The Highlander's Brave Baroness (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 10)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “What news?”

  Prudence came in. Her hair was still bound back off her face in the covering cloth. Her expression was grave.

  “She’ll live,” she said. “She’s weak, though. We’ve done what we can to bring the fever down. She’s resting.”

  Alexander felt as if his bones collapsed, so acute was the relief. He sank into the chair, exhausted.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Fevers were the worst thing he could imagine – Brenna, his sweet Brenna – had been killed by a fever. Now, for Adeline to have one was more than he could bear.

  “Easy, lad,” Prudence said. He looked up into those startlingly blue eyes, surprised to see a glimmer of compassion from the stern healer. “She’s a strong lass.”

  “I know.” He covered his face with his hands. “But fever…”

  “She’s resting now,” was all Prudence said, and she let a glimmer of hope show on her face. “And the fever went off quickly.”

  “Good,” he said again. That much, he understood. With Brenna, the fever had not stopped – it had simply risen and worsened until she was unconscious, and then risen further until she shook and convulsed…

  “You can get some sleep.”

  “I want to see her,” Alex said, his voice muffled by his hands over his face. He drew them down and looked up at her, seeing in her concerned frown just how bad he must look.

  “You need sleep.”

  “I want to see her.”

  He stood and, even though the healer shook her head, he walked with weary resignation from the pungently scented still room and down the hallway to where she lay.

  At the doorway, he paused. She lay in bed, her hair, damp and dark, spread on the pillow. She was sleeping – her face was relaxed, though every now and then her lips tightened, as if in sudden pain. He could see her heart beating, and her hand was at her side, fingers open in a gesture that tore at his heart. She looked so defenseless.

  He went over to the bed and gazed at her. Her skin was white, her lips bluish-red. He could see where her hair had been smoothed back from her brow, the damp cloth in the bowl of icy well water on the table.

  “Adeline,” he whispered. “Please…get well?”

  She sighed, and he tensed, feeling stupid. He didn’t want to wake her! He knew enough to sense that, were she to sleep, she would likely heal faster. He waited, holding his breath. When she didn’t move, her breathing still steady and regular, he sank down onto the chair beside her bed.

  “Please, live,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

  His heart felt as though it was gripped in a fist of ice. He reached for her hand and, gently, wrapped it in his. It was cold.

  He must have slept there, for when he opened his eyes again, it was utterly dark. The fire had almost burned out, the faintest trace of gleaming coals casting orange light on the hearth mat in the corner of the room.

  Alexander grunted. His back had tensed and stiffened, and he stood, feeling cramped and impossibly worn out. He hobbled to the fireplace and lifted one of the pokers, stirring it. Then he bent to the hearth mat and started feeding it scraps of tinder, blowing it to life.

  “I won’t let you get cold.”

  He was talking to Adeline, and he heard her sigh and shift on the bed. He stood and, leaving the fire revived again, went to her side.

  She groaned and shifted on the pillow, eyelids fluttering. He sat down on the chair where he’d been sleeping, and took her hand.

  “Adeline..?”

  He heard her draw a slow inhalation and held his breath, terrified of what might happen. He shouldn’t have woken her! She was going into a fever again. She was going to start shaking…

  “Don’t die,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me. My beautiful, strong, headstrong, wonderful woman! I love you.”

  She sighed again, and her hand clutched his. It was so cold! He could hear her drawing in another labored breath. As a thousand horrible memories flashed through his mind, she sighed and opened her eyes.

  “Alexander,” she murmured. Her eyes focused on his. She was smiling.

  “Adeline!” he shouted it, surprise making him rash. He gripped her hand and, cold and damp, drew it to his face. Holding it against his chin, he kissed it.

  “You’re awake,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. She rolled her face towards his, her lips twisting in a grin. “And I’m not sure what I think about the “headstrong” bit. But I do love you.”

  “Adeline!” He grinned, laughing stupidly with relief. He kissed her again, tenderly, on the brow. “I’m sorry. But really, you are, sometimes.”

  She grinned. “I know.”

  “I love it.”

  Adeline smiled and gripped his hand. He was so pleased to feel real strength in her grasp! He could have sung, for relief. He clasped her hand, stroking the palm and the fingertips.

  “You are a sweet man,” she whispered.

  He laughed again. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t usually occur to me, either,” she said, looking at him with a sidelong glance. “But, at the moment, after a day of feeling like my head might burst, I think it. Tomorrow, I’ll be more sensible.”

  He grinned so broadly his cheeks hurt. He squeezed her hand.

  “Well, you’re likely right,” he said. “I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “Do that,” she whispered.

  She slept again. He sat beside her, with his fingers locked with hers. He could feel her hand starting to warm, her breathing slow from the tight wheeze to a slow, steady breath of true sleep.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. He was not particularly religious, but in that moment, he felt more profoundly grateful than he’d ever felt before.

  He must have fallen asleep himself, for the next thing he knew was the faint white light falling onto his face, and the sound of people walking down the hallway outside.

  “Take me to her, Prudence,” a firm feminine voice was saying. “I have to see her.”

  “She’s still resting, milady,” Prudence replied, sounding cautious. “She might sleep for a day or two. I have given her tincture of valerian. She was sleeping soundly when I left.”

  “She’s still asleep.”

  Alexander stood, gesturing firmly with a finger to his lips. Prudence raised a brow, but nodded. She came into the room swiftly.

  “No, she’s awake.” A warm, tired voice said from behind him.

  He spun around with his face lit with a grin. “Adeline!”

  “Now then,” Prudence said, sinking down by the bedside. “No excitement. You should rest. I need to feel your pulse…”

  “I’m just weak,” Adeline said with that tired irony. “And if somebody could bring me a plate of broth? I would be very pleased.”

  Alexander felt himself stride to the door, determined to find the broth. Lady Marguerite, in the doorway, gently held up a hand to stop him.

  “Mr. McRade? I’ll fetch my maid to go down to the kitchens. And, can I get you breakfast? You’ve done well.”

  “I’m not leaving her,” he said stiffly. He held the woman’s gaze.

  “You have done more than your duty,” she said gently.

  “It isn’t duty,” he said angrily. “I’m…”

  He was about to say he was plighted to her, but his words stopped in his throat. He didn’t know whether it would do her damage, for people to know outright. He turned back to the bed. Adeline, pale and tired, smiled at him.

  “Go and get some broth, Alexander,” she said gently. “You can bring it back for both of us.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Leaving Lady Marguerite and Prudence to puzzle that out as best they could, he headed swiftly to the kitchens.

  “You’re back, are you?” an amused voice inquired as he paused in the doorway.

  “I’m here with Lady Adeline.”

  “Yes, you really are,” Mrs. Merrick said, giving him a bloodless grin. “And you’re findin
g old wounds healed, and new wounds opening, eh?”

  He shot her a look. She simply raised a brow.

  “I need some broth,” he began.

  “Aye, I have some boiling on the stove.”

  Without either of them mentioning it, she set out two fired clay bowls and ladled generous helpings of steaming broth in each. Then she set them on a tray, raising her brow at him.

  “So? You’re ready to make another choice?”

  He frowned. “A choice?” His hair stood on end. He didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Well, lad?” she said, turning to the stove. “Nobody said choices were always easy. And you’ll be making more of them, before too long.”

  Alexander stared at her, but she was already turning back towards the stove.

  “Mrs. McNeil?” she said to a woman he’d barely noticed there before. “If you could find some thyme, to season the stew? There, at the back of the cupboard.”

  He went out, carrying the tray she’d given him.

  As he climbed the stairs, he met with Prudence. She was walking swiftly, her face set in an expression of worry.

  “Prudence?” he stopped dead, feeling his heart almost stop.

  “We had word from Dunrade,” she said, glancing at him swiftly. “A rider came for you. An emergency.”

  “An emergency?” he felt his hair stand on end. “What sort of emergency?”

  “The lad’s in the hallway,” Prudence said quickly. “He’s likely going to the kitchens. If you hurry, you can catch him yet.”

  “I need to take this upstairs,” he said, gesturing at the broth.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Thanks,” he called over his shoulder. He half ran, half walked, to the kitchens.

  “Sir?” A youth stared at him as he burst in. Merrick was systematically setting out bread and stew for the messenger, as if she had made it specially. She gave Alexander a mild glance.

  “You rode from Dunrade?” Alexander snapped.

  The youth nodded. A shock of blonde hair fell over one eye and he scrubbed it aside, staring up at Alexander.

  “Aye. Sir, are you..?”

  “Aye, I’m Mr. McRade,” Alexander said, suddenly impatient with the name. He was the heir to McRurie. He wished at that moment that he could be so again. “What news, lad?”

  “The master sent me…Lord Tam.”

  “Aye,” Alexander nodded. “What did he say?”

  “He said, to come quickly,” the youth said. He reached into his pack and wordlessly held out a long object. Alexander’s heart stopped.

  “He sent this.”

  Alexander nodded, hand reaching for it almost unwillingly. He knew without drawing it what he would find in the well-bound leather sheath. It was the knife, the dagger of Spanish steel. He felt sick.

  “He said when he needs me?”

  “He said to come as soon as you can.”

  Alexander nodded. His mouth was dry. He turned back to the door.

  “Can somebody ready my horse?” he asked.

  “I’ll go,” the lad said.

  “Thanks,” he called over his shoulder. Feeling weak and exhausted again, he hurried from the room.

  Upstairs, he found Adeline sitting in the bed, with Prudence sitting on the stool by the bedside. Adeline was holding the spoon and broth bowl, and he could hear a steady stream of commentary, dry and insistent, in her voice.

  “…I really am quite capable, Prudence. You’ll find, if you check, that it’s not my mind that’s gone. I’m perfectly able to lift a spoon to my own lips unassisted.”

  He felt himself smile, despite his concern. He paused in the doorway. As Prudence started a gentle response, he saw Adeline look up. She grinned.

  “Ah. Alexander. If you’re of the opinion that I still have enough sense in my head to feed myself alone, do you think you might tell Prudence? She might believe it if you say it.”

  He smiled, though his heart ached. He didn’t want to have to leave her! Not yet.

  “Prudence?”

  “I’m going,” the healer said, standing quickly. She didn’t look offended by her patient’s commentary – she was grinning.

  “Thanks,” he said to her on the way out. She said nothing, just shot him a smile.

  “Good morning,” Adeline said, giving him a tired smile.

  “Good morning.”

  “Have you broken your fast?” she asked, brow raised inquiringly. “If you haven’t, there’s a cob loaf there. You might be able to eat some of it – I shan’t be able to.”

  “Thanks,” he said. He took up the loaf she’d indicated and tore off a big section. He was starving. Chewing, he sat by her bedside while she told him about the indignities of being fussed about by Prudence and Lady Marguerite.

  “Anybody would think I’d suddenly been graced with the wits of a turnip,” she sighed.

  He smiled. He looked at her, where she lay back on the pillows, still pale, and wondered how he could tell her his news. The dagger was tucked into his belt – he could feel the weight of it at his side, a burden he wished he did not have to carry.

  “Nobody would think that,” he smiled. “You fed me, after all. And I hadn’t had a fever.”

  She grinned, and shook her head. “Well, I reckon I thought you needed feeding.”

  “Because I had the wit of a turnip?” he teased, starting to laugh again.

  “Well, I wasn’t planning to say that,” Adeline laughed. “But the thought did cross my mind.”

  She lay back on the pillows, smiling and exhausted. The bowl of broth was half eaten. He looked down at the loaf he held, half eaten, in his hand. He swallowed.

  “Adeline,” he said slowly. “I have had news.”

  “The baron’s searching for us?” Adeline struggled upright on the pillow, face grim. “I am sure Marguerite can refuse him entry here…”

  “Don’t fret,” he soothed, seeing how worried she looked. “I don’t know.”

  “What news was it?” she asked, dark eyes inquiring.

  “I don’t know,” he said. How was he supposed to tell her that he’d agreed with her son to contact him, should he find out any danger? He felt the dagger press against his side and tried to think of the right thing to say.

  “Well, that’s an interesting sort of news,” she said with some irony. “Alexander…”

  “I don’t want to worry you about it.”

  “Tell me,” she said slowly.

  “Adeline, I can’t.” He sounded desperate, as he felt.

  “Alexander McRade. I don’t appreciate concealing the truth.” Her voice was firm.

  “Adeline…” he winced. “Please – don’t be angry.”

  “You seem to think,” Adeline said tightly, “that you have suddenly to shield me from the world. I haven’t lost my wits, Alexander.”

  “I know,” he protested. “Adeline, just…be calm?” The tension of her anger at him weighed on him further, making impossible to think.

  “Calm.” Her eyes raked his face. “Is that what you think? That I’m a foolish woman who mustn’t be made overwrought? I’m ill, Alexander. And I don’t like being ill, and needing you to help me. It makes me feel helpless. It’s not funny.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny,” Alexander winced. Was that what she thought? “I just…I don’t want to distress you, and…”

  “The only way you can distress me is by concealing the truth. I need to know,” she said, desperate. “If you have to go, just tell me why?”

  He felt desperate. How could he tell her, without betraying Tam’s confidence? Without worrying her?

  “Look, I have to go, and…”

  “Go, then,” she said. She set the bowl of broth on the side table, and sat up in bed. “If all that’s keeping you here is a frail minded woman, why don’t you just leave me?”

  “Adeline,” he felt terrible. “Please, try to understand?”

  “I did try,” she said softly. “Apparently, it’s beyond me. Now, go.”r />
  Alexander stood. He looked down at her. Desperately, he wanted to conceal the truth from her. He wanted her to be calm, to recover her strength. He knew it was unfair – she was in some ways more capable and stronger than he was. However, he couldn’t make her upset now.

  “I’ll go, then,” he said softly.

  “Farewell.”

  He felt his throat tighten and he nodded, miserable.

  “Farewell.”

  He turned away and went to the door. Her eyes held his. He wanted to kneel beside her, to tell her the truth. How could he compromise her health, risk whatever relapse the shock that Tam was in danger might put her into?

  Turning away, he walked briskly down the hallway to the stables.

  Outside, the wind was icy and he drew his cloak tight around him, swinging up into the saddle as fast as he could. He gently gripped his horse’s sides, speeding into a canter. They rode together into the woods.

  “Cursed this weather.”

  He gritted his teeth, feeling the drizzle drive into his face. It was cold out here! His hands were freezing where he gripped the reins, his fingers too tense to unfasten. He winced, feeling sorry for his horse, and rode steadily onward.

  “Ride takes the best part of a day,” he reminded himself. Inside his cloak, he too was shivering. He could barely even feel his toes. He tried not to think about the possibility that he, too, would end up abed with a bout of fever.

  The rain started to clear, mid-morning. By afternoon, it was dry. The ground steamed gently. The sunlight sparked on raindrops. He slowed to a walk, heading through the broad-leafed and needled trees. They were at the top of the ridge, and soon they would cross down into the last valley, heading back towards Dunrade.

  It was two o’ clock in the afternoon when he arrived. Chilled to the bone, wet and miserable, he rode in.

  “McRade!”

  Tam was there, almost instantly. His footsteps rang out on the cobbles. Alexander nodded. He leaned against the wall of the stables, watching while the stable hand, young and efficient, dried his horse off with a linen towel. He wished he could have one himself.

  “Sir,” he nodded respectfully to Tam. “I came as fast as I could.”

  “I know.” Tam leaned on his shoulder. His eyes were worried. He seemed to have aged two years since Alexander saw him last, his face gaunt, eyes big. He looked troubled.