He was a friend and a patient, but nothing more.
“It’s looking quite good,” she said, gesturing to the wound.
“Like I said, the pain has lessened. I still cannae be playing any sports anytime soon, but this here is a good start,” he replied.
Grace allowed the small talk to drift away while she did her work. She allowed her thoughts to drift as well, but was frustrated that they drifted into a far more difficult place.
The sense of duty and respect she had for Callum was strong. Was it enough to engage in marriage with him? Was it actually enough to allow him to be her husband? Would it be respectful to marry him without also loving him or even wanting to be his?
What about Douglas? Could she toss him aside? Could she forget him so easily or would she spend her entire marriage to Callum wondering where the Hanoverian soldier was?
Hanoverian. Soldier. Those two words that got her every time she allowed her thoughts to come here.
Douglas was on the other side of things. They were enemies. He was far and distant from her in reality. He was her enemy. No matter how she felt for him, no matter how clearly he felt the same for her.
They were on opposing sides and that was unlikely to change any time soon, unless he miraculously decided to change his mind and become a Jacobite.
Why ever would he be so inconsistent as to do such a thing when he had been taught all his life that Jacobites were worthless and unimportant and that they did not deserve the land they occupied?
How foolish of her even to dream of such a drastic change of heart!
“Are ye nearly finished?” Callum asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Aye, nearly,” Grace replied.
“Ye seem terribly distracted, Grace. Is there something I dinnae ken? Am I nearer to death than Joanna has let on?” Callum asked in a joking manner.
Grace smiled in false amusement. “No, not that I am aware of. I’m merely concentrating. Ye ken I’m not some great healer like Joanna is, just learning meself how to do these things and I feel like I’ve learned a lot lately in treating gunshot wounds,” she said, not realizing she had caught herself too late.
“Wounds? As in plural?” Callum asked.
Grace looked up at him and opened her mouth, but found herself unsure what to say. “No, of course not, I just mean that through yer wound I’m learning to care for wounds. Dinnae be silly,” she said uncomfortably.
Callum looked confused, but he let it go. “Right, I guess I understand. Let’s hope ye dinnae have to learn to do any more of these. It’s not fun having it dressed and I can’t imagine it’s any more fun doing the dressing,” he said.
“Aye, it’s a bit difficult. I suppose I’m glad I’m not Joanna, having to do this day in and day out,” she said.
“But ye’re quite excellent at it. Ye have a very soft touch,” Callum said gently, reaching with his opposite hand and taking hers for a moment.
Grace felt her stomach do a small flip. It was something. Perhaps it was the first time Callum had ever made her feel anything. The familiarity of him taking her hand was new and different from him.
Was this small touch all she had ever needed from him to turn her feelings of admiration and respect into something stronger? Could this be the moment when something shifted between them?
Grace felt a deep sense of hope that maybe, indeed, she could bring herself to care for Callum if she was able to feel that small sensation.
But could that small thing be enough to help her forget Douglas?
Dunwray Manse and Foreign Hostility
“This is it,” Douglas whispered under his breath. From atop his horse, he looked down into the valley of small homes. From here, he could see the cobblestone streets and the church steeple.
It would be only a matter of a quarter hour before he would enter the village if he rode quickly. However, he didn’t want to ride quickly. He was still frightened of what he might find upon arriving at the village.
Fleet had taken Douglas past Dunmore, but now that he was near the village he had a bit more peace. It seemed every time he rode past that castle with the beautiful woman inside, he wanted to leap from his skin and embrace her. Now, he was past that castle and in Fleet, the village of his mother.
He had remembered hearing his father mention Fleet when he was very young, but it was not until he became a soldier and was roaming Scotland that he heard the name again and realized that it was the place his mother was from.
He wondered if he had already passed her. Was she one of the women carrying wools to sell on the road? Was she one of the ladies tending the gardens that lined the way to the village?
Or would he come upon her as he entered the village? Would he see a face that reflected his own and know, without a doubt, that she was his mother?
Douglas had asked himself repeatedly how he would respond to her if he ever found his mother. Would he be forgiving? Joyful? Angry? Bitter?
Here, riding slowly into her village, he was no closer to the answer of knowing. He had not made his decision yet and didn’t know if he could until the moment arrived.
Then again, there was still every possibility that the moment never would. There was still every possibility that his mother had moved on, was not herself or was ill, or even dead. How could he know what he felt for her if he didn’t find her?
What about the rest of his family? Would they be here? Aunts, uncles, cousins?
A brother or sister?
Douglas pushed the thoughts aside; they were too overwhelming and he couldn’t allow himself to be sidetracked by all the wondering when he truly just needed to know if his mother was the cruel woman he had been told or not.
Soon he found himself on the cobblestone at the entrance into the village. He had arrived.
The air was cold here, trapped in the small valley. Looking up, Douglas saw that the sky was grey, as if ready to let loose a cascade of frozen crystals to keep the occupants in their homes and keep the strangers cold on the streets.
A gust of wind blew against him and Douglas saw an old man come out of a nearby house to grab a few logs of firewood. The man turned to Douglas with suspicious eyes and a squint of disgust.
It appeared that Fleet was unaccustomed to outsiders.
As Douglas continued, he saw another four people, all of whom eyed him with the same distaste.
Finally, he came upon a small pub. Douglas sighed with relief. Pubs were excellent for gathering information while filling his belly with something warm to keep the cold at bay.
He stopped outside and dismounted, leaving his horse tied to a pole, as there were very few trees. What trees there were he noticed to be weak and growing primarily sideways, as tended to happen in the windy climates.
Douglas went into the pub, and was greeted by the frosty stares of six patrons who had braved the chill to get a pint of lager and a bowl of stew. Their coldness bored deeply into his bones and made him wish that he could turn around and run outside into the cold.
However, he could not. He had to find Dunwray Manse.
Douglas sat down at the nearest empty seat and waited until a boy of no more than fifteen came to ask what he’d have.
“Got any shepherd’s pie?” he asked. At the sound of his accent, the patrons all turned their eyes back to him with a fiercer intensity. Douglas realized that, although he spoke Gaelic fluently, the accent gave him away.
He’d known this before and faced occasions when it caused him problems, but here the stakes felt too high. Here, in this time and with the vitality of his current search, he could not let something so simple as his accent get in the way of things.
“A-aye, we do,” said the boy, nervous by the stranger, and clearly uneasy that the patrons and the cook, seemingly his father, were so bothered by the presence of this newcomer.
“I’ll take it,” Douglas replied, adding a drop of fuel to the flame that seemed to have caught. Whispers were spreading and he heard enough to know that he was not welco
me.
No one bothered him for the next twenty minutes until the boy brought him the shepherd’s pie, and he was fine with that. However, at the boy’s approach, Douglas realized it was the best chance he would have at asking about the manse.
“Boy, can you tell me the location of Dunwray Manse?” he asked.
The teen looked confused. It was apparent that the question had thrown him a bit and he looked inquisitively at Douglas.
“Well, sir, the manse is at the end of this road and to the left. Why’d ye ever want to go to that place?” he asked.
“I have family there. Or I did, anyway. At one time. I’m hoping to see if any of my relatives still inhabit it,” he answered.
The boy shifted uncomfortably and glanced at his silent father for guidance. The older man looked away and pretended not to be eavesdropping on every word.
“What is it?” Douglas asked.
“Th-there’s no one there…” the boy said.
Douglas felt his heart sink. “No one?” he asked for confirmation.
“Place is abandoned,” came the answer.
“For how long?” he prodded.
“For’s long as I’ve been alive. I never did see anyone coming in and out of that place. Me faither said it was cursed long since,” the boy said.
Douglas scoffed. “Cursed?” he mocked. How could this boy talk about the home of his family being cursed? It was nonsense. They were probably just trying to throw him off since he was an outsider. Surely if he found the manse there would be something that would lead him to his family, something that would open a door for him.
“That’s what me faither says. And he’s terribly smart, so I’d listen to him,” the boy said.
Douglas looked the teen up and down. He was lanky and tall, and he hadn’t yet quite grown into his ears. He looked at the boy’s father and saw an opposing frame, stout and rotund.
Perhaps Douglas’s mother was not the only woman to have an illicit dalliance…
“Well that’s nice. In that case, I’ll pay you for the shepherd’s pie and eat and move on,” Douglas said.
The boy nodded and rushed back to his father. Meanwhile Douglas dug into his meal and was rather pleased by its taste. It was perhaps some of the best food he’d had in recent weeks.
Once he finished, he nodded at the boy and stood to leave.
“Strangers dinnae do so well in these parts,” came a gruff voice from the corner. Near the door, Douglas turned to see the one that spoke the warning. It was a face partially obscured by a hat, but he could see teeth that had not been cared for and recognized that the man was not offering a friendly suggestion, but rather a threat.
“I shall remember that,” he replied, just before stepping out into the cold and in the direction of the house he longed to find.
Douglas untied his horse and soon reached the end of the road without mounting. Guiding the reins as he walked, Douglas finally saw the point at which he had to turn and led her with him.
There it was before him. The large house, perhaps once the nicest in the whole village, was now a crumbling mess. It looked as though it had been cleared in a rush, like the occupants wanted to be gone before they could be found.
Douglas wondered why. It seemed that Fleet was fairly isolated, that no one came who wasn’t supposed to, save himself.
So why would Dunwray Manse be in such a state as this?
He walked closer and found that, other than a hole in the staircase, things were otherwise still stable. Broken, but stable.
He walked through a door that hung crookedly from only one latch and entered the open living area. What once must have been a bustling zone for guests and visitors was now a few dusty, discolored couches and a wooden table in pieces.
There was a smell in the air, as if something had not survived. Something small, perhaps a rat or some other rodent.
A creaking sound came from behind and Douglas turned just in time to have a large plank of wood smack in his face.
He cried out in pain, but just then, another hit struck him. And another and another.
His eyes took in the sight of maybe four men, or was it five? He couldn’t tell. The strikes were coming at him too quickly and fiercely.
Douglas tried to cry out for them to stop, but the men were vicious.
“We dinnae need no spies!” shouted one of the men as he brought the plank of wood down hard on Douglas’s back. He was careful to curl up and cover his face and head, trying to give the men only his side for a target.
It seemed an age before the attack finally ended. Douglas couldn’t tell if the men thought he was finally dead or if they just didn’t care enough to continue.
As he lay there, unable to move or think beyond the pain, a flash of Grace’s face was before him. Why had he ridden off and left her? Why had he not fought for her?
Here he was about to die and he would never get to tell her goodbye. She was going to be lost to him forever and he had never told her how he felt about her…that he was in love with her. He’d risked it all for this.
No. He could not die without having a chance to say goodbye. He had to make it through this. He had to see her once more and he had to tell her he loved her. He had to kiss her. He had to know if she felt the same.
However, he couldn’t yet. He couldn’t lift himself from the ground or imagine how he might get through this, but he had to try.
For hours he lay there, hoping no one would come back to finish the job and kill him once and for all. By the time the cold night fell, Douglas was able to drag himself to the door and saw that his horse was gone.
They had stolen her? They had tried to kill him and they were choosing to steal from him now? They had accused him of being a spy when there was every chance that those same brutal men were his own cousins?
He had to find a way to get back to Grace. Dunmore wasn’t too far. It was cold and deadly outside, especially now as darkness was increasing, but it was equally dangerous for him to stay.
He knew where the path was. He only hoped he could drag himself quickly enough to reach it.
A Ride in the Woods
“Aye, thank ye, I willnae be gone long,” Grace said to the stable boy as she mounted her mare.
“Miss, it is getting late,” warned the guard. She was frustrated that she had been assigned someone to go with her since the incident with Callum. The laird, Grace’s uncle, was concerned for her safety now.
She had to get out. Sitting at home, wondering about Douglas and about Callum, was driving her mad. Her confusion at being stuck between two wonderful but impossible men was more than she could currently handle.
Yes, she had to go riding long into the night, to get away from all of her feelings and everything she both wanted and feared. She didn’t care if it was unwise to go with sunset only an hour away, she didn’t care if she got lost out there and never made her way home.
It was impossible. All of it. And she had to find a way to make it possible. She had to find a way to handle everything she felt deep inside.
She kicked the mare and it sped onwards. Grace felt the chilly wind rushing in her hair and it felt good, refreshing. The frost would come in the night, certainly. However, whether it reached her or not didn’t matter. If she was caught by it, all her problems would be solved.
All except the ill necessity of this guard riding hard behind her. He would not let up his own pace and Grace eventually gave up the hope of losing him.
Grace rode to the path that led into the woods. There was a thin clearing for riders between the trees, but she wondered if it was necessary even to bother staying on the path. Why not be wild? Why not be free?
Riding fiercely, she pushed the mare harder until they broke into the forest. There was something up ahead. Something on the side of the road, a mess of tatters.
Grace reared up on the reins, slowing her horse in a sudden movement and catching the guard unexpectedly. His steed nearly toppled into her mare.
“What is it
, Miss?” he asked.
Grace gestured forward and the guard looked with earnest and saw the figure as well. He immediately began to turn his beast to head back to the castle. “Miss, ye must come,” he ordered.
“Ye dinnae tell me what to do. Ye’re a protector, arnae ye? So allow me to approach and see what has happened to the poor wretch,” she said.
He began to protest, but Grace held up a delicate hand and stopped him. “I’ll not have ye giving me orders,” she warned. He relented and gave a sigh, moving forward at her steady pace.
Grace approached and in the perfect moment, the being looked up at her.
Green eyes.
Grace gasped, recognizing the man beneath the bruises and swellings. It was him; it was Douglas. She was amazed to see him again and yet horrified at the state he was in presently.
Before he could say anything, the guard spoke. “Miss, we ought to turn back. We can bring Miss Joanna to tend to him,” the guard said.
“We will do no such thing,” Grace said angrily. “This man is deeply wounded. We will tend to him.”
“Miss…”
“Ye heard me. Now, I must ask that ye stay back and allow me to speak with him,” Grace ordered.
The guard scoffed. “How can ye tell me to do such a thing? I am ordered to protect ye first and foremost and me orders come from yer uncle, not ye,” he said with irritation.
“I dinnae care, this is what I am telling ye. I must speak with this poor soul alone for a moment,” she said tersely.
The guard backed off only a few paces and Grace gestured for him to go further. Soon he was far enough that she dismounted and went up to Douglas. The guard was obviously annoyed, but he also knew that he could be quick if he had to be and Grace would not be too injured should this wounded man be a madman.
“Douglas…” Grace whispered.
“Grace. Grace, please forgive me for the way I rode off last time,” he begged hoarsely.
Loving A Highland Enemy: Ladies of Dunmore Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 10