The Highlander’s Healer (Blood of Duncliffe Series) Page 20

“Whoa!” the rider screamed.

  She looked up at him. Her heart almost stopped. “Alexander?” she cried.

  There, on the back of the horse, his pale face flushed, eyes darkened with rage and pain, was indeed her beloved Alexander.

  RESCUE AND FLIGHT

  Alexander stared down at the person who had just run onto the pathway. Face white, hair wild, eyes round and filled with tears, it was her! Prudence.

  “Prudence!” he shouted. He threw himself down from the horse, patted its flank, and ran toward her. “Prudence! Thank Heaven you're safe!”

  She wrapped her arms around him and, feeling giddy with relief, he held her close. “Oh, Alexander,” she sobbed. “Oh. Oh!”

  She seemed unable to speak, and he could tell how exhausted she was, so he said nothing, only held her and waited as her breath slowed and returned to normal. Her heart was pounding in her chest, level, wild strokes.

  “What happened, lass?” he whispered. “What happened?”

  “He...” She stammered, and then stopped.

  That was all Alexander had to hear. He had heard enough from the soldiers to guess the rest. McGrear had followed her to the stables, somehow got her onto the cart, and carried her off for an end that was easy to guess.

  He felt cold rage fill him, but realized that, at that moment, she needed him more than he needed to act, to kill. “Easy, lass,” he said gently. “It's alright now. Come on. Can you ride? We'll get up on my horse and get you home.”

  “Th...thank you,” she whispered softly. “Oh, Alexander...”

  She was weeping. Prudence, who never wept, was crying, tears running down her face and soaking her neck. Alexander felt his heart ache and he reached into his pocket, taking out a handkerchief.

  Tenderly, he wiped her face. She shook her head and reached up to take the handkerchief, sniffing and blowing her nose. He watched her, mutely.

  “Come on, lass,” he said gently. “Let's go home.”

  She nodded and he lifted her onto his horse, setting her up on the front before him. Then he slipped into the saddle and sat behind her, gently wrapping his arms around her. He felt her tense and knew she was afraid, and realized he wanted to kill McGrear.

  Not now, Alexander, he thought mutely. Get her to safety. She needs you more.

  He gently nudged his horse with his knees and they headed back at a walk along the road

  When they reached the officer's lodgings, Prudence clung to him. She was so exhausted, he realized, the fear and the running having sapped her strength. “I'll carry you,” he said gently.

  “No,” she protested. “You...your shoulder...”

  “My shoulder's mended,” he protested. Then he bent down and, gently, lifted her up and carried her toward the building.

  Upstairs, he set her down on the bed. She clung to him. He gently tried to unclasp her arms from where they clung round his neck. “I'll get you something to eat, lass,” he whispered softly.

  “No,” she whispered. “Don't leave me?”

  Alexander breathed out slowly. “It'll be fine, lass,” he advised, then, seeing her fear, and realizing how easily she had been endangered the moment he turned his back, nodded. “Hello?” he yelled out into the hallway instead.

  “Sir?” A soldier, passing by, stopped.

  “Private,” Alexander addressed him crisply. “Go down to the kitchens and get me bread and broth, please. It's urgent.”

  The man frowned at him, but nodded, clearly used to obeying odd orders. “Yes, sir.”

  When he had gone, Alexander leaned against the wall. Prudence was hunched up on the bed, arms wrapped round her knees, weeping silently. “Prudence,” he said gently.

  “Alexander,” she whispered.

  She looked into his eyes, and he looked into their tear-filled depths and felt his guilt at leaving her alone mix with his rage at McGrear, each making the other stronger. “I'll kill him,” he whispered.

  Prudence shook her head. “No, Alexander,” she said softly. “I don't want you to be a murderer. I don't want...that. Just stay with me? Please?”

  Alexander nodded. He shifted so that he sat behind her on the bed and wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Just a safe embrace, in which she could rest on his shoulder and let herself sob.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Sir?”

  “Yes?” Alexander called, recognizing the voice of the soldier he'd requested bread from.

  “I have the victuals, sir.”

  “Leave them at the door. Thanks, private.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When he'd heard the click of the bowl on the floor and the sound of booted feet retreating, Alexander stood. He went to the door and looked down. There, as he'd hoped, was a bowl of steaming gruel and a crusty loaf.

  “Here,” he said, bringing them to her. “I brought you lunch.”

  Prudence looked up at him, her face twisting into a soft smile. “Oh, Alexander,” was all she said.

  He grinned and brought the bowl and loaf to her, then moved back to the wall to wait.

  She lifted the loaf and broke a piece off, eating hungrily. When she'd finished, she turned and looked up at him. “I'm alright, Alexander,” she said gently. “You can go, now. I know you have duties.”

  “I do,” he said hoarsely. “But I want to stay here, with you.”

  She shook her head. “I'll be alright. I promise. Just put the table across the door?”

  Alexander nodded, and dragged the side table he'd barely noticed over to the door, then slipped over it and headed out. He shut the door behind him.

  He heard her push the table into place as he left.

  When he reached the street, he headed to the stables, worry thrilling through his veins. He had left his men there, with the intent of coming back in a few minutes, to lead them. Their departure was imminent, and urgent. They were needed at Culloden.

  When he reached the place, he was greeted with stunning news.

  “The men have marched.”

  Alexander stood in the empty courtyard, the mist wrapping around him like the fingers of a ghost. The men had marched, and left him. He would miss the battle. The one that would decide the rebellion.

  He felt emptiness inside for a moment, and then a light dawned, slow and insistent, inside him. He had missed the battle, but he had found Prudence.

  He had nothing to die for anymore, and so many reasons to live. He headed back up the path toward the inn.

  ENDS AND BEGINNING

  Prudence stood on the edge of a field that would haunt her for the rest of her life. She looked down at the bodies, half-swathed by the fog, and felt the slow silence of devastation.

  Culloden.

  Shivering, she turned away. The mist seemed to breathe, filled with the passage of a thousand ghosts. She felt too empty to cry. She turned away and headed up the path, toward the healers' tent.

  The week passed in an exhausted blur. Prudence had never seen so many wounded bodies, so much pain, and so much heartache, as she saw in those six days in the tent.

  By the seventh day, when Alexander came to fetch her, she was as worn out as a ghost herself. He reached out for her and she collapsed into his arms.

  “Home, Alexander,” she whispered. “Take me home.”

  He held her close, and kissed her hair. He would take her home, he promised. They would remake her cottage, plant a garden. Live in peace.

  He wove the stories through the horror in her mind, and she let them drown it out, building a net of sparkling threads to call her back to sanity, and warmth, and safety.

  They reached her home a week later. The place was whole. The front door had been forced, but besides a few leaves and some dirt, blown in during the two weeks of her absence, and a few birds who'd taken to sheltering in there at night, it was undamaged.

  “We can fix the door,” Alexander promised.

  They did just that.

  It took two days to fix the cottage – Prudence cleaning, Alexander building.
He seemed to find within himself some rudimentary skills as a carpenter, and proved useful in repairing of the door. With two lads from the village, they had a new, sturdier one, up within the evening of the second day. Then, together, they sat at her table where, those weeks before, they'd met first.

  “Prudence, I...”

  “Your shoulder...”

  He shook his head, grinning, as they spoke together. “You first,” he allowed. “My shoulder's mending,” he added.

  “I'll be the judge of that,” Prudence said, feeling surprised by the return of her old asperity.

  He laughed. “I would be pleased if you were,” he said gently. “But that would mean me having to take my shirt off for you. And I'm not sure if I could control myself, if we did that now.”

  Prudence held her breath, his warm, lilting voice working through her body like wildfire. Quite contrary to what she might have expected, the effect of the attack she'd suffered had not caused any sort of aversion in her. Indeed, she had found herself longing for true intimacy, for the feelings that Alexander brought to her, which were safe and good and wondrous.

  “Well, I think you could risk taking off your shirt,” she said slowly. “I promise I will mind myself. Though it might be quite difficult to resist you.”

  Alexander stared at her. She saw the wonder kindle in his eyes, mixed with a longing that called out to the longing that she felt. She bit her lip, feeling a slow tremor rise inside her.

  “I think that might not be too bad,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level, “if you were to lose control just a little bit?”

  Prudence laughed, a bubble of joy rising up inside her. “I suppose it would not be so very wicked,” she agreed. “Though we should promise to settle matters between us in a more seemly fashion, after.”

  “I promise,” he breathed. “Prudence, I want you. To share my life, forever.”

  Prudence closed her eyes, voice choking on a sob. “I want that too, Alexander,” she said. “I want that and I love you.”

  “I love you too, Prudence Newhurst.”

  They kissed.

  Later, as her body strove to keep steady, he removed his shirt and she checked his wound and removed the bandage. It had healed cleanly, though the blood still pulsed close to the surface.

  “I will be careful,” she promised.

  He smiled. “I will do only what you tell me is advisable.”

  Prudence felt herself grin. “Well, I assure you, that leaves you with a very wide scope.”

  They both laughed then, and he stood and, hesitantly, pressed his lips to hers. Her hands were on his shoulders, and she moved to hold him tight, embracing him, as his mouth devoured hers.

  They moved, slowly and tenderly, to the bed.

  They had mended it and fixed the sheets together, getting it ready without daring to imagine that the first night they would sleep in it, they'd lie together.

  Alexander reached for her and she shivered as he started to unbutton her dress, each finger caring and tender as he gently unfastened her, one button at a time. She felt the cold air touch her skin, and then his hands were reaching into the dress, gently sliding her out of it.

  He laid her on the bed. He looked at her. “You are beautiful,” he whispered.

  “You too, are beautiful,” she said. She had never meant anything as insistently.

  He kissed her and his body pressed against her, pushing her back into the soft and springy mattress. She sighed and wrapped her arms round him, drawing his lean body close.

  He undressed with remarkable alacrity, and then he was gently removing the last petticoat, and his hands moved over her body with eager tenderness. “You are sure, aren't you, dearest?”

  “As sure as I can be,” she whispered. “As sure as I've ever been of anything.”

  He nodded, and, kissing her, moved his knee between hers. She gasped, amazed at the feelings that were thrumming through her body, filling her up and making her ache, all her senses bent and curved toward him, and how very much she wanted him.

  He kissed her again and this time, pressed his body to her, something of him pressing between her thighs with slow insistence. She parted her legs and sighed and then cried out as he entered her. She had never expected anything to feel like this. She felt more whole, more fulfilled, happier, than she had ever felt in her life before.

  He looked down at her, frowning in concern. “I didn't hurt you?” he whispered.

  He looked so mortified. She smiled. “It hurt a little,” she said gently. “But that's expected. And no, I gasped because it feels wonderful. Truly wonderful.”

  “Oh,” he said, relieved. He grinned then, a grin of peculiar sweetness.

  He withdrew and thrust into her again, and Prudence shut her eyes and let the feeling rock through her, a feeling that was, this time, only joyous, without pain.

  He pulled back and pushed in again, and then back and in, and the movements were washing through her like rivers, drawing her on their currents, faster and higher and tighter, filling her body with a slow, nagging ache that was crying out for more, and more and more...

  Screaming aloud, she felt the ache met, and fulfilled, and increased. She had no idea what had just happened to her, but knew it was the most wondrous thing she ever felt. Above her, she saw him smile. He moved back and thrust then, with increased abandon.

  She heard him gasp, too, and shudder, and suddenly he cried out like she had, and collapsed in her arms.

  Together, they lay there, wrapped with their arms around each other, until the quiet light of morning woke them. They woke and smiled at each other, and Prudence felt happier than she had ever believed. They kissed, and slept.

  Later in the day, true to their promise, they dressed in their best. Prudence wore the dress Lady Claudine had given her silk to make – a dress so lovely she had barely imagined she would ever have occasion to wear it. Alexander wore his formal cloak and shirt.

  The preacher said the words for them, and they repeated their solemn vows after him. They had the cottage folk for their witness – two other locals who dwelt near Prudence and the simple church. They kissed.

  They were man and wife.

  EPILOGUE

  “Alexander,” Prudence murmured softly.

  “Yes?”

  She rolled over and nestled her head against his shoulder. They were lying in the bed in her home, the one they had recently repaired and fixed together. She looked up at the boards of her cottage rafters. Scented with bunches of herbs for drying, they were clean oak and welcoming.

  “You really mean we can extend our garden?”

  Alexander, beside her, chuckled. “Of course,” he said. He rolled over and kissed her cheek. “Why ever would we not?”

  Prudence sighed, leaning back. Her life was so full; it was hard to imagine anything better. Alexander, a cottage, and a garden bigger than any she could have conceived of? That seemed surpassing lovely.

  “I suppose, no reason,” she sighed and, rolling over, kissed his shoulder.

  He laughed. “No reason, indeed. You're a funny lass, sometimes.”

  She chuckled and nodded in soft agreement. He leaned across and gently stroked her arm, moving in a way that made fire run through her blood vessels.

  As he pushed her onto her back, his lips on hers, hands stroking her, she closed her eyes and knew that she had never imagined, in all her days, anything so wonderful.

  He pushed inside her and she sighed and moved with him, and they started the day with his arms around her.

  Later, as the morning brightened, she turned and studied him where he lay beside her. Her heart held a question. The reprisals had been heavy on all Scots who were Jacobite. He had lost his title, his land forfeit to the crown.

  Now, together, with the little bit of money he'd had in secret family accounts, this was all they owned. This cottage. He had promised to use the money to support them, and that was how they were acquiring new land.

  Was he happy? That was her
question, one that nagged at her. Would she be happy, had she had an earldom, with vast estates and tenants, wealth and a title? If she had lost all that, and been reduced to a single cottage and a double plot of land?

  “Alexander?” she whispered.

  “Mm?”

  “My love, I am so happy.”

  He grinned, eyes narrowed with contentment. “I am so glad,” he said. “It makes me happy that I can make you feel happy.”

  She smiled, heart warming at that statement. “It makes me happy too,” she said gently. “But, Alexander?”

  “Yes?”

  “This place...me. Our cottage. Everything. It is really a good future, for you? You're glad with it? Honestly?”

  Alexander stared at her. His eyes were round. He laughed. “Prudence?” he said. “You are serious? How can you even ask that? Of course I'm happy!”

  She smiled. He was not much good at lying, she recalled. His eyes did look happy, in a way he couldn't possibly be pretending. He really was happy!

  Her heart filled with warmth, at that thought, and she turned to kiss him. “Well, I am very happy too,” she whispered. “I am very happy too.”

  They kissed.

  Outside the window, the light grew stronger, pouring into the cottage, soaking the place in gentle light.

  It was strange, she thought, how they had believed their roles so important: she as servant, he as earl. Their duties to Cause and country, her duty to her former mistress...all of those things had ruled their lives. And now? Now duties had faded and blurred, and finally disappeared. All that was left was love.

  Because the cages we make are not real, and the roles that we name are all invented. At the end of all things, when the fire has tested us, when the battles have died down, there is only one thing left. Our hearts. And those were made for nothing else except to love.

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