Page 40 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

“ M rs. MacLeod needs a physician, and she needs one tonight.”

Diana’s voice cut through the increasingly violent wind as she burst through the kitchen door. Rain dripped from her dark cloak onto the flagstone floor. Mrs. Glenwright looked up from where she’d been supervising the evening meal preparations, her weathered face creasing with concern.

“Your Grace! What are ye doin’ out in this storm?”

“Agnes sent word from the village. The baby’s coming early, and something’s wrong.” Diana pushed back her sodden hood. Her usually pristine hair hung in damp tendrils around her face. “Mrs. MacLeod is bleeding badly, and Mr. MacLeod is beside himself with worry.”

“In this weather?” Mrs. Glenwright glanced toward the windows where rain lashed the glass like angry fists. “Your Grace, no physician would risk the roads tonight. The bridge over Glen Coric washed out this afternoon.”

“Then we go around,” Diana said with a conviction that surprised them both.

“In the dark? In this storm?” The housekeeper’s voice rose with alarm. “Your Grace, that path is treacherous even in good weather. One wrong step and ye’ll tumble into the ravine.”

Diana felt her jaw tighten with determination. “Then I won’t take a wrong step. Mrs. MacLeod has three children under five years old, and if she dies tonight because we were too frightened to act, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“But His Grace would never allow–”

“His Grace isn’t here,” Diana interrupted firmly. “He rode to Inverness this morning on estate business and won’t return until tomorrow. By then, it will be too late.”

Thunder crashed overhead, shaking the castle walls like a giant’s fist. Mrs. Glenwright flinched at the sound. Her face looked pale in the lamplight.

“Your Grace, please,” she pleaded. “The Duke would have my head if anythin’ happened to ye. Wait until mornin’. Surely the storm will pass by then.”

“Will it?” Diana moved to the window, pressing her palm against the cold glass. Beyond the courtyard, she could see trees bending nearly horizontal under the wind’s assault. “Look at this weather, Mrs. Glenwright. This isn’t a simple Highland squall. This is the kind of storm that lasts for days.”

“All the more reason to stay safely inside.”

“Safe?” Diana turned back to face the housekeeper, something fierce and protective blazing in her brown eyes. “What’s safe about letting a woman die when we might have prevented it?”

Mrs. Glenwright stared at her, clearly recognizing something in Diana’s tone that hadn’t been there before. “Your Grace...”

“Mrs. MacLeod delivered fresh eggs from her hens every week when I first arrived. She brought her youngest daughter to meet me. She welcomed me when others remained suspicious, and even brought her youngest daughter to meet me.” Diana’s voice dropped to something softer but no less determined.

“I will not abandon her now simply because the weather is inconvenient.”

“But the Duke specifically instructed that ye’re not to leave the castle grounds without–”

“Without his permission, yes.” Diana began untying her wet cloak with brisk efficiency. “Well, he’s not here to give it, is he? And I refuse to let a woman die while we debate propriety.”

Mrs. Glenwright wrung her hands, torn between loyalty to her Duke and growing respect for his wife. “At least take someone with ye. Young Jamie knows the shepherd’s path well.”

“No.” Diana’s refusal was immediate and final. “I won’t risk anyone else’s life for my decision.”

“And what am I to tell His Grace when he returns?”

Diana paused in her preparations. The question was fair – Finn would be furious when he discovered what she’d done. But the alternative was unthinkable.

“Tell him I couldn’t live with myself if I’d stayed safe while Mrs. MacLeod suffered,” she said quietly.

Thunder rolled overhead, and lightning illuminated the kitchen windows in stark white flashes.

Diana pulled the hood up over her head and stepped into the storm.

The wind nearly threw her off balance, driving rain into her face with needle-sharp intensity.

Diana bent her head against the assault and pushed forward toward the stables, her boots slipping on the treacherous cobblestones.

Inside the stable, she found Mr. Calder finishing his evening rounds. His weathered face creased with alarm when he saw her storm-soaked figure.

“Your Grace! What in God’s name are ye doin’ out in this weather?”

“I need a horse,” Diana said without preamble. “Your steadiest, most sure-footed mount. I have to reach the MacLeod cottage tonight.”

“Tonight?” Calder’s voice cracked with disbelief. “Your Grace, no horse alive could make that journey safely in this storm.”

“Mrs. MacLeod is dying.” Diana moved toward the stalls, her gaze cataloging the available horses with surprising competence. “What about Tempest? She’s calm under pressure and knows the highland trails.”

“Tempest is the Duke’s personal mount,” Calder protested. “She’s trained for battle, not for ladies’ riding.”

“Then she’s exactly what I need.” Diana reached for the mare’s bridle. “Please, Mr. Calder. Help me, or I’ll saddle her myself.”

The older man studied her face for a long moment, seeing something there that made his shoulders slump in resignation. “Your Grace, if somethin’ happens to ye, the Duke will have my hide.”

“If something happens to Mrs. MacLeod because we did nothing, I’ll have your hide,” Diana countered with a firmness that would have astonished her sisters.

Twenty minutes later, Diana guided Tempest into the storm’s fury.

Rain struck her face like hammers as the wind tore at her cloak.

But Tempest moved with steady confidence.

The ride normally took thirty minutes. Tonight, it would take at least an hour.

Diana leaned low over Tempest’s neck while lightning split the sky above them.

The path wound upward through rocky terrain.

On her left, the ground dropped away into Glen Coric’s depths, invisible but no less dangerous.

Diana kept her eyes fixed on the trail ahead, trusting Tempest’s instincts.

Halfway to the cottage, thunder made Tempest shy violently to the right.

Diana felt herself sliding sideways, her heart lurching as she glimpsed the ravine’s black maw.

She hauled on the reins, fighting to regain control while rain blinded her.

“Easy, girl,” she gasped.

Tempest settled, but Diana could feel the mare’s tension. They were both dancing on the edge of disaster.

When they finally reached the MacLeod cottage, Diana’s hands were numb with cold. But lamplight glowed warmly in the windows.

She dismounted on unsteady legs and pounded on the cottage door.

“Mrs. MacLeod? It’s Diana – the Duchess. I’ve come to help!”

Finn’s boots echoed against flagstone as he returned to Storme Castle near midnight. His traveling coat dripped with rain. The journey back from Inverness had been treacherous; six hours stretched to ten by the storm.

“Your Grace!” Mrs. Glenwright appeared from the kitchens. “Thank God ye’re safe. But… there’s been a situation with Her Grace...”

Finn’s stomach dropped to his feet. “What’s happened? Is the Duchess all right?”

“Och, aye. She’s fine… but she went out into the storm.”

Before Finn could demand details, he caught sight of movement in the drawing room. There, by the dying fire, sat Diana in her nightgown and wrapper, her hair loose and drenched around her shoulders, a teacup warming in her hands.

“Diana.” Relief flooded through him so powerfully it left him breathless.

She looked up as he entered. Shadows danced across her face in the firelight. “You’re back. The storm caught you, I see.”

“Aye.” He moved into the room, noting the exhaustion in her posture, the way her usually pristine appearance spoke of a night spent in hazardous circumstances. “Mrs. Glenwright says ye went out tonight.”

“Mrs. MacLeod needed help.” Diana’s voice was quiet but steady. “Her labor went wrong, and there was no time to wait for morning.”

Finn felt his jaw clench. “So ye rode out in a storm that could have killed ye?”

“The shepherd’s path was passable. Barely, but passable.”

“Barely? Diana, that path is treacherous in good weather. In a storm like this–”

“In a storm like this, one of your subjects was dying,” Diana interrupted, her voice carrying a note of steel. “And I had the means to help her. So, I did.”

Finn stared at her, this woman who’d just risked everything to save a tenant’s life, who sat before him with rain-dampened hair and mud-stained wrapper, looking more magnificent than any London belle in silk and jewels.

“Ye could have died,” he said quietly.

“But I didn’t.” Diana set down her teacup and met his gaze directly. “Mrs. MacLeod and her baby are both well. That’s what matters.”

“Is it?” Finn moved closer, unable to maintain distance when she’d just returned from dancing with death. “And if ye’d fallen from that path? If the horse had stumbled in the dark?”

“Then someone else would have had to help Mrs. MacLeod,” Diana said simply. “But I didn’t fall, and neither did Tempest. We succeeded.”

The matter-of-fact way she dismissed the danger made something twist in his chest. “Ye speak as though riskin’ yer life was a reasonable decision.”

“Wasn’t it?” Diana rose from her chair, moving toward the dying fire. “When did survival become more important than living? When did safety become more valuable than doing what’s right?”

Finn found himself studying her profile in the firelight.

“Ye’re different,” he said suddenly. “From when ye first arrived. Stronger.”

“Yes,” Diana agreed, poking at the embers with the fire iron. “I suppose I am. Though I’m not entirely certain when that happened.”

“I am.” The admission escaped before he could stop it.

Diana turned to face him fully. “You sound like my sisters,” she said with a small smile. “Is that truly what I was doing?”