The Highlander's Brave Baroness (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 10) Page 4

  “Yes, milady.”

  Alexander could hear the scalding ache of humiliation in the voice. He felt a surprising flare of admiration for the dark-haired woman.

  Not the receiver of the slap, then. McInnes, whoever he is, did that.

  He felt his lips twist in a smile. By, but she was fierce! He thought of gentle Brenna and felt a twist of sorrow in his heart.

  What would she have thought of a gentlewoman, slapping servants?

  He had no idea. At this moment, though, it amused him. He had known she was a strong-willed woman from the moment he saw her. Now, he had more evidence.

  “Now, if you could take word to the kitchens? I need more compresses.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Alexander felt his brow raise a fraction higher.

  And the dark-haired gentlewoman is a fierce overseer.

  He shuddered, grinning all the while. He wouldn’t like to work in her house.

  He was smiling, and only realized it when a bright light seared across his vision, making his head hurt.

  “Why, you look cheerful. I would ask you what you’re staring at, but I’m afraid I’d not get much sense in reply. Your head paining?”

  Eyes closed, teeth gritted, Alexander nodded.

  “Aye.”

  He heard her smile in her voice, though he kept his eyes shut, wishing somebody would take the lantern away. “I thought as much. Want some water?”

  Water. The thought made his mouth tighten with longing, every section of his body straining for it like he’d seen a compass needle strain to north. He nodded.

  “Please,” he croaked.

  “Aye,” she chuckled again. “I thought as much. Now, this isn’t going to be easy. Sit up, and I’ll try and pour some between your lips. My steward has already accused me of being an immoral sort, simply for having you hear, Burrell. We shall both have to hope he doesn’t see us, or the ranting will reach the clouds.” She laughed.

  “Burrell?” he whispered, licking lips he noticed were cracked and dry. When had he last had water? He couldn’t recall.

  “Yes. That’s what I decided to call you. You weren’t speaking any sense before, and I think that knock on your head addled your brains. Left a great big lump, too. You’re going to have a terrific black eye, in several days. By then, I pray, you’ll be moving and able to find a mirror. Until then, can you sit..?”

  She was walking about all the time that she was talking, pouring water, adjusting furniture. She seemed hesitant, but at length she came and sat down beside him.

  He nodded. “Let me try.”

  She chuckled. “That’s the spirit,” she said. “Not as desolate as when I found you. Then, I thought it was too much effort to open your eyes, never mind save your own life.”

  He grinned.

  Abruptly, he felt cold liquid touch his lips. Alexander, eagerly parting them, felt ice flood his mouth and swallowed greedily. He gagged, his stomach burning and bruised as the water filled it. He heard a laugh.

  “Aye. A bit much in one go, methinks.” Her eyes were slanted, grimly amused. “Not so used to water, eh?”

  He nodded, feeling the burning in his bowels subside somewhat. “Aye,” he whispered, choked. “Not now, anyways. Don’t know when I last drank aught.”

  She laughed. “Well, give yourself time. You’ll be quaffing beer with the lads in the guardhouse soon as I say Christmas. What’s wrong, eh? You needn’t look so green, lad.”

  I don’t drink beer. Or ale. Or wine. I never want to touch it again as long as I live.

  He had almost killed himself with brandy after Brenna’s death. He had chosen stupor over life without her. However, since McRade offered him employment, he had moved away from drink, ruthlessly. He vowed never to touch it again.

  I can’t get away from my past, it seems. She looks at me and sees the traces of it yet.

  He heard a clink as she set the cup aside on a tray, then the rustle of velvet.

  “I should leave you,” she said softly. “My steward already believes me a tenant of Hell. If he comes in here and catches me holding hands with a patient, he’ll confer that I’m the wickedest of its inmates. Then, he might just send the priest up here to exorcise me. To spare us both the difficulty, I should leave.”

  He had to smile. Imagining her the subject of a priestly visit was almost too much.

  “Och, milady,” he said. “Nobody as looks at ye would think you less than a ministering angel.”

  He heard her stand. “And that’s enough of that,” she said, dryly. “Go grinning at me like that, and I promise you it won’t be me visiting the priest. And this time I’ll tell him to go full tilt in exorcising you.”

  Stiffening, he nodded. His smile contracted. He let himself slide down the pillows, subdued.

  She laughed.

  “I didn’t say play dead,” she grinned. “It’s alright, Burrell. I know I’m a demon, but you needn’t think I’m wicked. I wouldn’t let the priest get hold of you. I promise.”

  He smiled, feeling oddly reassured. He nodded.

  “Thanks, milady.”

  He opened his eyes this time, and thus caught the radiance of a fleeting grin.

  “Call me Lady Adeline.”

  He nodded, feeling the name suffuse into his heart. Adeline, he thought. Her name is Adeline.

  He carried it into the darkness as, once again, he fell unconscious.

  He felt a hand on his arm, and realized he must have been unconscious. His eyes flashed open. There was daylight in the room, and somebody had thrown rosemary on the fire, its scent spiking the air. A voice, lower than the one he’d come to recognize, but still female, and blurred with a different sort of accent, spoke.

  “There you are. Not dead, yet, it seems. Can you move?”

  Weakly, Alexander nodded. He shifted on the pillows, feeling how cold his feet were, how dry his mouth. He recognized a fever.

  I don’t want to think about Brenna, and how much worse hers was.

  His own fever made his head throb, and he could feel his cheeks and face burn, even as his fingers and whole body were deathly chilled. He opened his eyes.

  A female face, pale-skinned with wide pale eyes, looked at him. Full lips curved into an ironic smile.

  “There you are! Bet your head hurts, eh?”

  He nodded. Pale light touched her skin, and the locks of hair that leaked out from beneath the cap she wore. It was later, then, he realized, ears straining to hear early birds.

  “Is it morning?”

  “Aye! You are alert,” the woman chuckled. “Yes, morning it is. You slept almost all night.”

  He felt vaguely patronized, and sullen about it. He was wounded, not touched in the wits! All the same, he thought, feeling sudden relief as she pressed a cool towel to the skin of his head, he had reason to give thanks.

  “Thank ye,” he said.

  “Ah! No thanking me,” the woman chuckled again. “Ye can thank milady Adeline for it. I’m just here on her behest. I tend all the wounded in her home. Prudence is my name. The local healer – or one of them, anyhow,” she chuckled. “We have enough.”

  “I see,” he whispered, wondering what was happening, and why Lady Adeline cared so for his welfare.

  “There, now. I have a bowl of broth. Milady insisted on having breakfast fit to feed an army made up for us. I’ve broken my fast meself, but there’s a vast tray of it left for ye. I had to fight with her, but I did insist you had broth instead. There’s no way bread and porridge will sit well in your stomach – it’s like as not been empty several days.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, feeling his stomach tighten at the thought. Fevered as he was, he realized with a pang he was starving.

  He heard a chuckle, and felt a movement as the woman settled herself beside his bed. “Well, then,” she said. “If you can shift up the bolster a bit, and open your mouth, we can see if we can get you fed a bit.”

  He nodded, about to protest against being fed, but then he heard the s
crape of a pot lid being lifted and, very suddenly, his whole body weakened and his stomach cramped in need for food.

  “Ah, there we are…” Prudence said, holding a ladle of steaming broth to his lips. He swallowed, eagerly, the scalding, herb-flavored substance burning down his throat and hitting his stomach, warming it.

  He opened his mouth for another spoonful, his humiliation at the thought of being fed, by a stranger, dissolving in the wonder that was having something nourishing inside him. He wondered at the fact that his body had even managed to have a fever – he had not eaten for, he guessed, three days.

  I’m fortunate I was so strong before I was hit.

  He winced, feeling the scalding broth tipped down his chin, and thinking of Brenna, who had been so weak at the end that her body could not even raise the fire of heat.

  As he looked around the room, he thought he saw a rustle of motion by the door. He focused on it, straining his eyes. It was something dark, and he reckoned it was the shape of a full skirt, the kind noblewomen usually wore.

  He studied the image as he ate, and at length the person stepped forward, and he knew that it was her – the baroness from the night before. She was wearing a black dress today, and she had her hair arranged in a formal style, so that only the lumpy shape of it was visible on the back of her head. Her face was composed and serious, and he could see that she was watching him. His eye traveled lower, taking in the rounded swell of breasts, the sweet sway of hips. She was, he realized as his body responded, achingly, a stunning woman. The dress she wore was black and high-collared and he thought that was a shame. She would look so lovely in the latest fashions he had caught sight of in the city – narrow waisted gowns of pale silk, the bodice low, the skirt slashed in front to show an underskirt of brocade or lace. His mind dressed her in a red dress and he felt his face heat up with a flush of pleasure and embarrassment.

  “You’re doing well. Better leave room for the lunch, though,” Prudence observed, dryly, bringing his focus back, sharply, to the present. “Lady Adeline will bring it herself, and you’ll not be incurring her displeasure.”

  The last was said firmly, a command. He nodded. He wondered again at the almost fear the gentlewoman seemed to inspire in many people. He himself had seen little to fear in her.

  “Now,” Prudence was saying, drawing his attention back to the immediate present. “You sit up, and maybe you’d like to get cleaned up a little. You look better, but just because you’re ill doesn’t mean you have to be a mess.”

  Yes, he thought, suddenly feeling a pang of pain inside him. He had no idea what he looked like! He’d been unconscious for at least two days, and before that he’d marched for three weeks.

  He could feel a straggle of beard on his chin, and he was sure his hair was also grown too long.

  “Here,” Prudence said, as he shifted uncomfortably on the pillow, wishing he knew how bad he looked, what he’d inflicted on Lady Adeline and the household. “It’s a mirror.”

  He blinked, looking into the glass she held, and studied the face he saw there as if it were a stranger.

  His brow was low over deep-set dark eyes. His nose would have been nice, he thought, save that Bates had bust it in a fight when he was fifteen, and it had skewed. His lips were thin and well-formed, but lined on each side with deep furrows, the testament to a thousand forgotten smiles. His expression was serious. He looked, he thought, close faced, serious and grim.

  “Och, do me a favor,” he said, pushing it away. “I’ve got nightmares as it is.”

  “Lad, all you need is a haircut. Then you’ll be out killing ladies in no time at all, which I’m sure was your job before you started killing Hanoverian's.”

  He looked at his hands. “I didn’t want to kill nobody.”

  Prudence sighed. She had stood again, and he could hear the clink of china as she stirred a cup. “I know, lad,” she said. “I reckon nobody does. Now, if you think you have enough left in you, try drinking this? It’ll lower the fever. You’ll stand less chance of losing the rest of your sense if you can get that right.”

  Alexander took the cup, and the last thing he heard as Prudence left the room was her laugh.

  He leaned back on the pillow in the silence of her wake, and lifted it to his lips and drank, smiling to himself. He seemed to have landed in a domain of strong women, whose chief aim was to tell him what to do. However, he reckoned, wincing at the horrible taste of the tea, he had to admit that Lady Adeline was rather beautiful.

  His last thought as he drifted to sleep was to wonder what Lady Adeline looked like in a ball dress.

  It was something he would never find out.

  A SURPRISING DISCUSSION

  The scent of broth, rich and fragrant, wafted up to Adeline’s nose as she carried the tray upstairs. The china dish clinked on the pewter surface, and she focused on it, trying not to jolt and let it spill. Carrying trays was harder than it looked, she reckoned, wryly. However, she had insisted on doing this task herself.

  Breathing in the scent of the broth, she recalled fighting with Prudence that morning about the subject of what to feed their patient. The healer had been right, she knew – she’d been foolish to think that Burrell would be ready for full breakfast.

  “I’ll feed him myself, if you won’t,” she recalled saying hotly.

  “You can try, milady,” Prudence said back, arms crossed. “But don’t tell me to try and mend him when he chokes, or brings it all back up a minute later.”

  She and Prudence had stared at each other, and then abruptly both started laughing. The argument ended with a fond embrace.

  An embrace! Between a recently emancipated servant and a baroness.

  “If Uncle Alec saw me then, he’d disown me.”

  If Uncle Alec knew what she was going to do now, he’d disown her then, too.

  Feeding a stray soldier by hand.

  Even she herself felt her cheeks heat up with blushing as she thought about it. However, she knew she was lying to herself. She was excited about seeing Burrell.

  Ridiculous! You, a thirty-five-year-old woman and the mother of a sixteen-year-old son. You really think he would consider you?

  “Mama?”

  Adeline tensed. “Yes, son?”

  “There you are. I was just speaking to Mr. Canmure. He said that there’s a procession in the village – seems like somebody grand’s coming to stay.” He looked nervous, and Adeline understood at once.

  “You think it’s…” her heart almost stopped.

  He sensed her discomfort. He frowned. “I don’t think so, Mama,” he said honestly. “Why would he be here, without warning us?”

  Adeline lifted her shoulders in a shrug. He was Uncle Alec, her husband’s closest living relative. As cruel and suave as his nephew, he was one of the few people alive she was afraid of. She tried to look brave, for Tam’s sake.

  “You’re right, son.”

  He nodded. “I reckon so, Mama,” he said. “Who’s that for?” he asked, indicating the tray.

  “It’s for Burrell,” she said lightly. She schooled herself to calm, though she felt oddly nervous, confessing that in front of her son.

  “Oh!” He grinned. “Well, whatever you did to him, I’m glad it seems to have remedied him. I would love to help you, but I promised Mr. McNott I’d work on my reckoning skills.”

  She saw his eyes roll and she stifled a laugh. She knew how much Tam hated book-work.

  “Very well, then, lad,” she said, keeping her voice level. In truth, she was glad Tam couldn’t help. She wanted to talk to Burrell alone.

  When she reached the door of the sick room, she paused there, looking around the corner. She could see him lying in bed, in much the way he had been when Prudence fed him earlier. His strong chest was covered with a blanket, his dark red-tinged hair fanned out over the white linen.

  She recalled how well he’d looked this morning, and noticed that, even compared to then, he looked better now.

  “Burrell?
”

  She whispered it, knowing he couldn’t hear her. The bed was eight paces away at least. Burrell, indeed!

  She must remember to ask after his real name.

  He stirred as she stepped in through the door. As she watched, his eyes blinked once, twice, then settled on her face. He smiled.

  “You’re back, then.”

  She raised a brow. She was smiling, too, though she tried not to. It was that grin. It was so cheeky!

  “Yes,” she said dryly. “I’m back. I think I am allowed carte blanche in my own house?”

  “I reckon you’re allowed it anywhere. I don’t ken what it is.”

  She giggled, and set the tray down by his bed. “It means…never mind,” she added, shaking her head as his eyes narrowed with his smile. “How is your head?”

  “It’s fine. Wound’s better, too, milady.”

  She made a face at him. His eyes danced.

  “I am perfectly aware, sirrah, that the wound is in your side, not in your head. I am, after all, well acquainted with it. I was asking after your headache to ascertain if you still have a fever.”

  “Ascertain, acquainted, and…what was the thing? Cart…something or other.”

  She grinned. “Never mind. I can see you’re feeling better. You’re hungry?”

  His eyes lit up and his face registered enthusiasm.

  “Milady, I am as hungry as a troop of sailors set adrift with only a toothpick between them.”

  “A toothpick! Oh, Burrell,” she sighed. “You’re a rare one.”

  “Burrell?” he asked, brow rising. “Where’d you find that name?”

  She flushed. “I…gave it to you,” she said. “I thought it suitable, somehow.”

  He grinned. “I reckon it is. I was in no state to introduce meself when first we met. Remiss of me. Let me do it now,” he added, holding out a hand.

  Adeline felt suddenly shy. She had never met someone under such strange circumstances. She had no idea of the etiquette the situation demanded. She’d certainly never shaken hands!

  When I met Camden, our fathers introduced us and all I had to do was curtsy.