suddenly paralyzed her. She could not do this. Sensing Rufus‘s eyes on her, she found him watching her from beneath half-closed lids. ―Will I lose my foot?‖
―Nay,‖ she lied.
He could very well loose his leg if gangrene set in. He would surely lose his life if sepsis poisoned his blood. His body was warm to the touch, which meant he was already fighting infection.
She stood and, turning her back to him, retied the red scarf on her head to give her trembling hands something to do. She wished she could faint about now and be spared what she knew needed to be done.
―Gavin and me, we should no‘ have laughed at ye at the inn,‖ Rufus said.
Her back to him, she bit her lower lip. ―I am sure it was the ale that gave you your courage,‖ she said, her voice even.
The door opened and Duncan entered carting two bottles of wine.
―May I talk to you?‖ she asked, wanting to step past him into the corridor, but he put his arm on the door.
―Speak in here,‖ he said.
She glanced over her shoulder at Rufus. ―I think we need—‖
―In here,‖ Duncan said again, his voice losing the ever-present humor. ―The lad has a right to know what it is ye have to say.‖
Duncan wasn‘t going to allow her to tell him she couldn‘t do this. He wasn‘t going to allow her to leave this room. Panic filled her.
―Sometimes we have to do a thing we do no‘ want to do, lass, because it must be done. Now I will be in here with ye. And Rufus there‖—he tipped his chin toward the bed—―he is no‘
afraid as ye are. Are ye lad?‖
Rose saw a faint smile twitch at the corner of Rufus‘s lips. Duncan was wrong. As she looked into the wounded boy‘s face, she could see someone in this room more scared than she was.
Duncan handed her the bottle of wine. ―Let‘s get on with what needs to be done, lass.‖
Rose lost all sense of time.
She had never noticed when the sun set. The fire died sometime in the night, but the cool air from outside kept her focused on her task.
She worked by candlelight, snipping and slicing away the infected layers of skin to clean beneath until fresh blood oozed. She picked debris from both the ankle wounds and the toes then washed the wounds with water and wine as fresh blood oozed over her fingers. Somehow, she held onto the small pincers that grew heavier in her hand with each passing hour. The toes were not the worst, though she was worried she would not be able to save the smallest one. Once when Rufus screamed, Duncan kept the lad still, his voice as calming a balm as the dose of laudanum she had given him.
She took a grip on herself, concentrating only on each task, and when that was done, she moved on to the next. Duncan spoke soothingly to the young man, his voice also soothing her. The painstaking work lasted until dawn.
When she finished, she cleaned the blood from her hands. She stirred the fire until a small flame leaped from the peat, and she heated water and used burnt alum on the deeper wounds. Then she wrapped the foot in strips of cloth that she boiled in garlic and witch hazel. There would be terrible scarring, she thought and, though she had done her best with the toes, they might never heal straight.
At last, she loosened the leather Duncan had used to tie the lad‘s leg to the bedstead and sat back on the stool. She looked up to find Duncan‘s eyes on her, and he gave her a nod of approval.
―Ye did fine, lass,‖ he said. ―Real fine.‖
It was all that he said, and she doubted he was speaking about her work. She still did not like Duncan, nor did she trust him. But the words made an impression on her. One that followed her to bed as Kathleen led her to a chamber down the hall.
―You‘ve seen to my boy,‖ Kathleen said, clearly grateful. ―I‘ve no‘ a right to ask you to remain any longer.‖
―I do not mind,‖ Rose said just before her head hit the pillow and she slept.
Over the next two days, Rose took turns with Kathleen and Duncan, sitting beside the lad, reading to him, bathing his face and waiting for his fever to break. Rose felt an inner peace and confidence that it would. She didn‘t know where such an emotion came from.
Kathleen had made sure one of her other sons delivered a note to Stonehaven the night of Rose‘s arrival, reassuring Mary that Rose was safe, so she felt at ease remaining with this crowded family.
Though she could not tell exactly how they were related to Ruark, on her fourth morning, she felt comfortable enough to ask.
She sat in the stone-paved kitchen boiling water for chamomile tea while Kathleen worked on that day‘s meal. A few copper pots burnished to a rosy glow hung overhead, and fresh-cut flowers sat across from the hearth on the same countertop Kathleen was using. The rhythmic slap of her palms shaping the bread dough stopped abruptly as she considered the question. She thought her husband came from an offshoot branch of one of the former earl of Roxburghe‘s grandfather‘s cousin‘s uncles who had married more than one wife, ―whilst the others still lived,‖ Kathleen said and laughed.
―Though there was some discrepancy in testimonies depending on how much silver was involved. If ye wish to learn about the Kerrs, find the family Bible. All the births and marriages are recorded there. At least the legal ones are.‖
Rose liked this family. Kathleen was in her mid-thirties and mother to three sons and one small girl, Rufus being her oldest. Her husband had died less than five months ago. For some reason, she had thought her Duncan‘s wife.
―If no‘ for Duncan, I do no‘ know where the lot of us would be,‖ Kathleen said, working her hands into the bread dough, raising a small cloud of flour. ―We have no‘ always been poor, ye ken.
―My husband was the village fiscal,‖ she said. ―We had a nice home in the village. Then one day, people accused him of running away with their money and embezzling funds and were ready to tar and feather his family. If no‘ for Duncan . we might never have learned the truth.‖
―What happened?‖ Rose asked as Kathleen‘s voice faded.
―Duncan found my husband‘s body. He‘d been caught in a snowstorm and died of injuries when his horse fell. No gold was found but by then the damage had already been done to this family. This house was once Duncan‘s, but he‘s no family to speak of, least no‘ any children. He gave us the house and has taken it upon himself always to make sure our larder is full.‖
―Is it not the laird‘s responsibility to see to his tenants‘ care?‖ Rose asked.
Kathleen turned the bread dough over on a wooden block and began beating the other side with equal intensity. ―Aye, ‘tis. We shall see if the new lord Roxburghe is of a different mettle than his father,‖ she said, and though she would say nothing more to denigrate the former earl of Roxburghe, her stiff shoulders stated her feelings eloquently.
Rose grabbed a hand pad and removed the tea kettle from the fire bringing it to the countertop where she had set out a teapot and a cup on a tray. ―His lordship does not speak of his father.‖
―Humph,‖ Kathleen said. ―You have met Jamie‘s mother?‖ she asked after a moment, slanting Rose a glance, before resuming her kneading. ―Ruark may not have thought so, but Duncan did him a service back then when he shipped Ruark out of Scotland.‖
―Because Duncan got him away from his father?‖
―With lady Julia between them, one of them would have killed the other to be sure.‖
Rose pretended close attention as she poured hot water into the teapot. A spur of doubt nudged her, for her heart would not completely let go of the rationale that real love did not die easily.
―How did Lord Roxburghe die?‖ she asked after a moment.
―Hereford killed him,‖ Duncan said from the doorway.
Rose and Kathleen turned at once. Duncan leaned with his big shoulder against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He did not look nearly as fearsome as he did in the darkness of a mist-shrouded night. He wore leather trews and a loose-fitting white shirt, minus
the usual baldric dangling with all manner of weaponry and muskets. His wild russet hair had been tied back from his face.
He grinned, though his blue eyes wore a less amused expression as they settled on Kathleen. ―Are ye telling stories about me, lassie?‖
She sniffed and returned to her kneading. ―As if anyone could tell a story about ye, Duncan? Who would dare?‖ Her shoulders worked as she folded and squished the dough with her fist, then she turned and rolled her sleeves back to her elbows and faced Duncan. ―Why don‘t ye tell the lass why you believe Hereford killed your brother?‖
When Duncan did not reply, Kathleen answered for him. ―Rumor is that a valuable cargo in which Hereford had monetary interest went missing from one of Roxburghe‘s merchantmen outside Rotterdam some years ago.‖ She set her hands on her hips. ―What is it Hereford accused him of? Collusion with pirates?‖
Duncan narrowed his eyes, none too pleased with Kathleen‘s assessment of the former earl of Roxburghe‘s character. His gaze on Rose, he straightened. ―Come lass. Say your good-byes. Ye are the laird‘s wife and belong back at Stonehaven. You‘ve been gone long enough as is.‖
He turned on his boot heel, and after his heavy steps had faded on the planked floor, Kathleen said, ―He‘s right. You need to be returnin‘.‖
Rose unlaced her apron and folded it. She had done all she could for Rufus. But she was not thinking of him as her mind mulled over the details of Kathleen‘s conversation. ―You said Hereford made the accusation of collusion after a cargo went missing on a merchantman outside Rotterdam?‖
She was remembering the story Ruark had told her about the ship he had boarded outside Rotterdam some years ago. The ship had carried contraband that he believed Hereford had taken off an East Indiaman sunk off the Azores. Ruark did not tell her he had taken the cargo from one of his father‘s own ships.
―Was it true?‖ Rose asked. ―The accusation.‖
―No one will ever know,‖ Kathleen said. ―The cargo was never recovered. Ruark‘s father accused Hereford of attempting to ruin his reputation. Accusations went back and forth. Then last spring, our former laird decided he would confront Hereford over the issue. Duncan was a day late reaching the meeting and found his brother with a musket ball in his head. Ruark oft docked in Workington, but it took two months to get him the news.‖ Kathleen brushed at a loose curl. ―Even then I do no‘ think he would have returned to Stonehaven if no‘ for Jamie. Some of us did no‘ think he would be staying.‖
Kathleen squeezed Rose‘s arm. ―I have no‘ meant to distress ye. We owe ye a debt of gratitude, and Duncan well knows it.‖ She smiled. ―Otherwise, he would no‘ care how ye got yourself back to Stonehaven.‖
Rose answered with her own weak smile. She examined Rufus one last time and gave instructions to Kathleen for his care, promising that she or McBain would return in a few days.
―If the bandages stick to the wounds, fresh lint dipped in sweet butter will help loosen the dressing so as not to tear away the scabs.‖
Carrying her young daughter, Kathleen hugged Rose and took her outside, where Duncan had hooked up a cart. He was crouched in the dirt, scratching the ears of a shaggy sheepdog. He saw her and stood.
In the bright sunshine, he looked almost cheerful as he presented Rose a courtly bow and placed her in the cart. ―Nothing but the best for my nephew‘s bonny bride,‖ he said.
―Duncan!‖ Kathleen chastened from the steps. ―She‘ll no‘ be able to stand straight by the time you get her to Stonehaven.‖
―Aye,‖ he agreed, and patted the rolled-up blankets he had placed on her side of the bench, ―which is why I have gone out of my way to see to the lass‘s comfort.‖ He winked at Rose, ―I would have used the chariot had Kathy‘s miscreant young brother not taken it carousin‘
last night and run into a ditch.‖
Kathleen laughed. ―Do no‘ believe Duncan, lass. Jason has never caroused in his life and we‘ve no‘ a chariot to our name.‖
―Jason is your brother?‖ Rose asked.
―A fine lad he is,‖ she said fondly. ―Do no‘ let Duncan tell ye otherwise.‖
Duncan told her nothing. They did little conversing on the return trip to Stonehaven, which to Rose‘s mind had as much to do with the occasional teeth-rattling pothole as it did with the scenery. Daylight revealed a beautiful terrain, glens, and distant pines stretching into a stark blue sky. Occasionally, they passed an ancient ruin of an old church or cottage, and she asked about its historical significance, finding herself engaged by his answers, even as she reminded herself why she did not like him.
After a long bout of silence, he turned his head, as if he read her thoughts. His shoulder jostled hers with the cart‘s movements. ―Did ye enjoy your little talk with Kathleen this morning?‖ he asked, amused.
She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap. ―Which part?‖ she said casually. ―Where my father killed Ruark‘s? Or the part where you delivered his son to a cruel sea captain—?‖
―It was either that or see him hang, lass. Ruark is stubborn when he gets it in his mind to murder someone. I could no‘ allow him to fight his father.‖
―What about Julia, Duncan? What of her life?‖
―Why would ye feel sorry for Julia? She has everything,‖ he said with a lack of gallantry.
―She has been spoiled and self-indulged. Now the young lover of old has come home to roost and take his place as laird. You should be concerned with yourself.‖
Heat burned her cheeks. ―And what flight of fancy leads you to suppose my husband holds a tendre for another woman?‖
―Oho!‖ He laughed. ―Ye feel passion for our laird, do ye no‘?‖ Duncan said as he studied her. ―Maybe ye will do after all, lassie. If ye feel passion enough for him, then you will come to feel the same for Stonehaven. She needs a strong mistress. Someone who wants to be here. Someone who is no‘ afraid of a fight. But ye are no‘ her mistress yet.‖
Left speechless by the man‘s barefaced effrontery, she disliked that he could glean an emotional response from her when she was so certain she disliked him. Perhaps she disliked him because he had tapped into her deepest doubts with no effort at all.
They arrived at Stonehaven an hour later. ―You‘ll no‘ have any more problem seeing Jamie, lass,‖ he said. ―I‘ll talk to Julia.‖
Rose didn‘t know what to say. When the staff hurried out to greet them, Rose quit to her room for a bath, and left Duncan to contend with Mary‘s scolding on his own. Evidently, she was upset that he‘d taken Rose away from Stonehaven and allowed her to be gone for days. But much like Ruark, his uncle did not mind being admonished by Mary.
Anaya greeted her upstairs in her chambers, surprising Rose.
―I returned this morning, mum,‖ she said brightly. ―McBain is in the surgery with a head bump. The roads be terrible, mum. We almost broke another axle and himself not having another carriage to bring us. Told Mr. McBain, he would see him back at Stonehaven when he finished his business.‖
―Is that all he said?‖ she asked, wondering at once how she could ask a servant such a question, as if Ruark would tell Anaya anything.
―Aye, mum. McBain is a fretful sort. His lordship did no‘ want him to vex.‖
Rose took her supper in her room. Later, in the growing darkness of her bedchamber, she sat in her shift at the window seat, her chin propped on her hand as she stared outside. Her window overlooked the front of the house and the garden. She could hear the babble of voices below, and a moment later Duncan appeared with Jamie and Julia, resplendent in blue watered silk. At supper that evening, Mary had said that Jamie was recovering nicely.
Rose watched the threesome from the darkness of her bedroom.
At least she was capable of admitting to herself that her turmoil had as much to do with her doubts about herself as it did with Ruark‘s absence. Duncan‘s observation of her character had been correct. She did feel passion for Stonehaven‘s laird.
If ye feel passion enough f
or him, then you will come to feel the same for Stonehaven. She needs a strong mistress. Someone who wants to be here, lass. Someone who is no’ afraid of a fight. But ye are no’ her mistress yet.
The unfortunate circumstances behind her marriage did not change the fact that she was Ruark‘s wife. That her sons and daughters would be born and raised at Stonehaven, and she would one day be buried here, not at Hope Abbey, not at Kirkland Park, or France, but here. Rose could accept her fate as a victim. Or she could shape her fate as a victor.
Suddenly a visit from the dressmaker was no longer akin to subjecting herself to the inquisition. She may not know the difference between a day dress and morning gown, but she could certainly learn.
To find she was still capable of an honest fight, even if the antagonist was herself, restored some measure of equanimity to her disposition.
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