“Very well. We scouted quite a lot,” Douglas replied. Back at his billet in Fort Amswold, he was ready to return to normal. He had found himself scouting more than just the enemy, but rather coming upon a dream of a woman he was unable to forget.
“Anything interesting?”
“Nothing…” Douglas replied, letting his gaze drift away for a moment as he scratched his chin. It was a nervous habit he had developed any time he lied.
“Too bad. It’s been rather dull here. I think the men are itching for a fight and, as you know, that usually means they will create one,” Holloway said, knowing the men well.
“That’s true. And we can’t afford it just now. I hope no one is making plans of that sort because we simply have no other choice than to wait for the time being. I don’t want anyone under my command causing needless fights when there are enough real ones happening. Until we get called in or stumble upon something, we just have to wait,” Douglas said.
“Agreed, General.”
“Anyway, what else is happening?” Douglas asked with a sigh, knowing that little happened day to day while he was scouting with a group.
“Have you any news of your father?” Holloway asked.
“None of late. He is rather busy at most times, as that is the life of an earl,” Douglas said. In truth, he hadn’t spoken to his father for months. There had always been an unbearable tension between father and son that Douglas was unable to explain.
There had been no great event to cause the rift, it had simply always existed. In addition, he couldn’t imagine a relationship with his father without this strain. He assumed it stemmed from the mysteries of his mother, a Scottish woman who had cruelly abandoned them both. Douglas was the persistent reminder.
It was something he was utterly unable to help, but it had not diminished the effect of his existence on his father.
“I imagine he is quite. But I’ve heard we are in need of support of late. There is a scarcity of materials. Some of the men are making rounds to those with titles to seek reserves,” Holloway said.
“I see…” Douglas began, dreading the next words out of his mouth. “Then I shall write to him.
“Thank you, General. It will be a comfort to the soldiers to know that you are working on this,” he said with a sigh of relief.
“In the meantime, will you please check if there is food ready? I’m famished and I’ve had a long journey,” Douglas asked.
“There is, General. Would you like me to have it brought or would you prefer to join the others?” Holloway offered.
“I’ll take it here,” was the reply.
Douglas nodded to Holloway, indicating that the man was dismissed. It was for his own sake; Douglas needed to be alone. Writing to his father would be arduous and he had much to consider regarding how he chose each word.
After taking out a sheet of paper, he prepared his pen, but the words would not come. As expected.
What came to his mind instead was the vision of a woman with hair the color of chocolate and eyes reflecting the color of the North Sea. Her form was curved smoothly, with a dip in the waist and hips belonging to a woman ready for marriage.
She had been a vision. No such woman could truly exist. No woman with such a petite, rose-colored mouth, with a face the shape of a heart, a face that stared at him in wonder and left him in awe.
However, she was a Scotswoman. Moreover, he knew about their sort. He had been abandoned by their sort. The idea of falling prey to one as his father had done was senseless and cruel. He would not make such a mistake. He would not be so foolish.
Determined by this, Douglas put pen to paper and wrote the word “Father” by way of address. It seemed false somehow.
“Dammit, why is this so difficult?” he muttered to himself. The idea that he had to be the perfect son, the perfect Hanoverian son, was, at times, a burden. His mother’s ancestry only increased his need to prove himself worthy of the position he was in as a member of the army.
That meant keeping his father happy and not getting distracted by Scottish women.
“General,” came the rickety voice of Thomas, an elderly man who had traveled with the Hanoverians as their cook. He came through the tent with a steaming bowl of some sort of soup.
“Thank you, Thomas,” Douglas said as the man approached.
“There isn’t much. Only a bit of scrap caught in the forest and some seasoning,” Thomas apologized.
“If I can eat it, then I am satisfied. This life causes a great deal of hunger and a great deal of joy at the sight of whatever is placed in front of a man to fill his stomach,” Douglas replied.
“I hope it suffices,” Thomas said, taking his leave.
Douglas dipped his spoon into the bowl and blew lightly to cool the contents. It was fairly tasteless, and the rabbit meat was stringy. Nevertheless, his stomach gave a satisfied gargle at being fed and that was what mattered. He was glad that they had at least enough to last a few more days, until the money would arrive.
Soon they would have a new batch of funds for reserves and in a couple months’ time, when they ran out again, more letters would have to be written.
Yes, for now, the food was what mattered most to him.
That and the letter. And, unfortunately, the woman mattered too.
It had been nearly a days’ ride since he had seen her. Yet she was stuck in his mind and he could not be free of her. He could not get her face to remove itself from behind his closed lids and he could not shake the guilt over her face when the moment registered that he was a Hanoverian.
The Earl of Ephurst, his father, had been captivated before in the same way. No, it was too great a risk.
Powerless to distract himself and unable to write the letter, Douglas stood and left the tent he occupied. He opened the flap, gazed out at the hoard of soldiers and watched them go about their day-to-day preparations. They never knew when a battle might ensue. Or when a group of fighters would call on them for aid.
It had been a bloody war, but a justified one. Who were these Scots to tell the English to leave them in peace?
“General?” came Holloway’s voice to the left. Douglas turned.
“Ah, yes,” he replied, uncertainly.
“Do you have the letter ready? I think Roberts is going to the drop off point today to have them taken south,” he said.
Douglas tried to hold in the heavy sigh so desperately wanting a release. He had to get that letter taken care of. “When is he heading out?” he inquired, the irritation mildly present in his voice.
“Within the hour I’m sure, maybe less. He is collecting now,” Holloway replied.
“I will have it done quickly,” Douglas guaranteed, uncertain if he could hold himself to it. He knew the men depended upon these things and his father could do a great deal for them in this time.
He retreated back into his tent, nervous about the pressure of writing when his previous attempt had failed so greatly.
Father,
I hope this letter finds you well. We have had little to report, so please forgive my silence. Life in constant preparation for inevitable battle keeps one quite busy. Still I fear that it has been too long since I have written to you. We are currently at Fort Amswold and it would seem that our rations are beginning to thin. We are requesting assistance from any who might be able to spare.
I hope that you are well and that Molly is still making you those raspberry pies you love so dearly.
Regards,
Douglas
Inhaling deeply, Douglas sealed the letter. It seemed a paltry word for his father, and it seemed uncouth to write only when in need of assistance. Nevertheless, thus was the situation at hand.
He left his tent once more, this time feeling a mixture of deep anxiety that his father should read this letter, but also a sense of pride for having finished the writing of it. It had not been easy.
“Roberts,” he called, seeing the young courier in the distance.
Roberts turned
to the general and stood straight as he approached. He waited until Douglas made a further statement before he was willing to speak.
“I’ve a letter for you to take. Please ensure this gets to my father quickly. I doubt there will be need to wait long for a reply,” Douglas instructed. He handed over the paper and looked at it with a long glance before releasing it into Roberts’s hands.
“Yes, General,” Roberts replied. There was an air of fear about the young man. He was thin and wiry, clearly not cut out to be a soldier and, therefore, given courier duty for the Hanoverian company.
His duty completed, Douglas returned to the tent he had called home for many months. It seemed unlikely he would manage to depart any time soon. A small part of him liked it that way; it was an excuse to be away from his father. In addition, in some ways, despite himself, it gave him a sense of his mother.
At times, scouting the Highlands of Scotland, Douglas found himself wondering if there was any small chance of bumping into her. Would he see a woman who looked like himself? Would he know immediately that she was his and he was hers?
Or had he passed her a dozen times or more already and never known the difference?
And what if he did meet her? Would he run to her arms like a lost little boy? Or would he spit on the woman who had left him without a thought? If she showed regret, would he forgive her? Or would the bitterness that drove him steady his way?
Richard wondered all these things, but in many ways, he knew that none of it mattered. He would never see his mother. Moreover, he did all he could to convince himself that he didn’t care. After all, he was a Hanoverian as his father was and he was determined to prove it.
That was why he had to get that blue-eyed beauty out of his mind quickly. He could not allow his loyalties to stray.
I wonder if she managed to get home, he thought to himself with instant regret. It had been a thought that had gone through his mind countless times over the past day. He wondered repeatedly if she had remained lost or if his directions had helped.
The woman who had been with her had seemed a bit of a mystery, but she was a distant background to the other.
So in the midst of all of this, what was there for him to do? Could his hatred and bitterness toward Scottish women truly prevent him from an attraction? It seemed unlikely, yet it would be the only thing that could relieve him.
What Noises May Come
“Do ye really think it’s the right color for me?” Grace asked as Adeline held a swatch of midnight-blue fabric to her skin. She gazed in the mirror as it was held beside her face, and looked to the right and left in the fading light. They needed more candles if these storms were going to continue darkening the sky so early.
“Dinnae even think about it. I’d not have even pulled it out if I didnae think ye’d look amazing with it. I ken it’s a bit dark and daring for ye, but it’s the exact color of yer eyes and no one will be able to look away from ye,” Adeline replied with her sweet smile. She was always sincere and genuine, and it brought Grace comfort.
Adeline had always been a close second in friendship. Grace and her cousin Colla seemed to rule the castle as close as they were. However, since Colla had left, marrying the stable-hand-turned-man-of-power Beiste Brewer, Grace had come to realize that Adeline was actually more like her in many ways.
Despite the fact that she was an orphan, Adeline felt like a sister to Grace. In these times of loneliness, becoming the lady of the house and all, she was thankful. Grace finally understood what Colla had meant whenever she complained about the pressures of being the woman that everyone saw as the next bachelorette in the clan to be married off.
“And what will ye wear?” Grace asked in reply. She was confident and settled on the dark jewel-toned blue chiffon that Adeline had chosen for her.
“I think a simple sand color should do. I ken it’s not the most exciting in the world, but what do ye match with brown eyes and blonde hair? I liked that gown I wore to the Celeidh six months past, but this is more of what I feel just now,” Adeline replied.
“If that’s what ye wish then ye ought to. But dinnae think that yer coloring means ye have to wear the earth tones. It means ye can wear just about anything. With me eyes, I dinnae like to wear greens or purples. Ye can. Ye have so many options. I ken ye like simple things and that’s grand, but dinnae think ye can’t go for a bit of flash,” she said.
Grace understood her cousin. She wasn’t flashy. She didn’t enjoy standing out. In many ways, Grace didn’t either, but she also didn’t mind having the occasional bystander take notice of her. She found it was the best way to make conversation and see if a man could keep up with her intelligence and wit.
If only she had shown that side of herself the day before when she had been timid like a mouse before that Hanoverian soldier. What would he have thought of her if he had seen the real version of her?
If he had seen the true Grace, would he have felt pity or been genuinely caring? Or would he have bantered with her about Jacobites and Hanoverians?
It didn’t matter. He was long gone.
For now, the duty at hand was to design dresses for Joanna to sew and prepare themselves for the St. Andrew’s Day celebration. It was a day for all the young women in the clan to show up and show off, hoping for a chance to score a husband and be able to live their lives free of duty and the burdens placed on them by their parents.
Grace wondered if the burdens placed by a husband would be any better. Her father, war-chief of the clan, had never shown her mother much affection beyond what was expected of him. Then again, not all men were war-chiefs and Grace thought that perhaps that might have something to do with his personality.
“So do ye think Callum will ask ye for a dance this time around?” Adeline asked, invoking the name of the man they all hoped would one day voice his evident feelings.
Grace smiled a bit, not sure what to say to her cousin. She couldn’t very well admit that she was noticing another man when everyone was so concerned about who the current bachelorette of Dunmore might choose. She would be in high demand and her family was not living nearby at the moment.
Her father was gone with troops from the McGowan clan, along with her brother, and her mother had spent the year with her family in her clan a half days’ ride from Dunmore.
Truly, it was her uncle, the laird, who could veto anyone of her choosing and she knew well that a Hanoverian would never make the cut of allowed suitors. Callum would likely be high on the list.
He was charming, handsome, and had a good station, to be sure. Yes, surely the laird would be fine with that. Moreover, Grace knew that it was wise to set her sights on Callum and forget all about the green-eyed soldier who fought against her people.
“There’s no telling. Maybe this time he’ll brave the question. Or perhaps I’d better not waste me time with a man too frightened of me to love me,” Grace replied with a laugh. “And whose eye are ye hoping to catch?” she asked, deflecting the attention from herself.
“Sadly, I cannae think of a single one that I’d want to be noticed by. Sure, a few of them are quite handsome, but those with kindness lack in education and quite the reverse is true as well. I dinnae want to settle. Too bad Beiste doesnae have a better brother than that louse he shares a faither with. Can ye believe they’re related?” Adeline replied.
Grace scoffed. “Hardly! Except that Beiste was always brooding and his brother has since begun to do that now he’s not the only one special to his faither,” she said.
They both laughed, but Grace was internally battling herself. Could she bring herself to feel for Callum what she felt for Douglas? If she could increase those feelings, then perhaps it would enable her to forget him altogether.
“And this is the shape ye want?” Adeline asked, returning to the options for designing their dresses. They were fortunate that Joanna had newly arrived at Dunmore, as her sewing skills were far superior to most of the women in the clan. While it was a skill all were expected to devel
op, few took it seriously.
“Aye. See the bell shape, there? It’s perfect on me hips,” Grace said with a laugh, gesturing toward her womanly figure.
Adeline momentarily looked at her with longing, wishing she had a frame with such curves. She was more slight and, while she was certainly womanly, the curves were less exaggerated on her own body.
Grace, like her cousin Colla, had been born healthy and strong, but Adeline had been very ill from a young age. It still showed in the slightness of her form. Grace knew that she tried not to be jealous, but still she felt bad for even mentioning her graceful hips.
“And for ye?” Grace asked in reply.
“I’m thinking this, here,” Adeline said, pointing to a sketch of a rather simple outline. It was ideal for her. Simple, yet stunning.
“Gorgeous,” Grace replied, and truly she meant it.
“I still can’t believe that ye and Joanna were set upon by Hanoverians,” Adeline said suddenly, shaking her head. “Ye’d better write to Charlie and tell her ye cannae come back any time soon!”
Grace laughed. “Aye, that’s the truth. I think Joanna wanted to murder me for letting us get lost, but truly, it was her own directions that took us off the path.”
Grace felt bad for blaming Joanna, but she was still bitter at her new friend’s words of warning against noticing the Hanoverian man. “Anyway, we made it through and we got home safely,” Grace said.
“Barely. I’d have died of fright right then and there,” Adeline said.
“No, ye wouldnae have. Ye just think ye’re weak, but trust me, ye arnae. Ye ken that I’m not as wild as Colla, but ye’ve the same blood as she and I. That means ye’re strong and ye have the will to be brave. Ye need only the belief of it and ye can take hold. Trust me. Ye could handle a hundred Hanoverians without a word and ye ken that we’d all be right proud of ye,” Grace said with a grin.
She could see that Adeline was affected, despite herself. The small boost of confidence was working and it warmed Grace to see her friend glowing so.
Loving A Highland Enemy: Ladies of Dunmore Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 2