Enraptured by the Highlander

If I give Caelan this direction, I’ll never see him again, unless I go with him but…I can’t. Not this way.

She wanted to go with him but fear and propriety were stopping her from committing to the idea. Worry about forsaking her home and following Caelan to Scotland made her night sleepless. It was not until the wee hours of the next morning, when she was able to get a mere hour’s sleep.

Blinking groggy eyes open, she wondered how it was that she had just woken up but felt fatigued. Then she remembered—she had stayed awake for most of the night counting the cost of helping Caelan break free. Then again, she wondered if what she was doing was right. She was betraying her father and the Crown for a man she knew for barely a month.

She had not gotten her father’s story of her brother’s death. Perhaps if she waited to get it first…but then…Caelan was innocent. She could feel that in the depths of her soul. But her father! She rolled over and grabbed a pillow to scream in it. It was so frustrating, falling for a man who her father was convinced had killed her brother.

Fighting the fatigue, she lingered in bed until Martha, holding a jug of water, came in and stopped in the tracks at the door. “My Lady, are you ill?”

“No,” she said. “I just did not get much sleep last night.”

“My Lady,” Martha said as she came near and the expression on her maid’s face was disconcerting. She sat up as Martha said, “We received a notice that His Lordship will be here today, this morning in fact.”

Adelaine was out of her bed, propelled by fright. She nearly tumbled over because the sheets were tangled around her legs. “Beg your pardon? Today? He said tomorrow!”

“I know, it took us by surprise too. I came to get you ready,” Martha said as she poured the water into Adelaine’s washing bowl and then went to her closet. She pulled out a dress, a green brocade dress with a high neck and a flair at the hips and examined it. “I am sorry for being late but I had to help in the kitchen.”

“I don’t mind,” Adelaine said as she washed with the lukewarm water quickly and changed into the smock handed to her. The dress was brought over her head and she tugged the skirt down while Martha closed the laces on her back. She sat as Martha combed out her hair and deftly braided it.

“May I get you some food, My Lady?” Martha asked while finishing the long braid.

“Just tea,” she said. “I don’t think I can stomach more at this time.”

“Understood, My Lady,” Martha set the brush back in place and left the room. Sitting near the trunk, Adelaine eyed it and the treasure inside it.

She felt the indecision well up inside her chest. Should I set him free or not…her eyes were on the trunk when Martha came back bearing a cup of tea to rest on it.

“Thank you,” she murmured while Martha went on to make her bed and straighten up a little more. Once more, she looked at the trunk and sighed.

What have I gotten myself into?

She heard fanfare and felt her stomach go tight. Her father had arrived. Swallowing, she stood and brushed clammy palms over the lightly-printed skirt. It was time to face him. She left the room to take the stairs. Downstairs she assembled with the butler, housekeeper, and three guards to welcome her father home.

Her stomach was uneasy as she wondered how she could look at her father with a straight face when she was plotting to free his prisoner, let alone beginning to love him. The butler opened the door and her father came in, bushing snow off his shoulders and plucking his hat off to hand it to the nearest footman.

“London was a frozen hell full of silly lawmakers and rich fools,” Lord Daffield grumbled. “At least I am home.” He eyed the small group who was bowing and curtsying. “Thank you for the warm welcome. Butler, please send some warm cider to my office.”

Adelaine went to hug him, “Welcome home, Father. I am glad to have you back.”

Her father’s eyes glimmered with pride, “Thank you, daughter. You look well.”

The staff had dispersed and Adelaine dared to ask, “Father, may we talk in your office about…the prisoner? The Scotsman?”

He sighed liberally, “I’d hope to avoid it so soon but cannot avoid for too long. Please come with me, I have something to show you. You will not like it but you deserve to know all the facts.”

She followed him to the room where she had stolen the codex. Her father then asked her to sit. She did while her father tugged out a few papers from the satchel he had in his hand. He sat in his throne-like seat and took out some documents. “Here you go, read the sworn statement of the man who saw that infidel Scotsman choke and kill Peter.”

Taking in a deep breath she read,

By God’s wounds, by God’s blood, by Jesus Christ, by the eternal God, I, Sir Rushford Cuthbert, a humble soldier in the conquering army of Solway Moss, in the Service of our Sovereign Lord King Henry VIII, was soldier-in-arms with Viscount Daffield, Peter Watson of His Lordship, the Earl of Daffield, forces.

On the 27th of November, I, Rushford Cuthbert, personally witnessed, from the stairway of the Arnside tower, the Viscount, ailing and ill, being strangled by the prisoner-doctor who was charged to save his life. For fear of my life, I ran and finding no one to report to, I held my peace until I could report my eyewitness account to His Majesty.

I humbly beg for forgiveness for keeping my report of this heinous crime for the spate of time between the end of the campaign to a return to England. I earnestly pray for clemency and beg for the pardon from those who are dear friends and family of the Viscount.

Peace be unto you.

Adelaine forced her hand to not start shaking. Her world tilted and her mind was foggy and she was mired in shock. “This…this…”