The Duchess and the Dragon (26 page)

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Authors: Jamie Carie

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon
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After a moment her breathing slowed to normal and she opened her eyes. There, in the soft glow of the moonlight, lay what she had given up. Christopher had told her in a hundred ways how much he loved her. In the solidness of a home that would keep her warm and safe and dry. In the fields, hopeful with young spring plants. Her gaze wandered over every evidence of his labors. The hearty livestock, the fences and pens, all were proof of careful planning for their life together.
Eyes opened, she saw it as he must have every day. All the little details becoming blindingly clear. The thoughtful closeness of the stream so that she wouldn’t have far to go for water. The cellar, hard-won from thin soil and solid rock. He must have imagined the harvest from her vegetable garden while he dug it out, the preserves she would put up to keep them nourished during the winter. The nearness of a town—and a church. He had been so excited over the building of the meetinghouse, a place for their family to worship.
With relentless insight, she saw his dreams. Dreams he had shared with her time and time again in his quiet unassuming way and still, now that she was here, wanted to share with her. Just today he had spoken of his plans for a mill, assuring a future for their children.
A planned inheritance.
It was all suddenly so clear. She wanted to wail. She hadn’t known . . . hadn’t understood the depth of Christopher’s love for her. What must it be costing him now? To see her and Drake so happy and loving together. His broken leg was nothing compared with the pain she caused him every day just by being here. And yet, he had wanted them to come. Why? Was he hoping to lure her away from Drake? Had she made a terrible mistake by bringing them here?
“I am so sorry,” she breathed aloud.
That last thought left her chilled to the bone and shaking, the cool night air blowing against her, pressing her into the tree. “What have I done?”
She closed her eyes and let tears fall onto the plain dress that was still as Quaker as she was. Desolate, she breathed deeply, seeking God’s presence, seeking the Light. “Show me Thy path, Lord.”
DRAKE’S NERVES WERE strung tight from the sharp vigilance required to ride through night wilderness. Bobcat, bear, and wolves were an ever-present danger. And while, from all accounts, the Indians had been subdued and moved further west over the mountains, at one time the Shawnee had camped in this area, and one could never be too sure. He had yet to see an Indian and wasn’t quite sure what he would do if he did. He’d rather not find out alone, in the middle of the night.
It was early and the birds were up and chirping when he finally made it to the outskirts of Frederick Town. His eyes felt sand-filled and he knew he would have to get a couple hours’ sleep before he could make the trek back to Christopher’s home with a doctor.
Turning his equally tired mount onto a familiar street, Drake picked his way to the same inn they had stayed at before. He had to bang on the door several times before the sleepy innkeeper finally opened it. It was the same man he’d convinced of his need for a private room (by reminding him what it was like to be a newlywed) and he remembered Drake well. Drake told the man of Christopher’s accident, the need for a doctor, and his more immediate need for a few hours’ sleep.
“Anything will do this time, good sir. A blanket on the floor, if needs be.”
The man waved his suggestion away. “No, no, follow me. I have a bed in an attic room.”
Drake was too tired to care that the statement meant sleeping in his clothes and sharing a bed with strangers. A couple of hours of rest and then he was assured that he could find the doctor.
AN ELBOW IN the ribs woke him. At first he thought it Serena and reached out, only to be met with the shaggy beard of his bedmate. Snatching his hand back he came awake and sat up. Groggily, he searched for the pocket watch he now owned. It had been one of the many trades he had made—from a gold watch, elegantly inlaid with tortoiseshell, to the plain pewter. But it worked. And truly, that was all that mattered in a place like this.
The morning light was bright with spring sunshine washing over the little town. Small though it might be, it bustled with an economical energy the Germans were known for. Having retrieved direction to the doctor’s home, Drake set out.
A brisk knock on the knobby wood door brought round a stout woman with rosy cheeks and a wide smile. “Might I help thee?”
A Quaker—good. “Yes, ma’am. I was looking for the doctor. Might he be available?”
She nodded happily and motioned him in. He was led into a parlor and told, “Make thyself comfortable. I will get the doctor.”
The wait was thankfully short. A middle-aged man with a well-fed belly, who looked utterly incapable of making the long ride on a wilderness trail, entered the room. He thrust out a hand with a friendly smile to match his wife’s.
Drake introduced himself and then explained the situation. “Can you come? My wife is hesitant to set the bone herself, and I have no experience in such matters. I fear we might make it worse.”
“Much swelling?”
Drake nodded. “At least twice the normal size.”
“Well, there’s no time like the present then. I’ll get my bag and horse and meet you in front of the inn.”
IT WAS NEARING dinnertime when they finally made it to the cabin. The trip back had been uneventful, and Drake was pleased it had only taken a little longer than the journey there. The good doctor was a surprise in more ways than one. Not only could he ride with astounding grace and forbearance; he was an excellent traveling companion, full of knowledge of the area, gossip, and tidbits of information about the inhabitants. Most amazing, he carried with him the best food Drake had had since leaving London.
“My wife is French,” he’d explained, “and trained with culinary experts before I swept her off her pudgy little feet and brought her to this country.” His obvious respect for his wife and her talents amused Drake. “A French Quaker? Was I mistaken in her speech in surmising her to be of the Friends?”
The doctor chuckled. “She dabbles in any and all social events. When she realized the Friends dominated the social life of the town, she joined them faster than I could gainsay her. They don’t know it, but she only adheres to the language. We have plenty of French decadence in the other areas.” His bushy gray eyebrows rose into his hairline suggestively.
Drake shook his head in wonder. “Do the Friends know?”
The man laughed so hard he almost fell off his horse. “If they know, they look the other way where she’s concerned. Her cooking is prized at the pitch-ins. My suspicion is she could cook her way into any group.”
After their lunch, Drake could only agree with him.
THE HOUSE LOOKED quiet in the midday sun as they approached, and a bad feeling rose from Drake’s stomach as soon as they came upon it.
They took their horses to the barn, stayed long enough to fill the trough with feed, then hurried to the door. Serena met them before they reached it.
“Thank God!” Her eyes met Drake’s, then the doctor’s. “He is feverish and the break is terribly swollen.” She rushed them inside and to Christopher’s bed.
The next hour was a horror. The bone, hard to find in the swollen flesh that surrounded it, had to be set properly before it began to mend. Drake understood that much. Beyond that, he was hopelessly out of his scope of experience and dead tired.
After helping to pin Christopher to the bed, hearing him scream as the doctor—ruthlessly, it seemed—set the leg, Drake took refuge in the attic and collapsed on what was now Serena’s and his bed.
THE DOCTOR STAYED the remainder of that day and night, taking his leave in the morning. He’d given stern instructions to Serena on how to care for Christopher. The fever was normal but must be watched; the swelling should go down in a week or two as the bone knitted. Christopher was warned to stay abed, leg elevated on pillows, and rest for several days, if not weeks.
Serena wanted desperately to believe the doctor’s prediction that Christopher would be fine. She didn’t know how she would cope if there were any permanent damage because of a foolish race. Penance seemed the only way to assuage her guilt. So she made an internal vow: From this day forward, Christopher would be her most determined concern.
Chapter Eighteen
Something was wrong. The feeling settled on him, heavy and filled with dread. Try as he might to dispel it with level-headed thinking, it would not leave.
Serena’s actions bore evidence that Drake’s world had changed somehow, was askew in a way that left him lurching on its deck. She was so busy nursing Christopher now, she had little time or energy left over for him. Worse yet, she seemed to be doing something no woman had ever done to him: She seemed to be avoiding him.

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