Chapter 15
When James awoke, he found his brother sitting beside the operating table, tears drying on his cheeks.
The sight stunned James, for he could scarcely remember the last time he had seen Fergus weep.
The tears had largely been beaten out of both of them in their youth by their tyrant of a father, who had only struck them harder when they cried—and continued to strike them more and more violently until they either stopped or lost consciousness.
(It was much the same to the old man, since either way, the tears ceased.) Fergus had never projected an air of being particularly sensitive or emotional.
As leader of the clan, such qualities might cause the confidence and loyalty of his warriors to falter, and he dared not risk that.
Now, though, Fergus appeared utterly overcome with emotion. When he saw that James was conscious once more, he embraced him tightly. “Merciful God, James, you have no idea how terrified I was that you might not make it through alive!”
“I will freely admit,” James replied weakly, “there were several moments there when I would have preferred not to if only to make the agony cease.”
“And how do you fare now?” Fergus asked eagerly. “How is your pain?”
“I cannot lie, Brother…it is currently more excruciating than it has been since this wound was fresh.” It was the truth. James’s leg felt horrendous, as though it had been half chewed off by a vicious fanged beast. The ache was deep and constant, all the way down to the bone.
Fergus’s brow crinkled. “Yet you seem to be more alert and in better spirits than we have seen you in quite some time! That is a puzzlement indeed!”
James shook his head slowly. He felt so pale and feeble that he wondered if he might not drift away again as quickly as he’d awakened.
“Not…such a puzzlement, no. Now that I am not adrift on a sea of laudanum, I am more prepared for the pain, I think. More clear in my mind, in readiness for it. More able to accept and endure it.”
“Then you feel you will not return to that awful stuff again?” Fergus inquired hopefully.
James gave him a small, sad smile. “I would give anything to be able to make that promise, Brother. But I cannot, in good conscience. Not now, at any rate, for I am aware that I have many miles still to cross before I can truly say I am freed of that burden.” He paused, then said, “For what it is worth, though, I am heartily sorry to have inflicted my dependency, and all the demons that rode upon its back, upon you and your family. I foolishly believed I was hurting no one but myself with my compulsions, and I see now how my behavior has affected others. I was selfish and unkind in my pain, and for that, I apologize.”
Fergus took his hand tightly. “You need not apologize, James. I know that as bad as childhood was for me, it was at least as bad for you. You did not even have the eventual promise of lairdship to look forward to. You were simply used as a blunt tool for our father to bludgeon me with and, in doing so, provoke my insecurities and bend me to his will. That was hideously unfair to you, and it is no wonder the effects have endured. You used your wound as an excuse to take solace in opium, and in truth, I cannot say for certain whether or not I might have done likewise if I’d found myself in your position.
I bear you no grudge, James. All I have ever wanted was your contentment and well-being. ”
“It pleases me to hear that,” James replied, feeling tears sting his own eyes as well at this admission. “You see? In this, we have triumphed over that loathsome old man at last. We are united, as he never would have seen us had he gotten his way. Now, when shall I return to my own chamber?”
“It will take some time for your wound to heal itself again,” Fergus told him, “and you must remain under the care of the healers in the interim so that no infection is allowed to set in.”
“And how is Edwina? Surely this entire process distressed her mightily, even though it appears to have been a success.”
“She has gone to rest a while,” Fergus replied, “but she will no doubt come back down to visit you shortly.”
“She is quite a woman, isn’t she?” James murmured with a faint smile. “A noblewoman, yet she was more up to this task than our own best healers were. Who would have imagined such a thing?”
Fergus raised an eyebrow. “She is a surprising creature, indeed. And rather a fetching one, too.”
“Aye, her hair is…”
James stopped short, peering at Fergus, who chuckled. “There is nothing wrong with admiring a lovely woman, James. Frankly speaking, I had not seen you do so in such a long time that I was growing concerned your leg wasn’t the only part of you which had been gravely wounded.”
James let out a sardonic laugh. “She has come here to heal me, not to be courted by me. She does not strike me as the type who would welcome suitors.”
“Under normal circumstances, perhaps that might be true,” Fergus agreed, “but these are hardly normal circumstances, are they? The two of you appear to have formed a fast and unlikely bond. Who’s to say it mightn’t be explored more fully?”
His younger brother sighed, frustrated. “I say so because why would she wish to be pursued by a man with one good leg?”
“I should think anyone would prefer to be pursued by such a man, as he would be less likely to catch up!”
“You joke, Fergus, but I am being quite serious. I have nothing to offer a woman such as her. I am not the man I was, and despite her protestations to the contrary, I have no reason to believe I ever shall be again. A decrease in my pain is all I can hope to expect, and with it, freedom from opiates. To ask for more would be foolish of me, not to mention futile.”
“You must cease being so hard on yourself, James,” Fergus encouraged.
“And in time, perhaps you will. I understand that it is unrealistic to expect your temperament to change overnight…but it has changed, and I fervently hope it will continue to do so until you do revert to a form more closely resembling your old one. You are a good and noble man, a brave warrior from a respected house. Having a slightly deficient leg is not nearly enough to take that away from you, and any sensible person would tell you the same.”
“But if I were to take a wife, I would want her to be my wife, not my nursemaid!” James insisted. “To woo her would be to ask her to tend to these physical ailments for the rest of our lives, and I would not inflict such a thing upon her for all the world.”
Fergus narrowed his eyes cannily. “No. I do not believe that is the true reason you refuse to pursue her.”
“Oh?” James chuckled humorlessly. “Then please, by all means, enlighten me regarding my own motivations, as you seem to be more familiar with them than I am.”
“You feel diminished in her eyes because she has seen you at your worst. You believe she will never see you as a real man standing tall on his own—that instead, every time she looks at you, she will see nothing but a cripple and an addict.”
Clearly, James had not expected such an insightful reply. He looked away, embarrassed. “Very well. What of it, then? Is that not a reasonable concern?”
“You judge her too harshly, James,” Fergus replied.
“Or rather, I think you judge her based on how other women in her position might behave, which is much the same thing. Have you not spent sufficient time with her by now to understand that she is nothing like other women in her thoughts and deeds? She is unique in all the world, I’d wager.
Not to mention perfectly suited for one such as you. ”
“One such as me?” James scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have always had a propensity for being gruff and choleric of temper,” his older brother informed him, “and it would benefit you immensely, I believe, to be paired with one who would not shy away from your tempestuous moods. One who would instead openly remark upon them and force you to confront the truths of yourself, rather than shrinking away from such topics for fear of upsetting you. In short, James, one who would be unafraid to stand up to you when it’s required of her. ”
“All of this presupposes that she would be interested in being wooed by me,” James grumbled, “and that is an unlikely thing indeed.”
“You will never know,” Fergus reminded him, “unless you summon the nerve to try.”
“After the atrocity I just submitted myself to, at her suggestion,” James balked, “you dare to question my ‘nerve’?”
“I do, for there are many types of courage, Brother. The type that allows us to confront physical pain—and perhaps even death—and the type that allows us to overcome our fears of rejection and loneliness. As one who has known you all your life, I happen to believe you are capable of both, though you have had far more practice at the former than the latter. Also, it seems to me that you would not have submitted to such a horror at any other woman’s suggestion…
and perhaps that is something worth examining. ”
Fergus smiled one last time, clearly relieved that his brother was still to be counted among the land of the living, and then withdrew, leaving James to ponder the truth of what he had just heard.
Yes, he supposed Fergus had made good points, damn him.
James had faced countless enemies on the field of battle. He had willingly subjected himself to the heinous cutting and digging in his leg today. He’d managed to survive the relentless onslaught of their father in his youth without going mad or taking his own life from the bleakness of it.
Could he not, then, summon the fortitude to make his feelings toward Edwina known?
Could he truly not pursue romance for fear that he would be turned away?
Why did these two types of bravery seem so different from each other?
Why was the notion of loss of life and limb easier for him to confront than the notion of loss of face?
As he considered these things, he slipped back into a slumber where he dreamed of Edwina’s eyes, her smile, the gentleness of her touch…