The Haunted Knight 0f Lady Canterley

by Patricia Haverton

  Henry sighed. “I will have to be.”

  “Once you have the ransom money do not tarry here over long on your own. It is not good for a man to bear such grief without the comfort of friends.”

  With the wedding having not taken place due to Grace’s abduction, the Dowager Duchess, upset by all that had transpired, had gone with her brother to Bath not wishing to be alone while Henry had chased after the culprits across the length of Scotland. With his mother gone, he supposed that there would be no reason to remain at Slantonshire once he had collected the funds. The kidnappers seemed to know their every move so would know to send any further letters for him to Canterley should he go.

  Nodding, Henry agreed to follow as soon as was possible. “I will come.”

  “We will await your arrival.” Tristan arose, shook Henry’s hand then left the room.

  “God speed,” Henry murmured as he watched them ride away.

  Chapter 11

  Amelia, Tristan, and Fergus rode south for Canterley. Amelia could not shake the feeling that she was riding farther and farther away from where she truly should have been. Her mind and heart called her north to the shore where they had given up their search. She traced the line of the sea’s horizon in her mind’s eye feeling as if the answers to all that she sought lay just beyond it. With every step she fought her instincts to turn back around and return to the north.

  Tristan must have sensed her hesitancy for he leaned over in his saddle and spoke low only for her to hear. “You are doing the right thing. You are not abandoning her. Your obedience to their wishes saves her. Remember that.” Nodding his encouragement for her to stay the course, Tristan urged his horse forward to ensure that the way was clear of dangers. Since Grace’s abduction he had left nothing to chance when it came to Amelia’s safety.

  Fergus moved his horse to keep pace beside her. “He is a good man, yer Earl.”

  “He is not my Earl,” Amelia protested.

  “As ye say,” Fergus replied, the doubt clear in his tone and face.

  “But yes, he is a good man. As are you, Fergus. I do not know what I would have done without you both on this journey.”

  “Ye would more than likely be dead, lass.”

  “Of that I am sadly aware. Why is it that we women are forced to live in the world of violence that men have created, the making of which we have had little to no say in at all?”

  “That I cannae say, lass, for only God kens the answer.”

  “It would appear that God prefers to keep his own council on the subject.”

  Fergus laughed heartily at her blasphemy. “That spirit,” he shook his head in admiration. “I fear it will be the end o’ ye, lass.”

  “But not this day.”

  “Nae, nae this day.”

  They continued on in silence for a time. Amelia’s entire body was tense with the strain of defeat and sorrow. When they reached the inn, they dismounted, and she gratefully retired to her room. She fell upon the bed too exhausted to do anything else. Her heart pounded in her ears, the pain of her body was so intense. Too many days in the saddle had taken its toll. The abandonment of her quest had done far more. With the loss of hope, there was nothing remaining to buffer the pain.

  Curled up on her side, sleep quickly claimed her, but she was tormented by terrible dreams. She dreamt of Grace, of her mother, and of the unknown fate that awaited them all in death. When she awakened, she found herself crying out into the night. “Shhh, ‘tis nothing but a dream,” Tristan’s voice broke through the fog of sleep. His face hovered

  “How?”

  “I heard you cry out and came to see that you were safe; however, when I arrived your door was ajar. I feared the worst.”

  “I must have missed the latch in my exhaustion.” She could not believe that she had been so careless. Had it been another instead of Tristan who had come upon her she could have faced a fate far worse than a mere nightmare. “My apologies for causing concern.”

  “My concern for you does not depend upon, nor is it born of this tribulation alone. My concern has always been and will always be yours.” Amelia looked up into his eyes and saw the truth of his words reflected in the fire’s light and shook her head in denial. The light in his eyes altered at her refusal to accept his words. He backed away toward the door. “Forgive me for the impropriety of entering your room. In future see that your door is properly latched.” He disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

  Amelia lay back sighing in equal parts relief and guilt at his retreat. He had risked both of their reputations by entering her room unchaperoned. Had anyone saw them together her liberty to remain unwed would have been forfeit. I will surrender to no man that which is forced upon me, not by he or by society. She knew that once Grace was wed that she would no longer be needed as her sister’s keeper and her worth to her father would be next to nothing if she did not agree to wed a nobleman of great wealth.

  With Grace gone there will be nothing to stand between me and our father’s displeasure. Perhaps the quest to procure Jonathan a bride of his own will offer me a brief reprieve. She could only pray that it would be so. In all honesty she would have been more than happy to retire herself to a spinster’s cottage on Henry’s estate so as to be near Grace, but her father would never allow it. Please, God, return her safely to us. Her heart longed for the sight of her sister’s smiling face.

  Lying back upon the bed she waited for sleep to reclaim her, but it never came. When morning dawned, she could barely stand of her own accord. She stumbled her way down the stairs and out to the stables. “Are ye well, lass?” Fergus took in the state of her and leapt to her side. He took her arm to steady her. “Och, ye are burnin’ with fever. Ye should be in bed nae ridin’ the day through.”

  “I will be fine,” Amelia argued. The world spun around her, the earth shifting under her feet. “’Tis nothing but fatigue from the journey.”

  “Nae, ‘tis more than that, lass. Ye look as if ye are upon death’s door and St. Peter is knockin’ on the other side callin’ yer name.”

  “A less-than-flattering description, Fergus,” Tristan’s voice chastised from behind Amelia.

  “She’s burnin’ with fever, Yer Lairdship. ‘Tis nae safe for her tae be out on the road. She needs a healer.”

  Tristan reached out and touched her face. “Amelia,” he exclaimed in surprise. “How are you standing before me with such an inferno blazing within you. This will not do at all. Fergus is right. You need a physician.”

  “Nay, I am well. Let us depart for Canterley immediately. Jonathan awaits our arrival.”

  “Amelia, I do not think that to be a wise course of action,” Tristan cautioned.

  “I care not what you think on this matter. I am going home.”

  Amelia struggled to climb onto the saddle of her horse, but she managed it on the third try by sheer force of will. She left the stable with Tristan and Fergus following close behind. She was delirious with fever, the dreams of the night entering her waking hours. I must make it home in the event that the kidnappers make contact once more. I cannot let Grace down. Her thoughts hazy, her vision cloudy, she tenuously clung to the back of her horse.

  “I have never seen a more stubborn woman in all of my days,” she could hear Tristan grumbling to Fergus. “She is by far the most infuriating creature I have yet to meet.”

  “Aye, the lass has a mind o’ her own tae be sure. As did her maither.”

  “I cannot imagine that going over well with the Viscount.”

  “It did nae.”

  “And it still does not. Poor Amelia. She fights a battle that she will never win. The Viscount will have his way where she is concerned, and I fear she will pay a great price for her resistance.”

  “Aye, that she will, but she would nae have it any other way. She is a fighter and fighters ne’er give up if there is e’en a wee bit o’ hope tae be found.”

  “Perhaps nearly losing one daughter wil
l soften the Viscount’s heart to his other one.”

  “Aye, we can only hope.”

  Amelia was not certain if the men had stopped talking or if it was the black fog rolling across her vision that kept her from hearing the remainder of their conversation, but the last thing she heard before she passed out sliding from the back of her horse was Tristan calling out her name in alarm.

  “Amelia!”

  * * *

  Tristan rushed forward and plucked Amelia from her saddle. Pulling her onto his own horse to sit in front of him, he placed her unconscious form against his chest. “Amelia,” he repeated in an attempt to wake her. They had traveled too far from their previous inn to turn back now. “She needs a physician,” he reiterated to Fergus.

  “Aye, but where are we goin’ tae be findin’ such a thing ‘round here?”

  “I do not know. The nearest inn is some distance ahead and it is twice that to return from whence we came.”

  “Aye, forward it is then. Perhaps they will ken a healer tae tend tae the lass.”

  “She has over exerted herself and fallen ill for the lack of proper care.” Tristan blamed himself for not noticing that she had succumbed to illness sooner. Had he not been so sensitive about her reaction to his being in her room he might have noticed that she was unwell and been able to get her the proper medical care that she needed.

  “Poor wee lass. She has worried herself in tae a state. ‘Tis nae good for a lass tae be doin’ all that she has done.”

  “Love makes people do things they would not entertain under normal circumstances. Familial love more than most.”

  “Aye, she has a heart as big as Scotland itself. I have long told the lass that she would make a good Scot.”

  “I am sure that she appreciated the compliment.”

  “Aye, she did at that and our time in Scotland only proved me tae be right. She took tae the Highlands as if she had been born tae them.” Fergus’ chest puffed up with pride ever so slightly, dampened only by his concern for her wellbeing.

  “We need to get her fever down. She is burning so hot that I can feel it through my clothes. It is as if I were holding a roasted haunch of venison in my arms straight from the fires instead of a lady.”

  “Och, with a fever such as that she will nae last the day. Do ye ken any healers, perhaps an auld wise woman about these parts?”

  “Nay, I do not know of any such person, but I have never had cause to know such a thing before now.” Tristan shook his head in regret for his lack of knowledge.

  “Nor I,” Fergus frowned, worried.

  They rode on with Tristan holding Amelia upright in his arms. He fought to keep her on the horse even though her limp form continuously attempted to slide off to the ground below. “Hold on, Amelia. Hold on.”

  They rode as fast as their situation would allow. Their journey took much less time than it had before without making all of the same stops to speak with people as they had before. Amelia’s body burned through Tristan’s shirt, causing chills to run up and down his spine. He feared for her life and knew nothing what to do for her but to make it to the next inn. “Surely the next village will be in possession of a skilled healer of some sort.”

  “Aye,” Fergus nodded in agreement and they both urged their steeds to go a bit faster.

  By the time that they reached the next inn, Amelia was completely delirious with fever. She was shaking uncontrollably and murmuring something about slitting the throats of the men who had taken her sister. Tristan agreed that such a punishment was deserving, but he had never heard her speak in such a fashion about anyone. It gave him cause for concern. Amelia was a woman of great spirit, but she was not violent by nature, contrary to how she had behaved along their journey.

  “She is losing hope,” he remarked to Fergus with some alarm. “If she loses hope of finding Grace, she might…” he could not bring himself to finish the thought.

  “Aye,” Fergus agreed studying her face for any sign of the woman they both knew and loved.

  When they pulled up in front of the inn, Tristan dismounted, tossing the reins to Fergus, and carried Amelia inside. He demanded that the innkeeper provide her with his best room and that a bath be drawn for her straight away. He also demanded that a physician be sent for immediately. The innkeeper’s son was the one instructed to go and fetch the local surgeon.

  “Run as if the Devil himself is nipping at your heels, boy,” he commanded. The boy nodded and ran out of the inn as fast as his legs would carry him.

  The innkeeper led them to a room off the back side of the inn’s main room so that he would not be forced to carry her up the long flight of stairs. It was a large room considering the size of the inn, well lit, with comfortable accommodations. A large tub was brought in and set in front of the fireplace. A sheet was laid over the inside of the tub and then bucket after bucket of tepid water was poured into the barrel-like interior.

  Tristan removed Amelia’s jacket and boots, then plunged her into the water, clothing and all. Amelia began to fight him, and Fergus came around the other side of the tub to offer his aid. “She does nae ken what she does,” he reminded him.

  “Nay, she does not. The fever has taken over her mind and there is no way to alleviate the dreams that plague her. Were I able to take the full measure of her pain from her I would do so gladly.”

  “Aye, as would I.”

  “We are not going to be able to make the rest of the journey to Canterley until she has recovered. We cannot risk losing her on the road. She needs rest.”

  “Aye. I will ride ahead in the mornin’ tae inform His Lairdship o’ what has happened.”

  Tristan nodded. “For now, let us see what can be done to help her.” He held her head above the water and used his fingers to trickle the cooling liquid onto her forehead. The innkeeper’s wife brought a nightdress for Amelia to borrow and laid it on the bed. She handed Tristan a cloth to aid in his task.

  “I am preparing a tea of white willow bark for the lady. It will help with the fever,” she informed him.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Mrs…”

  “Inger,” she answered with a curtsey.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Inger. Please send the surgeon in as soon as he arrives.”

  “Yes, of course, My Lord.” She left the room as quietly as she had entered it.

  Tristan fought Amelia’s fever until the surgeon finally arrived. Fergus had grown so impatient that he had gone outside to await the man’s arrival at the stables. The Scotsman was so concerned for his mistress that it would not have surprised Tristan had Fergus carried the healer in over his shoulder to speed the process along. As it was, he was pushing the small statured bespectacled physician with a hand to his back. The poor surgeon nearly stumbled as he entered the room Fergus was rushing him so hard.

  The surgeon knelt down on the floor beside Amelia as she soaked in the tub. He examined her as fully as he was able given her clothed state, lifting her eyelids to examine the pupils beneath, listening to her heart and breathing. When he stood up again, he had a very concerned look on his face. “She has been poisoned.”

  “Is such a high fever common in poisoning?” Tristan asked not being overly familiar with such.

  “Nay, one would usually expect to see a cold sweat in such a case, but I have seen it sometimes in patients who have had an unexpected reaction to a medicine I have prescribed. I believe this to be just such an instance.” He turned to Fergus. “You say that she was acting strangely as if she were having difficulty sitting atop her horse and was breathing irregularly, much as she is now, just before she fainted?”

  “Aye,” Fergus confirmed.

  Amelia began to shake and convulse in the tub, frightening Tristan that she might hurt herself. “Physician!” he shouted for assistance.

  The surgeon rushed forward placing a leather strap between her teeth. Tristan stared at him in question. “To ensure that she does not bite her tongue off during the convulsions.”

  When th
e convulsions ceased, Tristan sat down on the floor shaken by the experience. “What was she poisoned with?” he demanded to know.

  “I believe she has been poisoned with camphor. ‘Tis normally a very helpful medicine when applied topically, but if consumed in very great amounts it can cause all of the symptoms that she currently bears, including and up to death.”

  “Death!?” Tristan and Fergus both lunged to their feet at the word.

  “Yes, if not treated. Let us hope that she has not passed the point of no return. I am going to need a large quantity of wine.”

  The surgeon pulled a bottle of laudanum from his bag as Fergus rushed from the room and returned shortly with the requested bottle of wine. “Move her to the bed,” he instructed.