Adam's Call (The Victorian Highlanders Book 3)

by Ellie St. Clair

  Nearly at his horse, Adam stood stiff straight. Had he not been carrying the girl, he likely would have hit the man across the jaw right there, in the midst of all of them.

  “You,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was you, wasn’t it? You found something you liked, and instead of informing the group and allowing us to hunt it together, you went off on your own. That’s why she was shot — because of your own damn selfishness!”

  “Now see here, I — she — Rachel was shot?”

  “Aye,” responded Adam. “And I believe I now know how this happened. No matter. I shall deal with ye later but at present, we must have her returned to Galbury. Fin?”

  Finlay nodded and came round the side of the horse next to Adam, taking Rachel in his arms as Adam mounted, then lifted her up to him. Adam shifted her body so that she was leaning against him and he could therefore keep her from sliding off the horse, one strong arm holding her tight against him while the other took both reins in his hands. “Home, Sloane,” he said to his horse, as they headed back to Galbury as fast as they could without too badly jostling Rachel off the seat.

  It was a tortuous ride, and never had it seemed so long before. It was ages before he finally rode into the yard, where he was quickly greeted by one of the grooms, whose face turned grave when he saw the woman in front of him on Sloane. He helped both of them dismount, and Adam took her back from the man to carry her into the house, ignoring the strangely possessive feeling that settled over him when he saw her in another man’s arms.

  When he pushed open the strong wooden doors of the front of the castle, he called out for his mother, and she soon appeared at the urgency in his voice.

  “Adam, whatever is the matter? Are you not out hunt— Oh, dear!”

  She came rushing down the stairs, meeting him at the door. “What has happened? Take her upstairs,” she said, taking control of the situation, as she always did when it came to moments of crisis.

  As Adam hurried up the stairs with the woman, he could hear his mother calling to the cook, asking for help in gathering rags and materials she would need. He knew she would be in shortly with her bag of dried herbs and tools she’d used so often when they were children, tending to everything from a scrape on the knee to a broken bone from falling out of the tree in the yard.

  Not thinking of where he was going, his feet took him to his own chamber, and he set the girl down on his wide bed. His mother came in and shooed him out of the way as she took a closer look. Adam stepped back and looked around the room, realizing how out of place she looked in his dark, masculine room. The heavy, navy blue drapes were still drawn, and his mother directed him to open them to allow the sunshine in so she could better see to her work. He pushed them back, feeling secure in the knowledge that his mother would know what to do. He stood near the door, waiting for any direction from her, to fetch anything she required or offer another set of hands if needed.

  She had the cook steam her needles, a practice she said would keep infection from settling in. After taking a good look at the wound, she called to him, having him hold the girl’s slight leg steady while she took her tools in to fetch the bullet out. He looked down at the slender calf, so small in his long fingers, and realized how delicate she was. His gaze moved to her face, her long lashes lying on her soft cheeks, her brow furrowed, tense even in the forced sleep.

  “I’ve got it,” Jane said, her long needle deep within the leg, blood coming with it as she pulled it out. “Here you are, Adam. Now, hand me my bag, will you? I must clean this out rather well.”

  He nodded and helped her as she washed the wound and packed a paste of herbs overtop it. When they had finished, he draped a spare plaid overtop of Rachel. He sat down in the chair beside the bed to keep watch, but his mother had other ideas. “You wouldn’t want to be accused of anything improper, son,” she said, giving him a bit of a look as if she questioned his thoughts regarding the woman. “Out with you, now. You know her family will be here soon enough, and you will have to keep them at bay. They may visit, but she shouldn’t move for a few days until she gains some strength back. Not to worry, she’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” he said, though what he was thanking her for — her work, her words, or her understanding — he didn’t know. He turned and started down the stairs, ignoring the unease that had begun to form in the pit of his stomach.

  7

  When Rachel woke, she blinked her eyes rapidly and tried not to panic as she had no idea where she was. All she could see were walls the color of midnight and oak furniture that had clearly been handcrafted with care sprinkled around the bedroom.

  Then, before she had time to consider her current circumstances any further, she gasped at the pain that burned from her leg, and it all came rushing back to her. She must have fainted from the shock, she realized, feeling foolish at her weakness.

  But where had she been taken? This was not her room at Darfield. She tried to sit up but a cool hand came to her forehead. “Lie still, and you will be fine,” said the woman, and Rachel turned to take a better look at her. She was beautiful, with silver lining her dark chestnut hair. Her warm brown eyes gave Rachel a sense of peace, and she relaxed back into the pillow.

  “Where am I?” she asked, as she drew the plaid blanket she was covered with closer. It smelled of wood and pine, and the scent was comforting, making her want to burrow even deeper within it.

  “You’re at Galbury Castle,” said the woman. “I’m Jane McDougall. I believe you’ve met my sons, Adam, and Finlay, as well as Finlay’s wife, Kyla. Adam brought ye here after your injury, and I managed to find the bullet in yer leg.”

  “The bullet…” It all came rushing back to her now and she could hardly believe what had happened. “Are you a physician of some sort?” she asked, having trouble believing this motherly woman in front of her had no qualms about working in her flesh.

  “Nay,” said the woman with a soft laugh. “I wish I had the skill to heal maladies and illnesses. I can, however, take care of the practicalities of simple injuries. The Lord knows I have had more than enough practice. You should recover enough to walk in but a few days. You will just want to rest that leg a bit. How does it feel?”

  Rachel winced, as she had been trying to keep from crying out, though she realized her breath was coming a bit shorter as she attempted to ignore the pain.

  “It hurts — quite a bit,” she admitted.

  “I have something for you. It should numb the pain some, though it will make you sleepy.” The woman held out a cup, and while it smelled absolutely awful, Rachel drank it down.

  “Is my father here?” she asked, not particularly caring about the answer, but curious nonetheless.

  “Nay,” answered the woman kindly. “Though I am sure he shall be here any moment now.”

  Rachel shrugged. “’Tis no matter. He will come at some point. Whatever he happens to say to you, though, I was the one who was determined to join the hunt, and no one could have convinced me otherwise. It was my fault alone. Please know that?”

  She looked up at Jane earnestly, and the woman agreed, though a strange look came over her features before she quickly masked it.

  “Of course, dear,” she said. “Forgive me for asking, but how old are you?”

  “Two-and-twenty,” answered Rachel, knowing what was to come.

  “Oh, my dear, I am sorry,” replied Jane, not hiding her surprise. “I had thought you were younger. No matter. I shall let you know when your father arrives. Until then, sleep well.”

  When Rachel awoke the next time, the drapes had been closed and all was dark, though she could sense a presence in the room.

  “Hello?” she asked groggily, to which she heard a soft curse.

  “I didna think ye would be awake. Pay me no mind, just gathering some belongings.”

  She sat upright at the rich, low voice that came from the dark corner of the room, realizing that it was Adam.

  “I — I’m sorry, I did not reali
ze — this is your chamber?”

  “’Tis.”

  “How in the world did I end up here?”

  “I carried you after yer injury,” he said, coming out of the shadows and closer to the side of the bed. “My mother tended to you. She said you should be well in due time.”

  “Yes, she said as such to me as well,” Rachel responded, still somewhat perplexed at how she had come to be here, and the absurdity of finding herself in this man’s room.

  “Are ye feeling much better?”

  “I — yes, I suppose I am.” She must be healing, as she hadn’t much thought of her leg until he had mentioned it. She gingerly tried to move it to and fro, wincing as she did so, as the pain gathered at the bullet entry point and shot up her leg.

  “Would you like more of my mother’s concoction for the pain?” he asked, standing awkwardly next to her as if wanting to stay but unsure of what to say.

  “No, thank you,” she replied. “It would cause me to sleep again, and I feel I have slept enough for a good while. Can you tell me what happened — in the woodland?”

  He sighed and looked around, then pulled a saddle seat chair from the corner of the room and removing the plaid lying across the back before sitting on it next to her. She realized this was all rather improper, the two of them alone in his bedroom, but at the moment she didn’t much care. She longed for company, as she was alone so often that any bit of camaraderie — well, from most people, for she could use less from the likes of Vincent — was welcomed.

  “We were traveling through the woodland on the hunt when I realized we were short a man,” he said. “As you are aware, we had stopped to determine who it was, and I realized it was Mr. Thompson. Rory was going to retrace our path to look for him when two shots rang out. Do you recall hearing them? Anyway, next thing I knew ye were on the ground. From what I can gather, Mr. Thompson had seen a stag through the trees and decided to chase after it on his own. He didn’t realize he had circled around and was coming upon the hunting party when he shot. He caught you with his first bullet; the stag with his second.”

  Her cheeks flamed in anger as well as embarrassment for the behavior of their whole company. What these people must think of them, she wasn’t sure, but it likely was not with much favor.

  “I — I’m sorry, Mr. McDougall,” she said, looking down at her hands. “We have brought you nothing but trouble, and I’m sure you will be glad to be rid of us.”

  “Call me Adam,” he said, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly upturned in what nearly resembled a smile. “I dinna believe I’ve ever been called Mr. McDougall in my life.”

  “Adam, then,” she said with a small smile of her own. “And please, call me Rachel. You’ve saved my life, so I suppose we should be on much more familiar terms.”

  “I didna save your life,” he said, shaking his head. “Though my mother fixed ye up quite nicely. And ye must take it easy or you could find your leg infected.”

  “No matter. You brought me here in good time, and knew what I needed,” she said, then added more somberly, “Perhaps you were right. Perhaps I should not have gone on that hunt. I just wanted — needed — to take in more of this country. This land calls to me, in a strange way.”

  “Of course I was right,” he said indignantly, and she tried to stamp down the ire that rose in her throat. “Though you did as I asked and stayed with the group. ’Twas that idiot’s fault for taking it upon himself to do as he pleased and not consider the rest of us. And I willna apologize for speaking against him. He may be your fiancé but he’s a dolt.”

  “He most certainly is not my fiancé,” she said. “My father would wish it, but I cannot say the same.”

  “Then why are you here with the both of them?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, and she longed to reach forward and brush aside the lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

  “I wanted to see somewhere besides England,” she said with a shrug. “I have little to do at home. As interested as I may be in my father’s business, I am still a woman, and he would prefer to train someone like Vincent — the dolt — instead.”

  “Then yer father’s an idiot as well.”

  As he uttered the words, they heard a banging below them, and then a loud voice resonating as it carried up the stairs.

  “McDougall! Where are you, and what have you done with my daughter?”

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Adam, then rose and strode out of the room without another word to her, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  As Adam descended the stairs, he found Hardwick Trenton standing in the middle of the great hall, his short stature and soft frame completely out of place surrounded by Finlay, Roderick, and Duncan. When the man heard Adam’s footfalls on the stairs, he turned and pointed to him. “You,” he sputtered, “had better not have been alone with my daughter up there.”

  Adam gave the man a tense, forced smile. “Nay, sir, she has been sleeping off the pain of her injury. Were you lost?”

  “What do you mean, was I lost?” the man blustered.

  “’Tis been hours since we left you. In fact, night has fallen. Were you not concerned about your daughter?”

  “Of course I was,” said Trenton indignantly. “It simply took some time to find where I was going. Now, what have you done with her? I hardly want to think of what sort of backward treatment you’ve provided her.”

  “That would be my treatment you are questioning,” said Adam’s mother quietly as she gracefully walked into the room. “I simply removed the bullet and administered a paste to ward off infection. If you have issue with that, you can speak with me.”

  Trenton seemed taken aback, likely by Jane’s beauty and her calm yet determined demeanor, and apparently did not know what to say in response.

  “I — I’m sure it’s fine,” he eventually stuttered out. “I should take her back now.”

  “That’s hardly advisable, sir,” said Jane. “She should not move for at least a couple of days, until she has healed enough. There is still concern that infection could set in, and I would not like to chance it.”

  “A couple of days? You would like me to leave her here for days?”

  “You object? Do you find something amiss with her care here?” Finlay asked, rounding to face the man, his scowling face wearing his displeasure in the man’s countenance toward them.

  “She should be with her father,” the man finally said, raising his nose into the air as if to prove he was somewhat better than them, despite the fact he stood at least a foot shorter than all of the men. Even Peggy was inches taller than he.

  “I think, sir, we have ascertained that she is no better off with you than with us,” said Kyla, rising to face Trenton. “We, at least, provided her care when she so greatly needed it. My own father may not be particularly warm toward me, but at the very least when I myself was injured, he was at this doorstep as soon as he heard. Now, why do you not visit your daughter? If it seems she has not felt well treated, then you can determine together what is best to do.”

  The man seemed as if he wanted to say something in return, but instead nodded at her, and Adam silently led him up the stairs, down the hallway to his bedroom.

  “She’s staying in here?” he asked after Adam pushed open the door to let him in first. Trenton must have noted the masculinity of the room.

  “She is,” Adam said in a tone that brokered no argument.

  “Father,” Rachel’s sleepy voice barely reached the door from across the room. “You came.”

  “I did,” he said, coming to stand next to her. “Are they treating you well?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, looking up at him, bemused. “Jane tended my wound ever so expertly, and I am already feeling much better.”

  “Good,” he said, before running a hand over his balding head. “I should never have let you come. Women have no place in such a land.”

  “I do not believe I am the one to blame in this situation, Father,” she
said, seeming to gather all the dignity she could while lying in a bed facing him. Adam stood at the door, not leaving but neither entering the room. “What does Vincent have to say for himself?”

  “He feels the same, that had you not been with us, none of this would have happened.”

  “Nor would it if he had not been such an idiot!” she said in exasperation. “Why must men always project their blame elsewhere?”

  “Do you feel safe here?” he asked, ignoring her sentiments on the man he so foolishly was considering for her husband.

  “Of course I do,” she said, surprising Adam. “You need not worry about me here.”

  “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “As soon as you are able to, you will return to Darfield Keep and stay put until it is time to leave. Understood?”

  “Yes, I can agree to that,” she said, then seemingly wanting to be rid of him, added, “I am tired, however, Father, if you wouldn’t mind leaving me be for a time?”

  “Yes, I shall be gone shortly,” he said with a nod. “Goodnight then, Rachel.”

  “Goodnight, Father.”

  As he brushed by him, Adam told him in a low voice that it was too late and too dark for him to return to Darfield this evening, but that he was welcome to stay overnight and would be accompanied back in the morning. While Trenton did not seem pleased, he agreed.

  Adam took one last look at Rachel as she turned over in the large, wide bed and seemingly quickly fell into a deep sleep. He shut the door and led the man back down the stairs.

  8

  Hardwick Trenton rose much earlier than usual, having gone to sleep without the spirits of which he typically partook with the rest of the company he was keeping. The bedchamber he had been given had windows covered in only a light, fine mesh material, and the moment the sun hit his face, he came out of bed with a shock.

  He began wandering the halls, but the house was quiet. At first, he thought the rest of them were still sleeping, but then soon realized they were already outside, working in the yard. It seemed they had animals to attend to. How fortunate he did not live with such responsibilities, he thought with a sigh of contentment at the life he had built for himself.