The thought thrust a chill into Grace’s belly and she pushed it aside, trying to ignore it as she clipped the last of the bandage. He was finished.
Grace pulled her hands away and knew that it was a gift to be able to separate herself from him. The curse of longing for him was more than she had been able to bear thus far and it made her feel ill inside to note how deeply she desired to continue the touch.
“I know it is not right for me to be so vocal even as you are helping me,” Douglas said after a moment, realizing she was finished. He looked at her for a moment with compassion and kindness. Underneath it all, Grace sensed in his gaze that he regretted using such harsh words with her.
“It’s nothing,” she replied and gathered her things into the basket.
“My name is Douglas,” he said, quite suddenly. Although Grace had already heard his name, it affected her to have him say it so softly and to trust her enough to share it. In doing so, he could be putting himself at risk as she had done.
He was a soldier and she could share that she had been in contact with him. It could get him into a significant amount of trouble to be caught with her, just as it would cause her a great deal of trouble to be found helping and harboring him.
“I am Grace,” she replied, not looking at him, but focusing on organizing the needle and thread. She had to focus on what she was doing or she would go mad with her uncertainty.
“A fitting name for one so willing to help an enemy,” he said.
The sensation in her belly was back. Grace hated that it caused such temptation to hear those words from his lips.
When he showed his dislike for the Scottish, Douglas was easy to keep at bay. She could keep her mind from taking the dangerous step of admiring him. However, when he was kind to her, Douglas caused Grace to feel something for him. That simply could not happen.
“Grace, the kind lady of Dunmore,” he said, as if introducing her to himself. A small smile played on his lips and Grace was even more utterly confused by him than she had been previously.
“Well then, I had best leave ye to rest. If ye stay in here, ye’ll be safe. No one is likely to come in tonight. There was a storm coming, but I think it has begun to calm and ye should be warm in here. No matter the weather outside, it heats like ye wouldnae believe in this room,” she said.
Douglas nodded, looking sad that she was leaving him. It made her feel even stranger to think that he was acting so upset about her departure. From his cold callousness to this sudden warmth, everything about him was confusing and she felt driven quite mad by his behavior.
She stood quickly and left without looking back at him. Once the door was closed behind her, she took a shuddering breath of the night’s wild air. True, the storm was now settling, but it still held the November cold and the wind was not calm.
The beating of her heart would not be still no matter how she tried to make it so. The air was cold but her skin ran hot. There was still the electricity to it and she didn’t know quite how to endure it.
Grace hoped that no one would find Douglas in the stillroom, but she had no certainty of anything. If she were caught having helped him, Grace would face a horrible consequence. She couldn’t even consider it.
Once in her bedchamber, Grace sat before her mirror and began to brush her thick brown waves of hair. With each stroke, she mentally berated herself for having just allowed herself to aid an enemy. More so, she had allowed her heart to be distracted by him.
A soft knock sounded on her door and Grace stood to answer it. A small part of her feared that it was someone coming to tell her that an enemy had been discovered and now they were seeking the one helping him.
“Hiya, where’ve ye been?” Adeline inquired, coming confidently through the door. She plunked down on the bed and waited casually.
“Wh-what do ye mean?” Grace stuttered. She worried that she had been caught. What if Adeline had seen her?
“I mean ye said ye were going to check on the fuel and then ye never came back until just now. I waited for a while but went to me own room thinking ye must have found somebody more interesting than me to chat with,” she said with a laugh.
Grace stared for a moment, unsure what to say.
“Grace, what is it?” Adeline asked, suddenly very serious. Grace knew that she was unaccustomed to seeing this side of her.
“Oh, it isnae anything, sorry. I guess I just forgot that ye had been waiting. I had to run out and talk to one of the men to get some more fuel and then I was stopped by the laird because he hasnae had time to catch up with me in a while. Sorry, it seems I just got too distracted,” Grace said, hoping the lie didn’t show through her face.
Adeline seemed to be considering the story for a moment, but ultimately a look of resolve settled on her face and she chose to believe Grace. “Well I’m glad ye’re alright. I was really worried for a moment, but assumed that ye had to be okay or I’d have heard something,” she said.
“Aye, all is well,” Grace replied. The lie was hard to tell to her dear friend, but it needed to be told. Grace convinced herself of that.
“Great! So do ye want to finish our designs?” Adeline suggested with hope.
“I’m not so sure I’m awake enough for it,” Grace said.
A look of disappointment was evident on Adeline’s face. Grace felt bad, but she also couldn’t bring herself to pretend she cared anything about dresses in that moment. Her thoughts were far outside, in the storeroom, where she was harboring an enemy and nursing him back to health.
It was a bit of a distraction.
“Well then, I guess we can leave it for tonight,” came the sad reply.
“Sorry, it’s just that I’m tired,” Grace said, trying to defend herself. Surely Adeline could not debate her when it was an issue of exhaustion, even if it was a lie that she was telling to protect herself for her own selfish reasons.
“I understand,” Adeline said.
Grace knew that for Adeline, these words meant that she was doing her best not to be hurt. Guilt played in Grace’s thoughts as she remembered a time when they were young and Grace and Colla wanted to play alone, so they’d told Adeline that there was only room for the two of them in the playroom that day.
Adeline had told them she understood.
Grace felt a wave of nausea for causing this same reaction in her friend, but selfish though she felt, Grace needed time to rest and think about what choices she had made and how they might affect the days to come.
Had she done the right thing? Or had she taken a great risk for nothing? Had she just completely destroyed her future?
Nevertheless, the deepest question she felt was about Douglas.
Could he ever see me as more than an enemy?
Fevered Choices
“Stupid dank hole of a place,” Douglas grumbled. He didn’t like turning into such a complainer, but he could no longer stand the sweltering heat of the stillroom and the darkness within it. How could it be so cold outside and yet so horribly hot within?
While it was a perfect hideout, and no one was likely to find him, he couldn’t bear remaining. He knew well that he was fevered and that it was a dangerous position in which to make decisions, but he had to leave. Even if it meant wandering out into the frigid air.
“This might be as good a time as any to pray,” he said to himself.
Douglas had never been a religious man, but he knew that he was meant to be for the sake of his cause. His Scottish mother and English father had been on opposite ends of the religious spectrum, but he knew that he was meant to pretend at least for the sake of his Hanoverian allegiance.
He wondered what it might feel like to get on his knees and ask God for help, for safety, for healing, for a blessed return to the fort.
Douglas slowly shifted off the makeshift bed and onto his knees. He folded his hands and closed his eyes, pressing them to the bed. He couldn’t quite remember how to begin a prayer. He remembered the ‘Our Father’ part, but beyond that, it was as i
f a wall were blocking him.
“Our Father…” he began.
Was he allowed to ask for what he wished? Or did it have to be read from a script? He couldn’t remember that either. Piety had long run out from him.
“Okay, try again. Our Father, please…help me. Help me to heal. Help me to…get back to the fort. Help me not get caught here,” he requested.
It felt uncomfortable. Was he talking to the right person? Was God listening? He had no way to be sure, but he was certain that he felt foolish for trying.
Yet, this God that he felt so foolish talking to was the same God that had divided his country repeatedly. People fought on behalf of this God. Surely that meant something? Surely that meant he was worth fighting for?
Surely that meant that, foolish though he felt, Douglas could go to that God even now?
“Amen,” he said awkwardly before pulling himself back up onto the bed.
He had prayed to return home, but God was unlikely to transport him there magically. He would actually have to try to go if that were to be his goal. Therefore, that meant he had to try to make the effort. That meant he actually had to do it.
Staying was worse than being a prisoner. Staying here where she was so near him, where she seemed to invade his every thought. It was agony to be so constantly reminded of his own weakness. Douglas couldn’t get past her in his mind and it made him angry.
Grace. That had been the name of his savior. That had been the name of the woman who allowed him refuge and safety, who had given him a chance at survival, even when he imagined that it was not safe or wise of her to do so. That had been the name he continuously failed to erase from his thoughts.
Douglas stood, feeling himself wobble just slightly. Yes, the fever was doing its dangerous work, but he had no other choice than to push through it. The room was only spinning slightly and he knew that he could survive it just fine. He had to.
His feet stumbled to the door and he tried to pull it open as quietly as possible. The night had fallen and with it, any light that might aid him in getting back to his men.
“You can do this. You’re a brave soldier. A general. A leader. The son of an earl,” he said to himself. Nevertheless, his feet stumbled forward, debating him.
Still, he was convinced. Trying to steady his feet through the yard, Douglas was suddenly caught off guard when he heard a twig snap to his right. He looked up to see the apparition of a woman coming toward him.
His heart began to pound, but it was only a moment before he realized that she was no apparition. No, it was the healer. Joyce? No, Joanna. That was her name. She was coming toward him with a look of utter confusion and, was it anger? Frustration perhaps?
“What in the bloody hell do ye think ye’re doing?” she asked him with a harsh whisper. With her small, pale hand, she gripped his wrist. It was tight and the great General Douglas Warwick nearly cried out in pain from it.
“I’m on my way back to my men,” he said, trying to pull away from her. He realized how weak his arm was and remembered the agony he was in. The fever was confusing him too much.
“What are ye doing here?” she asked. The words were a fierce warning that he was unwelcome and that his risk in leaving the storeroom had been unwise. Here he was caught and here he was prey. Douglas decided that the truth was his best shot at getting out of this situation.
“I came to see you. I had been shot, unprovoked, and was told about you. Your friend found me first. She cared for my wound, but I have a fever. Either way, I know I need to leave,” he said.
He hoped that she would take his leaving as a sign that he was no threat to her. Would Joanna still try to betray his presence if she knew that he was going to be on his way?
“Ye’re sure as hell right ye need to leave. And never come back. Take yer nasty soldier buggers with ye and stay out of our way,” Joanna ordered.
Douglas looked at her with venom. He didn’t care for her disrespect of his men, his strong and brave soldiers who’d fought beside him continually throughout this nasty war. Who was she to throw such insults upon him when he was a man fighting for a cause and she was a mere healer?
“You’re even worse than Gr…your friend. You little lassies ought to learn to respect your superiors,” he said mockingly. He had never been one to treat a woman badly, but he could not allow himself to be kind to these Scottish ladies when he felt himself so utterly helpless toward one.
They were showing up his strength and Grace was doing a far greater damage on him. If Joanna wanted to fight with words, he would fight her right back. He didn’t have time to be put down by two Scotswomen like that.
“Oh that’s it. Ye’re a right piece of garbage to be talking like that. Do ye ken what she should have done? She should have tossed ye into the stacks and left ye for dead. Worse, she should have sent ye to face our laird and his men. There ye would see true heroism.
“Because ye think ye’re a soldier and all that, but ye ken nothing about bravery. Bravery is a woman who basically has run of this castle, risking everything for the likes of an enemy worth nothing. She risked her safety, her very own reputation, just to save ye. She could get in enormous trouble for it. Terrible things could be assumed about her. Still she helped ye.
“Ye wanna talk bravery? Ye wanna talk superior? That’s me lass. And that’s me. And ye cannae even dream of comparing to a Scotswoman in terms of who’s the best. Ye’re a sad little Englishman with nothing to show for yer title,” Joanna spat.
Douglas consumed all of her venom and allowed it to rest on him. His pride was wounded, but more than anything, the soft flesh on his heart seemed to grow a little smoother thinking of the fact that Grace had truly risked so much on his behalf. He had suspected as much, but here it was confirmed and magnified. She really had been gracious with him beyond measure.
“Look at ye. Ye’re wobbling all over the place. Come,” Joanna ordered. She didn’t offer him any help and clearly didn’t care whether he followed steadily or with difficulty. She only cared that he not get in her way and that he allow her to do her duty.
Douglas followed her, knowing nothing of her intent and, suddenly, not caring at all. If she turned him in, so be it. If she didn’t, it didn’t matter. The pounding in his head and the ache in his arm were more than he could concentrate on at one time. He hoped that perhaps she might have something to ease the pain, but for all he knew, death awaited him.
“Walk slow,” Joanna said, leading Douglas into a different room, still quiet and dark. She lit a candle and revealed that it was another storehouse.
“Sit,” she said. He watched her grab some bread and slice a bit of cheese.
“Take it. Ye need to eat to keep up yer strength and fight off the fever. I’ll get a few other things for ye, especially some warm boots, but ye also need a good deal of food to take. And some blankets too,” she continued. Joanna listed items as she prepared them, and Douglas was grateful.
He could not have gone far without something to keep him warm and full in the midst of this fever and the night. He hoped that it would only take him a couple days to get to Fort Amswold, but without his horse, he knew he was risking many nights alone out there.
Joanna didn’t speak much to him other than telling him to keep quiet and the occasional off-hand word to remind him of his place and the fact that he was rather undeserving. “Do ye like garlic?” she asked him.
“Not particularly,” he replied. He’d had a bad memory from childhood where his father had forced him to drink garlic and honey for flu. It seemed to continue to plague him to this day.
“Good, because ye have to eat a few cloves right now. Trust me, it’s for yer own good with that fever. Ye can have it with bread if that’ll make ye feel better,” she ordered, handing him six peeled cloves and a small piece of dried, crusty bread.
“Thanks,” he muttered bitterly.
“Just doing me duty to get ye healed up and outta me homeland,” she replied.
“Trust me, I look f
orward to being rid of this place,” he replied.
“Ye cannae guess how much that pleases me to hear. Why dinnae ye run back to yer own lands and leave us be?” Joanna suggested.
“Because this is our land. Weak little thieves with fire-red hair and funny accents may have tried to steal it from us, but that doesn’t change the fact that it belongs to us,” Douglas replied.
Joanna muttered more than a few rude words by way of reply.
Douglas ignored it, focusing instead on the pain that radiated from his wound and seemed to be seeping into his mind as the fever left him mildly delirious. He tried to chew whatever food Joanna tossed at him as she packed the rest. She mumbled a few things about different fruits having good properties for health and recovery, but he didn’t listen.
At one point, he felt himself losing consciousness and Joanna gave him a less than gentle smack on the cheek to wake him. He saw in her eyes the satisfaction of knowing she had taken the opportunity to cause him a slight pain in addition to the more severe agony already inflicted.
Douglas sat up and tried to concentrate so he didn’t fall asleep again until Joanna had finished everything she was trying to gather. After a few other random foods forced down his throat, he was actually beginning to feel more alert. The fever was still there, but it was weakening and he was growing in awareness of his surroundings.
Against the sound of the wind, Douglas heard another noise. He couldn’t be totally certain, not in the state he was in, but he thought that perhaps it sounded like…footsteps?
He watched Joanna freeze before him. She held a finger to her lips to tell him to remain quiet. He nodded slightly.
They both knew the risk of being found. He recognized that it would not go well for Joanna to be caught helping him, just as it would not have been for Grace. For him, it would most likely mean death.
The footsteps came closer and his heart pounded a little faster.
Loving A Highland Enemy: Ladies of Dunmore Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 4