Page 2 of Enlightened

David smiled and thanked the man, enduring a punishingly enthusiastic handshake before taking his leave. By now, his leg was aching badly, but he made himself walk straight, concealing his weakness as he walked down the track from the farmhouse to the first of the stiles he would have to climb over on his way back to Laverock House.

Though he knew McNally would likely have lost interest and turned away, he determinedly kept up his charade, smothering a wince when he stepped off the stile onto his bad leg and setting off again, concentrating on keeping his gait straight and regular.

He knew he’d overdone it. He’d known it by the time he was two-thirds of the way to McNally’s house this morning. He’d known it as he sat in McNally’s parlour, his knee throbbing with hot needles of pain, wishing he’d abandoned his pride and brought the fancy cane Murdo had given him a fortnight before. But it had seemed a perfectly reasonable decision when he’d set out this morning.

The four months of inactivity with his leg splinted and harnessed had driven him nearly mad. Since getting the harness off, he’d been gradually increasing the length of his daily stroll, eager to build the muscles again. His leg was getting stronger every day, and when he’d risen this morning, he’d felt very ready for the two-mile walk to McNally’s house.

He’d seriously underestimated what he was undertaking.

Until today, he’d been sticking to well-worn tracks and roads on his walks. But the route to McNally’s stretched across field after field of hilly, uneven ground that jarred his leg with every step.

He’d thought to himself this morning that two miles was nothing, but it hadn’t felt like nothing when he’d reached McNally’s farmhouse, and it didn’t feel like nothing now as he reached the top of the field that Sir Hamish and McNally had been arguing about, and climbed yet another stile. His hip protested as he pulled himself up and his knee ached like the very devil, but there was nothing for it but to thole it now. Thole it, and keep going till he got back to Laverock House.

There had been a hard frost overnight and the ground had no give in it. It felt like iron under David’s feet, punishing him for his foolishness. The day was cold too, even now, late in the afternoon. David’s breath flowered white out of his mouth as he puffed his way up to the top of the next field, cresting a hill that gave him a view over Laverock Glen. He paused there, looking out at the broad sweep of the dun-coloured winter hills, the silver ribbon of the river, glittering where it broke over jagged rocks. And the sight eased something in David, soothing him the way the weak winter sun soothed the landscape with its gentle light.

He took the descent slowly, forced to it by the pain in his knee. The view was a sop to Cerberus, something good to distract him from the pain. He paused several times on the way down, leaning his weight on a bit of wall or a tree when he got the chance.

When he reached the bottom of the hill and got onto the blessedly level path that wound through the glen to Laverock House, he was ready to weep from relief. Yet there was still half a mile to go.

He took it slowly. By halfway, he’d have given his left arm for the cane he’d thrown aside this morning. Anything to take some of the burden from his leg. Ah well, he was a fool, and he’d learned something today. Maybe he’d listen to Murdo next time.

Murdo wouldn’t be happy about today’s events. He’d brought David to Laverock House to recuperate and was continually lecturing him about taking things easier. It was Murdo who’d arranged for the physician to come every few weeks to check how David’s leg was healing, and who’d instructed the kitchen to make up regular batches of David’s mother’s liniment recipe. Murdo who’d presented David with a new ebony cane with a silver derby handle to take on his walks.

It wasn’t only David’s physical well-being that Murdo looked after. He’d had boxes of books brought to Laverock House from his Edinburgh townhouse to keep David amused; he’d even read to David himself in those early days when, listless and melancholy with his lot, David hadn’t been inclined to do so. And it was Murdo who’d brought him Sir Hamish’s papers to look through when, as his leg began to improve, he’d complained about needing something to test his wits on.

Now, that project had seized David’s attention to such an extent that he was becoming known locally as Lord Murdo Balfour’s very efficient new man of business, the learned lawyer who was helping Lord Murdo make peace with all his new neighbours and bury all the old disputes Sir Hamish had started.

And why not let them think that? It was true, after all—and it was no one else’s concern that, besides that, he and Murdo were lovers. That was their affair and theirs alone. The servants at Laverock House certainly appeared to be oblivious. The manor was a good size, but it was compact enough that the proximity of their bedchambers, with only Murdo’s untidy study between them, merited no comment.

By day, they were circumspect. By night—well, the nights were their own. It hadn’t been easy to make love with David’s injured leg—for months he’d been all but immobilised by the leg harness—but with a bit of inventiveness, they’d managed, and now that David was up and about again, it was getting easier every day.

Right now, though, as David took the last turn-off that led to Laverock House and the manor house finally hoved into view, he couldn’t think of doing anything but lying down. He was limping badly now, all attempts to conceal his disability long given up. The idea of sinking into his soft featherbed and warming his chilled feet under the blankets had become his Holy Grail. There was simply nothing else.

He’d barely taken a dozen steps down the long front drive when the door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man emerged.

Murdo.

Even now, after living here for months, the unexpected sight of his lover lit something inside David. He felt a stab of pure happiness, an accompanying flare of anticipation, even as he winced with each step he took.

“Where have you been?” Murdo said, walking toward him, his dark eyes concerned as he took in David’s pronounced limp. “Mrs. Inglis said you went out hours ago.”

David attempted a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “I decided to walk over to McNally’s,” he admitted, sending Murdo a rueful look. “It wasn’t one of my best ideas.”

“That’s over two miles!” Murdo exclaimed. He turned so that they were walking in the same direction, toward the open front door, matching his pace to David’s. “What were you thinking? And where’s your cane?”

“I didn’t think I needed it,” David mumbled, answering the second question and evading the first.

“You’re limping,” Murdo observed unnecessarily.

“I overdid it, but I’ll be all right,” David replied. “I just need to rest my leg for a bit.”

Murdo let out a noisy sigh. “You’re as stubborn as a mule. I only hope you haven’t set yourself back with this.”

There were three steps up to the front door of the house, and David took them slowly, gritting his teeth against the pain that knifed through his knee with each step. He didn’t look at Murdo, but he felt the other man’s eyes on him, watching his slow progress and scrutinising his profile for evidence of how bad the pain was.

They stepped into the hallway together, Murdo closing the front door behind them. Since the hall was empty of servants, David allowed Murdo to help him off with his greatcoat. Then he glanced up the long flight of steps that led to his bedchamber on the first floor and suppressed a moan. Girding himself, he placed his foot on the first step.

“Don’t even think about it,” Murdo said behind him.