Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (24 page)

With strong determination, she entered the bedroom where he lay. She realized Alba stood just behind her. "You can go now, Alba, I'll stay with him."

The housekeeper looked uncertain. "I still don't think it's seemly for you to be alone with Mr. Routhland."

"Oh, Alba, we can't worry about that. I care little about proprieties. Besides, he is little threat to my reputation in his condition. He will need all three of us to nurse him back to health."

Alba agreed with a nod of her head. "That seems sensible, though unconventional."

Royal looked down at Damon with an aching heart, unaware that Alba had left the room. She noticed that either Alba or Tobias had shaved Damon, and she touched his smooth cheek. He was still feverish, so she wet a cloth and applied it to his brow.

"Oh, Damon, who has done this to you?" She took his hand in hers. "You lie so still... your skin is so pale."

Sitting down beside the bed, she began her long vigil. Tenderly touching his dark hair, she suppressed a sob. "I will never leave you, Damon."

***

In Damon's world of darkness there was only throbbing, swirling pain. He felt as if his body were on fire, and he longed for a drink of cool water. In his tortured mind, his thoughts turned to the bubbling, spring-fed streams that cut through the heart of Swanhouse Plantation.

Somewhere in his world of anguish, a voice reached him, and a soft hand soothed his brow. A wet cloth touched his dry lips, making him wish he had strength to draw the moisture from it.

Damon recognized the voice that whispered encouragement to him—it was beautiful Royal, and she somehow brought him comfort.

***

It was the last dark hour before dawn, and the stillness of the swamp was interrupted by the pounding hooves of many horses. The British brigade that had entered the swampy world was led by the new Duke of Chiswick, whose eyes blazed with angry intensity. He was determined that Vincent Murdock would pay dearly for his acts of insurrection against the British Crown and against humanity.

When the column entered the camp, dogs barked and pulled violently at their chains. The inhabitants, taken by surprise, scattered into the darkness but were quickly rounded up by the soldiers.

The duke rode his mount straight for the lean-to, where he hoped to find Murdock himself. When he dismounted he encountered a poor, pathetic woman who might have been pretty if not for the filthy rags she wore and her matted black hair. She tossed her head and grinned up at the duke.

"You're too late, Englishman," the woman jeered. "Murdock has escaped." Laughter spilled from her lips. "You didn't think you would catch him, did ya?" The woman spat at him. "He's much too smart for you."

The duke moved forward and grabbed the woman. "Where is he?" he demanded between gritted teeth. "Tell me now, woman, or I will cut out your tongue!"

She merely grinned. "One can't know where my Murdock goes. But I got a message for you from him."

He flung her away, feeling sick inside that the man had slipped out of his grasp. "I care nothing about what he has to say," he told her, turning away.

"You'll care 'bout this," she called out. "He says to give you this warning. If you hold anything dear, my Murdock'll find out what it is, and he'll destroy it. Guard well what you treasure."

The duke turned back to look at the woman. "I hold nothing so dear as the sight of him standing before a firing squad."

He led his mount to the center of the camp, where the fugitives had been rounded up by his men. Looking around him in disgust, he issued an order. "Burn everything, and chain the prisoners. Although we did not capture their leader, we have struck a blow to his heart. He will have very few followers to aid him in his evil schemes."

"What about the women and children, Your Grace?" one of the soldiers questioned.

"Leave them," he ordered, mounting his horse. "Let the women carry the news to Murdock." The duke raised his voice in hopes that Murdock would hear. "Tell him that he has staged his last raid against British forces."

His voice echoed down the byways, where Murdock hid behind the trunk of a cypress tree. Watching with hatred in his eyes, he swore a vow of vengeance. "I'll get you for this, Englishman. I'll strike where it will cause you the most pain." His face twisted with rage.

But the hatred Murdock harbored for the Englishman was a puny thing and could not equal the malignant loathing he felt for Damon Routhland.

Murdock reached up to his arm, which rested in a leather sling. Damon Routhland's knife had made its mark the night he'd helped the Englishman escape. Murdock had lost the feeling in his right arm, and it was now completely useless.

"Before I am finished with you, Englishman," he muttered, "and with the mighty Damon Routhland, if he still lives, you will both curse the day you were born, and your mothers for giving you birth!"

24

Damon's brilliant amber glance met Royal's sparkling blue eyes. She placed her hand on his arm. "You had us all very worried."

He closed his eyes. "So tired," he murmured. "Leave me alone—need sleep."

Royal watched as he slipped into a world of darkness once more, but this time it was a natural sleep that would allow him to heal in mind and body. She raised her head, watching the morning sun dart flirtatiously through the window and then fall across the foot of Damon's bed. She had been on her knees most of the night, hoping if she kept a constant prayer on her lips, God would be merciful and spare Damon's life.

She stood up and stretched her cramped muscles, thinking Alba would soon arrive to relieve her. Bending forward, she clasped Damon's hands. She recalled the night those hands had gently stroked her trembling flesh. How could a man of such power lie so still and lifeless?

Already the day was hot, and Royal pushed a damp lock of hair from her forehead, picked up a wet cloth, and wiped Damon's face and neck, hoping to cool his fever. When she had done all she could to make him more comfortable, she moved to the window and glanced down at the street.

Rain had fallen during the night, and the cobblestone roadway glistened in the sunlight. Everything outside that window appeared ordinary—even the occasional British soldier who rode by did not seem out of place. How could life go on as if nothing had happened, when Damon was fighting for every breath he took?

She turned back to the bed, dipped the cloth in cool water, and reapplied it to his head. Damon was no better, and she was faced with an agonizing choice. Should she send for Dr. Habersham even though it might mean prison? Surely imprisonment was better than death. She fanned Damon with an ivory-handled fan, wishing she knew what was best to do.

When Alba came bustling into the room, she noticed the circles under Royal's eyes and took the fan from her. "How is he?" she inquired, commencing to fan Damon herself.

"I haven't seen any improvement. What shall we do?"

"Whatever you decide to do will wait until you've rested. You look dead on your feet, Miss Royal. You'd best let me sit with Mr. Routhland while you rest. I laid out your breakfast in the dining room."

Royal nodded. "It's too hot to eat, but I will bathe and put on a fresh gown. If there is any change in Damon's condition, notify me at once."

Not wanting to be away from her patient for long, Royal bathed quickly. She then dressed in a cool, pink cotton gown and pulled her hair back with a matching ribbon.

Entering Damon's sickroom, Royal found Alba still fanning the patient. She met the housekeeper's disapproving frown.

"You couldn't have eaten and bathed in such a short span of time, Miss Royal."

"I can't eat while Damon is unconscious. I just can't," Royal confessed. "You may go now, Alba. I'll sit with him for a while."

Alba cast Royal a sidelong glance and looked as though she might refuse. But finally she handed the fan to her young mistress before moving to the door. "You'll be sick next, Miss Royal. Just mark my words—you will!"

***

Although Royal had closed the curtains against the afternoon sunlight, the heat was still oppressive. Her clothing was plastered to her with perspiration, and the air she circulated with the ivory fan did little good. Earlier she had instructed Tobias to bathe Damon in cool water, but his temperature was still high, and he had not regained consciousness.

Royal heard Alba's excited voice in the hallway, and she glanced toward the door, wondering what had caused the commotion.

"You can't go in that room! I don't care if you are a high-ranking British officer. There's a sick man in there, and I won't allow you to pass!"

The voices were muffled by the closed door, and Royal could not hear the exchange between Alba and whoever stood outside. Nor did she know that the housekeeper blocked the entrance to the room like an avenging angel.

"But I'm a friend, and I have brought a doctor to help your patient."

"We don't need any help from you English," Alba insisted. "Leave this house at once!"

Royal moved closer to Damon, fearing for his safety. Her heart was pounding as she watched the doorknob turn. Her hand closed around the fan as if it were a weapon she could use to defend her patient. She remembered her father's pistol was locked away in his desk and wished she had it with her.

She would not allow anyone to harm Damon. She was prepared to defend him if she must. The door swung wide, and a man wearing the red jacket of a British officer stood on the threshold.

Royal's eyes moved to his face in quick assessment. He had gray hair and soft blue eyes. Her eyes went to his jacket, where she saw he wore the insignia of a doctor.

Her heart was beating with fear as she watched him smile. His expression was kind as he glanced at her. Royal placed her body between the intruder and Damon, in case he intended to harm Damon.

"Who are you?" she asked in a trembling voice, picking up the water pitcher and aiming it at the man. "What do you want here?"

Seeing her look of defiance, the doctor moved aside and nodded to another man in uniform who stood just behind him. "Miss Bradford," he said, bowing to her with a twinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps His Grace can explain to you that we have come to help."

As the doctor's companion stepped into the room, Royal gasped and dropped the pitcher, unmindful that it broke as it clattered to the floor. "Preston! Can it be... you? Is it possible?"

The duke held out his arms to her. "It is I, Royal," he assured her while his eyes drank in her loveliness. He nodded at the broken pitcher that lay in pieces on the floor. "Is this any way to greet a man who wants to marry you?"

Tears gathered in her eyes as she raced across the room to be clasped in Preston's arms. "I feared I would never see you again. Oh, Preston, you are alive!" she sobbed as he held her tightly against him.

"Yes, sweetness, I am alive. I would have come sooner, but duty dictated that I be elsewhere."

"But I don't understand." She looked him over carefully. He was thinner, but he still had the same boyish smile, the same softness in his blue eyes. "You're supposed to be a prisoner. How did you escape?"

"It wasn't easy, but I had help." Preston nodded to Damon. "Had it not been for your guardian, most probably I would be dead by now. It's certain I would still be a prisoner."

"I don't understand."

"Your guardian rescued me from the swamp. As a result, he was wounded." He stepped closer to the bed. "Royal, this is Major Cummingwood, a doctor of fine standing. He has agreed to help Damon."

Royal was bewildered, unsure if she should allow an English doctor to examine Damon. The duke, seeing her hesitation, said with assurance, "It's all right, Royal. Dr. Cummingwood is only here at my request—you can trust him."

She turned grateful eyes on Preston, deciding to place Damon in the English doctor's hands. "He's very ill. We have done all we could, but his wound is infected, and he has a fever."

The duke grasped Royal's arm. "We will not be needed here. Let us leave the doctor to examine Damon."

It seemed there was nothing Royal could do but agree. She allowed him to lead her out to the hallway, where, under Alba's watchful eyes, she went into his arms, still unable to believe he was safe.

"I am baffled as to how you came to know my guardian. And you said he saved your life.... What are you talking about?"

He still clung to Royal's hand. "I had been captured by a man called Murdock and kept in chains somewhere in the swamps. Damon Routhland found me and freed me. The bullet in his thigh was meant for me."

A tear trailed down Royal's cheek. "It's my fault. I asked Damon to help me find you. How could I have known that he would put himself in danger? I thought he had only to locate you, and then we could bargain for your freedom."

The duke looked over Royal's head to Alba, who was keeping a wary eye on him. "Can you prepare tea for your mistress?" he asked the housekeeper. "I believe she would benefit by it."

Alba drew herself up, and her eyes snapped. "We don't serve tea in this house. We Americans think tea is unpatriotic."

The duke laughed. "Forgive my mistake in thinking you were English. Your manner of speech deceived me."

"Humph. Just because I was born in England don't mean I agree with every pearl that comes out of the king's mouth." Alba's gaze locked challengingly with Royal's. "A person may sometimes get confused as to what's right and wrong. Me and my man are not, and never have been, Loyalists!"

Royal gave Preston a sympathetic glance, thinking it was time to introduce him. "Alba, I would like to present you to His Grace, the Duke of Chiswick. He's a friend of mine."

Alba nodded politely, her manner not so brisk, although she was unimpressed with the man's title. "I should hope so. If you don't have any objections to coffee, Your Grace, I'll just make a nice pot."

He said with pretended seriousness, "Coffee would be most welcome, Alba."

Royal realized that only someone who knew Preston as well as she did would have recognized the teasing light in his blue eyes.

When the housekeeper had withdrawn, the duke could no longer contain his laughter. "I don't think I have had such a dressing-down since my nanny took me to task for turning over the butter churn."

"Alba means well," Royal explained apologetically. "It's just that she's very protective of me and has become a fervent supporter of the patriots. You won't hold that against her, will you?"

The duke had noticed she called the rebels "patriots," but before he could reply, Dr. Cummingwood joined them. "Whoever treated the wound did well. I applied new dressings. Beyond that, there's not much else I can do."

"Will he recover, Doctor?" Royal asked hopefully.

"I believe he will. But he is very weak from loss of blood. You must realize he will need constant care," the doctor instructed. "Which it seems he has."

"But he is still unconscious," Royal pointed out.

"Has he awakened at all?"

"Only briefly."

"I would expect him to stir before another day passes." His glance became guarded as he looked at the duke. "If he does not regain consciousness by tomorrow, Your Grace, I shall then be anxious about his recovery."

Royal looked into the doctor's honest eyes. "I thank you for your concern."

"His Grace has told me all about your guardian. I want to assure you his secret is safe with me. I'll try to drop by tomorrow and have a look at him. Meanwhile, keep him as cool as possible."

"Thank you again, Dr. Cummingwood," Royal said gratefully. "You are most kind. I know it wasn't easy for you to come here."

"Not at all, Miss Bradford. When His Grace asked me to help, I was only too glad to comply."

"Come, Doctor," the duke said. "I'll see you to the door."

When the two men left, Royal returned to the bedroom and stood over Damon. She was tormented by the fact that he had been injured rescuing Preston for her. She felt an ache so deep that her body trembled. If Damon died, it would be her fault. She had not wanted him to save Preston at the cost of his own life.

The duke appeared at her side, and they both looked down at Damon. "He is gravely ill," Royal said. "If only I could see an improvement."

The duke turned her to face him. "It is serious, but the Damon Routhland I met is of a strong and determined character. It will take more than a mere bullet to stop him."

Royal was surprised by his words. "Why, Preston, you admire him!"

"Indeed I do. As I told you, the bullet that tore into his flesh was meant for me." He took her hand and led her to the window. "I understand I also have you to thank for my life, Royal."

She looked into clear blue eyes and saw reflections of what he had suffered. His face was gaunt, and she could see the faint traces of bruises on his cheek.

"Don't thank me, Preston. I did very little."

"Don't make light of what you did, dearest. You came all the way from England to enlist Damon's help. My mother asked you to come, didn't she?"

"I would have come anyway. Have you sent word to your family that you're safe? Your mother and Alissa were so worried."

"Yes, the dispatch went out as soon as I got back to headquarters."

They were unaware that Damon was fighting his way out of a shadowy world where there were no feelings and no light. Pain ripped through his body, and a blinding light made him squeeze his eyes together tightly. With no recollection of what had happened to him, he heard the murmur of voices. For a time he listened to the conversation without comprehending the words. Finally, turning his head, he opened his eyes and saw Royal in the arms of the Englishman.

She laid her head against Preston's shoulder. "I was grieved to hear about your brother's death."

He clung to her. "It wasn't easy to hear that Nathan had died. As you know, I grieve for my brother, and I never wanted to stand in his place. But with you beside me, I can do what is expected of me."

"You will make a most admirable duke, Preston." She shook her head in disbelief. "It is still difficult for me to think of you as the Duke of Chiswick." She pulled back and stared at him with wonder. "You are no longer just Preston." Her face paled. "You are... Your... Your Grace!"