Page 10 of Enlightened
“Yes, of course.” He thought feverishly. “Do you suppose you could leave for London today instead of tomorrow? That way, I could come with you as far as Edinburgh. It would be much quicker than getting the stagecoach. Is that possible?” He frowned, thinking. “If not, perhaps Walter could take me as far as Perth, and I’ll take a coach from there—”
Murdo interrupted him. “David, slow down. We’ll go today but—”
“Thank you, I—”
“But, will you promise me that you’ll stay at the townhouse in Edinburgh while I’m in London? And…” He paused, seeming to consider for a moment before continuing. “And will you promise to make no other permanent arrangements till my return?”
David gazed at Murdo, taking in the hesitant expression and the new, unhappy lines that bracketed his mouth. This mattered to Murdo, he realised.
“All right,” he said warily. “I promise.”
With that vow in his pocket, Murdo seemed to minutely relax, a tension about his jaw easing enough that he managed a sad smile.
“Good,” he said. Then, becoming brisk, “We’d better get packed, then.”
Chapter Four
The journey to Edinburgh was very different from the one David had taken in the opposite direction five months earlier. Physically, it was a good deal more comfortable. No need for him to recline this time, his leg splinted and harnessed. This time he sat in the carriage in quite the normal way, on the bench opposite Murdo, and the most discomfort he felt was a persistent stiffness in his leg from sitting so long.
The journey was different in other ways too. Last time, he’d been journeying to an unknown place, for an unknown duration, with Murdo telling him that Laverock House would be his home for the foreseeable future. Now he was leaving that home behind. Perhaps forever.
It had occurred to him, as he packed his trunk after breakfast, how very few of his own possessions he had at Laverock House. Most of his things were being stored at Murdo’s townhouse in Edinburgh. He only had a few clothes of his own—he borrowed whatever else he needed from Murdo—and some books and papers. It struck him as sad that he could pack away the last five months of his life, the richest, happiest months of all his life, he admitted to himself, into a single trunk. There was no need to leave anything behind.
A few hours ago, he’d watched from the carriage window as Laverock House grew smaller and smaller, until it disappeared altogether. And he’d thought,I may never return here.It had wrenched at him, that notion.
“How’s the leg?”
He looked up, distracted from his thoughts by Murdo’s voice. Such a distinct voice, with its deep, rich timbre and those smooth English consonants, only the barest hint of Scots in it. Murdo nodded at David’s knee, and he realised that he’d been rubbing it in an absentminded way. Realised too that it ached. He made a face.
“A bit stiff,” he admitted.
“You have your liniment with you,” Murdo pointed out. “I’ll rub it down for you, if you like.”
David hesitated, torn. A leg rub sounded heavenly, but he didn’t relish the thought of disrobing to any extent in the carriage. If the coachman stopped and looked in on them, what would he think?
What if, what if.
Already the world was intruding on them, making David realise how very sheltered these last months at Laverock House had been. No need to wonder what anyone thought there. Enough space and privacy for their intimacy to be kept between the two of them, and to go unnoticed and unremarked upon.
Murdo saw his hesitancy. “Come on, let’s get those breeches off. The sooner we do it, the sooner you’ll be dressed again.”
David weighed the risks. Their last stop had only been twenty minutes before, so there was no need for the carriage to stop anytime soon. What’s more, the road had been deserted all day. There was really very little chance of him being caught in a state of undress by the coachman or anyone else. David sighed and lifted his leg, offering his booted foot to Murdo in acquiescence, smiling wryly when Murdo, grinning his triumph, grasped the heel of the boot and began to gently lever it off.
As ever, Murdo was as meticulous as any valet, careful to draw the leather sleeve away from David’s tender leg in one long, smooth movement. The second boot was, as always, easier. While David undid the buttons of his breeches, Murdo moved to sit beside him, shouldering his way out of his coat and wadding it up to make a cushion of it, careless of its fine elegance.
“Put that at your back and lean against the wall,” he said, handing the wadded-up coat to David. “Then lay your leg over my lap, and I’ll see to you.”
With another sigh, a more contented one this time, David obeyed. Just changing the position of his leg helped ease the pain, letting Murdo take the aching weight of it across his powerful thighs.
“Can you get your breeches off from there?” Murdo asked.
“Perhaps if I leave one leg on—”
Murdo made a huffing noise of frustration, cutting him off without words, and leaned over to grab hold of David’s borrowed breeks and tug at them, forcing David to arch his hips off the seat. A moment later, Murdo had drawn them off altogether and tossed them unceremoniously onto the opposite bench. The next moment he was rolling down the stocking on David’s right leg and peeling that off too.
David watched, unprotesting now, as his injured limb, pale and somewhat wasted still, was laid bare. Despite regular exercise, his right leg remained slightly thinner than the left. The knee looked wrong to David too, a bit off centre somehow. He made a face, not liking the sight of his weakness. It wasn’t just how it looked. It was the physical reminder of everything he couldn’t do. Walk, climb, run. The things he’d always loved and, until now, had taken for granted. Abilities he may never fully recover.
“What’s wrong?” Murdo asked. He missed nothing, damn him.