CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WAKING—WHEN HE WOKE—WAS TO ENTER a world of pain, and so much of it he couldn’t pinpoint where it began or ended.

He tried to resist consciousness, until a familiar voice said, “He’s stirring.” A familiar voice that thrummed with fear.

He couldn’t settle on a name for the voice, but it summoned an image of strong fingers entwined with his own. A secret, irrepressible smile. By an immense effort, he managed to crack an eyelid open.

A man was bending over him, his dark hair dishevelled, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“David, thank God! Can you speak?”

He shifted, and the pain was agonising. A whimper was all he could manage. He sounded like an animal.

“Don’t move—” the man said at once, then looked over his shoulder. “Is that draught ready yet?”

When he turned back, he said, “I thought you were dead—” and his voice cracked on the last word.

Murdo.

David tried to say the name, to show Murdo that he knew him, but all he managed was another broken whimper.

A second man arrived beside Murdo. He was much older, with sparse grey hair that failed to cover his shiny scalp.

“Support his head, my lord,” this man said, his voice quietly commanding. “He will find it difficult to drink this and it will spill, but we only need get some into him, then he will sleep, and we will see what to do.”

Murdo slid a hand under David’s shoulders and lifted him, just a little, but it was enough that every nerve in David’s body screamed. Every nerve, but not his mouth. Again, the only noise that came from him was tiny animal sounds.

“I’m sorry,” Murdo whispered. “God, I’m sorry, David.”

The older man used one hand to press on David’s chin, opening his jaw, and the other to tip the rim of a bowl against his bottom lip. Bitter liquid flooded his mouth, too much to swallow. It flowed out of his mouth and down the sides of his face, but some of it hit the back of his throat, and he gagged on it, swallowing and choking weakly. Again it flowed. Again.

“Enough,” the man said at last.

The strong arm under his shoulders was gently withdrawn, and he was lowered to a flat position again. The impossible, unbearably intense pain that had flared when he was lifted subsided into something lesser, something that gradually began to feel more and more bearable as he continued to lie there and the draught did its work.

The edges of his vision greyed. Oblivion called him back to his rest.

The next time he opened his eyes, he knew where he was. The curving plasterwork petals of the ceiling rose told him this was Murdo’s bedchamber.

“David, you’re awake.”

He turned towards the voice, wincing at the slamming pain in his head that accompanied the sudden movement.

Murdo sat beside him. He looked utterly wrecked, grey circles under his bloodshot eyes, his hair standing up on end where he’d run his hands through it.

“Murdo—” David’s voice came out dry and cracked, and he wondered suddenly how the rest of him was faring. He moved as though to begin sitting up, to check himself. Murdo immediately leaned forward, placing one large, warm hand on his chest.

“Easy, there.”

It was then that another thought—another person—occurred to him.

“Elizabeth?” he breathed.

“Gone,” Murdo replied. “Kinnell was seized by the King’s soldiers after you were felled by that horse. She ran away and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Thank God,” David whispered. It hadn’t been for nothing, at least.

“I don’t know why you’re thanking God,” Murdo replied, his jaw set and grim. “You managed to nearly kill yourself, you idiot.”

“How bad?” David croaked. He strained his neck off the pillow to look down at himself, only to fall back from the sudden intense pain in his head.

“Jesus Christ!” he hissed.

“Careful! Your head was clipped by the horse’s hoof, and there’s a fracture—though you’re lucky your skull wasn’t entirely caved in.”

“No wonder it hurts,” David mumbled.

“That’s not all, I’m afraid,” Murdo said. “Your right leg was broken in two places. Luckily, you were out cold when it was being set.”

David felt a surge of fear. A bad break could be difficult to heal. He might even lose his leg. He lifted his head again, panic keeping him going through the pain this time, pain that eased when Murdo jumped up and braced his arm behind David to support his head and neck.

David looked down his body, at the unexpected bulk under the bedcovers.

“Show me,” he demanded desperately, his voice near breaking.

Murdo leaned forward, using his free hand to pull the covers back. “It’s not so bad,” he murmured. “Just splinted and bandaged. You need to rest and let it heal.”

David barely heard him. He was too busy staring at his leg. Not that you could tell that it was a leg. The whole length of it was bandaged and trussed up in what looked like a stiff wood-and-leather harness. He was immobilised. Unable to bend knee or ankle, the whole limb firmly held in position for healing.

“How long will it need to be like this?”

“At least three months, perhaps longer.”

David gasped. “Three months—”

“It could be six. The physician says the bones need to knit properly before you can risk placing weight on it.”

“I can’t manage like this for six months—or even three!”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Murdo replied. “It’s a bad break, and if you’re not careful, you’ll get an infection in it—and then you’ll be looking at amputation.”

David made an incoherent noise, part protest, part despair, and turned his head into Murdo’s shoulder, gulping in Murdo’s familiar scent for a long, weak moment as he absorbed the reality of his situation.

Murdo shifted his body so that they sat side by side, though with Murdo’s strong arm still supporting David’s back. He stroked the apple of David’s shoulder with his thumb, murmuring, “Come on. It’ll be all right.”

“No, it won’t. I really can’t manage,” David said, the words pouring out of him unchecked. “I can’t get to court like this, or to the library. Christ, how will I even get home? My rooms are up two flights of stairs!” Every new thought was worse as he contemplated just how profound his new helplessness was. “I’ll have to go back to Midlauder,” he realised aloud. He pulled away from Murdo’s shoulder and looked up at him, horrified. “I can’t ask my mother to nurse me! She’s got too many other things to do to be running after me again. And what about my clients, the practice I’ve built up—”

“David, please. You’re panicking needlessly.” Murdo’s voice was calm and firm, and it halted David in his tracks. “I’ve already thought about all of this,” he continued. “I want you to come with me, to my estate in Perth, to recuperate.”

For a moment, David could only stare at him. “But my work—”

“Will be taken care of by Mr. Ferguson.”

David paused. “Donald?” he said at last.

“The same. He came here yesterday. He was asking for you—and for news of his sister-in-law. We spoke for a while, and he said he’d do whatever was necessary to deal with your work while you get well again.”

“He came yesterday? What day was that?” David frowned. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Several days. I brought you here straight after the accident. You slept through Tuesday night and all of Wednesday. Today’s Thursday and”—Murdo craned his neck to look at a clock on the mantelpiece—“it’s almost noon now. And in all that time, you’ve only had a little water, so you must be starving. I’d better ring for some food.” Murdo shifted, carefully beginning to extricate himself.

“Wait a moment,” David said, and Murdo stilled behind him.

“What is it? Are you in pain?”

He breathed out a shaky laugh. “Well, yes, but that’s not it. I just need to… Murdo, I’m so—” He broke off, incoherent, embarrassed when tears sprang to his eyes. “Just—thank you.”

“What for?”

“For everything,” David said. “Taking care of me, bringing me here. You didn’t need to do that.”

Murdo went very silent. At last he said, “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do. I can’t even imagine what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t been there. Where I would have ended up. Maybe even dead.”

Murdo shook his head at that, a fierce repudiation of David’s grim prediction. “I just wish”—he paused—“I just wish that you’d told me what you were planning beforehand. Didn’t you think I’d help you?”

David sighed. “I didn’t want to involve you.”

“You involved Euan MacLennan,” Murdo replied flatly.

David stilled. “How do you know that?”

“Donald Ferguson said he was part of the plan. What was he doing? Waiting for her outside?”

David nodded.

Murdo went silent, but there was a tension in him that David could feel. After a minute, Murdo blurted out, “I can’t believe you trusted him more than me. After what he did to you.”

“What do you mean, ‘what he did to me’?”

“What do you think I mean? I’m talking about two years ago. About him holding a gun to your head and threatening to kill you. Don’t you remember that night?” His voice held disbelieving scorn.

“I remember,” David said quietly. “But I always understood why Euan did that. He is—he is a good man, Murdo.”

“I hope you’re right, because you’ve entrusted a vulnerable young woman to his care.”

“I do trust him. And besides that, he’s in love with her. He’d protect her with his last breath.”

“Love!” Murdo huffed out the word on a scornful laugh. David wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“I trust him,” David repeated.

There was a long pause, a pregnant silence.

“Do you trust me?” Murdo asked. He sounded almost diffident, as though the answer to his question was of little more than passing interest.

But when David whispered, “There’s no one I trust more, I think,” the tension in him seemed to drain away.

“You need to eat,” Murdo said after a few minutes. “I’ll get some broth brought up for you.”

He began to shift till David put a hand on his leg, staying him. “Don’t go yet.”

Murdo didn’t say anything in reply, but he stayed where he was, and they sat there for a while after, Murdo’s long fingers still stroking David’s shoulder.

Chalmers came the next afternoon.

David had been moved to a long couch in the study. He was reading a volume of essays when Murdo looked in.

“Mr. Chalmers is here,” Murdo said. “Donald Ferguson’s with him, but Chalmers wants to talk to you alone first. Do you feel up to it?”

“Yes, of course,” David said, bracing himself on his elbow and pulling himself painfully into a more upright position. As well as a fractured skull and broken leg, he had bruised his ribs, and they screamed with agony whenever he moved.

Murdo nodded and withdrew. A few minutes later, he returned with Chalmers on his arm. The older man’s gait was slow and painful. He seemed worse—markedly so—from when David had last seen him.

“You shouldn’t be out,” David scolded, and Chalmers grimaced.

“I had to see you,” the older man said. “Before you go to Perthshire.”

Murdo helped Chalmers settle into the armchair next to David’s couch. “I’ll leave you alone to talk,” he said diplomatically and withdrew.

Chalmers stared at the closed door for a moment after Murdo left. “He’s been very kind to you,” he said.

David couldn’t read anything in the older man’s tone. In the end, he simply agreed, offering no explanation. “Yes, he has.”

“A good friend,” Chalmers concluded. “If an unexpected one.”

“Very true,” David agreed and smiled, more to himself than at Chalmers.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Chalmers said without further preamble. “All because you were helping my girl.”

“I’m just glad she got away.”

“I’ve had a note from her,” Chalmers said. “It arrived yesterday morning.” He fished in his pocket and drew it out, handing it to David.

The quality of the paper was poor and the writing slapdash.

Dearest Papa,

You will know by now that I have run away from K.

Thank you for the money you sent for me by way of D L. It means more to me than mere gold—to know you love me still is the greatest blessing I could ask for.

Know that I am safe and well. I am travelling with a kind man who is a friend of D L’s. He will see me safely settled when we arrive at our destination. As soon as I can, I will write to you properly and send you my direction.

Send me news of D L when you write. I pray all is well with him, and that K has not harmed him in retribution for helping me.

I love you, Papa. My greatest wish is to see you again, one day.

Your loving daughter,

E

When David looked up, Chalmers had tears in his eyes.

“She doesn’t know what happened to you,” Chalmers said. “She’d probably have refused to leave town if she’d known. She was always…very fond of you, lad.” His voice carried regret. Sorrow. “For a while, I thought the two of you might marry. It would have made me so happy if you had. Instead, Elizabeth is run to London, and you are injured.” He sounded pained when he added, “All because of her impetuous decision to marry that brute, Kinnell.”

“Don’t blame Elizabeth for that,” David said. “If anyone is to blame, it is I. In truth, she had hopes of me, and I did not come up to scratch. I disappointed her. Had I not done so, she would never have married him.”

There, he’d said it at last: admitted his guilt at failing Elizabeth. He looked at Chalmers expecting to see anger, but all he saw was regret and pity.

“Ah, I see. Well, we are none of us perfect, are we?”

“Far from it. But at least Elizabeth is away from him now. And she is strong, Chalmers. She will find a way to make a new life for herself. One in which she can be happy again.”

“Do you think so? I worry. A woman who has run from her husband is beyond society, and Elizabeth is all alone now.”

David shook his head. “She is not alone. She is with Euan MacLennan. He will not abandon her. He is not going back to some conventional life that an unexplained woman cannot fit into. He is…” David paused, thinking how to say this. “Well, he is what they call a free thinker. He will continue to help Elizabeth when they reach London, you can be sure of that.”

“A free thinker?” Chalmers sounded dubious.

David smiled, understanding the older man’s reservations. “Yes. For example, he believes that women and men are equal. That a man should not be able to command his wife in marriage, only love her.”

Chalmers frowned. “He sounds like more than a free thinker. He sounds like a radical.”

“He’s that too,” David admitted, driven to honesty. “He believes in universal suffrage and educating the masses and taking children out of factories—all those unthinkable heresies.” He smiled to show his sympathy with Euan’s ideals. “And that’s why he’s exactly the sort of man you should want to travel with Elizabeth—someone who respects her as a person in her own right and will not take advantage of a woman on her own.”

Chalmers was quiet for a while. Then he said, “So long as he does right by Elizabeth, I’ll be eternally grateful to him.”

“He will,” David assured him. “He is an honourable man, and he did not undertake this task lightly.”

“Do you think he will be able to protect her if Kinnell finds her?”

“I hope it will not come to that,” David said. “But if it does, I have no doubt Euan will do his utmost.”

“There is certainly a chance it will come to that,” Chalmers said heavily. “Kinnell is a possessive man. He has already been at my door to interrogate me. And not only about Elizabeth. He has discovered your identity. He knows that you and I have worked together over the last few years.”

David frowned. “Do you think he realises you were complicit in Elizabeth’s flight?”

“I am sure he does,” Chalmers said stoutly. “I said very little, but he knows I do not like him and that I do not commiserate with him over her running away.”

David smiled at that. He could well imagine Chalmers being uncommunicative, evasive and downright hostile. “I see no reason to worry too much,” he said in a calm, certain tone. “Kinnell may search for her, but there is no reason to believe he will find her. Don’t forget he has no idea where Elizabeth has gone, or who she is with. She might have gone north, south, east or west for all he knows. And Euan knows some things about hiding.”

Chalmers sighed. “I hope so.”

“The most important thing you can do for her now is to secure her financial independence. Have you made the arrangements for her we spoke about?”

Chalmers nodded. “I’ve a capital sum that’s going in trust for her. My brother-in-law is a solicitor in London. He’ll manage the trust and arrange regular payments to Elizabeth once I have her direction. All I need to do now is appoint the trustees so the trust deed can be finalised. It’s imperative it’s done as quickly as possible as I’m…not well.” He paused, then added, “Donald has agreed to be one trustee. Will you be the other?”

David didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Thank you. I’ll have the papers finalised this afternoon, and then it will be done.” He closed his eyes then, as though against pain or maybe exhaustion. When he opened them again, he said, “I’m so grateful to you, David. For everything. I’ll never be able to tell you how much—”

“Please don’t,” David pleaded. He knew somehow that he would always be troubled by the nagging guilt that he might have spared Elizabeth all this if only he’d dealt with her feelings more gently.

Chalmers nodded and cleared his throat. Became businesslike. “Now, you mustn’t worry about your practice,” he said. “Donald is going to take care of everything while you heal. Are your case papers in your rooms? What’s going on?”

David began to outline the work he had on hand. After a while, the door opened and Murdo stood there, Donald Ferguson at his shoulder.

“That’s the twenty minutes that you asked for over,” Murdo said, addressing Chalmers. “Are you ready for Mr. Ferguson to join you now?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry to have kept you both waiting. Donald, come in.” Chalmers paused. “You may wish to join us too, my lord, if you have time to spare. We were just discussing how we manage Mr. Lauriston’s life for the next few months while he gets better.”

Murdo looked at David, a question in his dark gaze.

“I know you’re dying to send a servant up to my rooms to pack my things,” David said in a long-suffering tone. “So you may as well join us.”

Murdo smiled. It was one of his rare smiles, and it made David’s heart kick like a mule in his chest.

“You’re right, of course, Lauriston,” he said. “As usual, you’re absolutely right.”