Warning at Eagle's Watch (13 page)

Chapter 11

Hillary opened her eyes to a bright and sunny day, but with the aches and pains that emanated from almost every part of her body, her mood was less than ecstatic. She gently raised herself from her usually comfortable bed and looked in the mirror to survey the damage done by her escapade.

The white bandage that Dr. Newburg had applied so efficiently to her temple stood out like a white flag. Her cheekbone sported a very unattractive bruise. Her eyes were underlined by dark circles, and their usual sparkle was lacking.

Her legs were scratched and bruised, but her tightly wrapped ankle was much improved from its condition the night before. She gingerly put a little weight on it, feeling the soreness still, but able to move about with care.

Scotty would be waiting for her in the next room, she knew, having slept soundly through all of the excitement, and she was probably going to flip when she saw Hillary's battered appearance. And what should she tell her?

On the one hand, she longed to howl loudly and long about her definite knowledge that someone had deliberately caused her to fall over the edge of the cliff. She longed to make enough noise about the incident, so that she was finally believed and listened to.

But because she cared so deeply for Scotty, her hands were tied. The idea that someone had knowingly brought harm to Hillary, the fact that she might have easily been killed in her fall from the cliffs of Eagle's Watch, would be too much for her old heart to bear.

The young nurse thought of Scotty's piercing eyes and always working mind. She would have to be told about the incident. Her probing curiosity would eventually win out. But, Hillary realized with a sigh, she would have to agree solemnly with the others, say that the whole thing had been a freak accident. She could make no more accusations for Scotty's sake. She must let the matter die down. It was not a welcome decision, but if she did not wish to risk a flare-up in Scotty's heart condition, she really had no choice.

And so she appeared in Scotty's room a few minutes later, smiling sheepishly, and apologetically told her tale of accidental woe to explain the cuts and bruises and limp.

And those bright eyes stared directly into hers, remarking sarcastically on Hillary's lack of coordination as she took her daily dose of medicine and routinely went through her morning exercise program.

The subject of conversation gradually changed, and Hillary breathed easier as she felt removed from Scotty's scrutinizing gaze. The crisis had been averted.

Dr. Harris appeared at the door to Scotty's room in late morning, alone and carrying his black doctor's bag. He looked handsome and professional, and Hillary's heart gave its customary lurch.

"I'm making a few calls for Dr. Newburg," he said. "I thought I'd drop by to see that things are running smoothly here." He examined Priscilla, and then made a quick check of Hillary's injuries.

"I've been telling Scotty how clumsily I almost came to an unfortunate end last night." Hillary's voice was light and flip, but her eyes sent out the serious message that she had not mentioned her accusations to her patient. "I must thank you for your gallant rescue. It could have been a tragic accident."

His eyes looked into hers for a moment, reading the thoughts that were behind her words.

"Very," he said quietly. He picked up his bag. "Hillary, Dr. Newburg has decided that Scotty is ready for some new therapy equipment at this point, and he suggested that you and I drive down to pick it up in town. If you can come along, it can be demonstrated for you. I thought perhaps late this afternoon, if that's convenient for you—unless your foot is bothering you too much..."

A broken leg wouldn't have stopped her.

"That would be fine, Doctor. I'll be expecting you."

She kept her voice professional and calm, but her stomach was in a state of frenzy.

She and Scotty followed their normal routine. Somehow the hours passed.

Hillary had just settled her patient down for her afternoon nap and had slipped into a cool, stylish pantsuit when Mrs. Raymond arrived to inform her that the doctor was waiting.

She moved down the long stairway with her happy feet barely touching the steps.

The ride to town was a beautiful one, the greenery that lined the roads reflecting the late afternoon sunshine. The July sun had baked the macadam road they traveled, and she could see the waves of escaping heat hovering over the blackened tar as they moved along the curves and hills at a steady pace.

Kent sat in the driver's scat of his car, a bronze-colored sedan that rode smoothly and effortlessly, so different from Hillary's battered VW. She stared occasionally at his strong profile, entranced by it.

"Dr. Newburg is very impressed with the progress you've been making with Priscilla, Hillary. He says that her leg and arm strength are improving to the point that we can add the use of a few weight-lifting devices, and very possibly the use of a walker in the near future."

Hillary could feel a glow beginning deep in her heart. She envisioned Scotty, once again on her feet, with the help of a walker at the start; a positive, rewarding step that would gladden her heart.

Kent smiled at the softened look on her face, and she turned her head away under his gaze.

"You really do care for her, don't you, Hillary?" he asked finally. She nodded.

"And that's why you were so careful to stress that last night's occurrence came under the category of accident."

"I didn't see that I had any choice, as things stand. It would have only hurt her, and I could never prove it."

He nodded silently.

"How did you come to take this job. Hillary? Have you known Priscilla long?"

A little voice spoke silently deep inside her: Don't misjudge me as the others do. Please don't wonder about my motives.

Out loud she merely said. "A friend recommended me for the job, so I took it."

He seemed to accept her words.

"Do you live with Dr. Newburg?" she asked then.

He laughed and she liked the sound of it. "No, no, I'd have to be a lunatic to live with him. He works more hours than there are in a day. I swear I don't have any idea how he does it all, and still keeps on his feet.

"Besides his patient load, and the local needs at every hour of the day and night, he spends the rest of his time hidden deep in a little laboratory he's had built onto the back of his house. He's been devoted to research since his earliest days in medicine and more willingly gives up his sleep than his cherished time in his laboratory. I hope the day comes when he can dedicate himself totally to it. He's a man with a lot to contribute to the world. And he certainly has a soft spot in his heart for Priscilla Scott. Miss Scott has always believed in him, and encouraged him to go on. I believe in him, too."

She was impressed by the reverence in his voice. "Perhaps with you as an associate, he'll feel less pressed for time. Are you planning to stay?"

Kent's muscular hands gripped the wheel of the car with sudden intensity. "We'll see," he said through a tight jaw. Subject closed. She had hit upon a raw nerve.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence hung over them until he spoke again.

"I'm living in the old lighthouse that juts out into the sea beyond Eagle's Watch. The keeper lives in a little cottage that sits next to it, and he offered me space in the lighthouse for my bachelor quarters, in return for taking medical care of his ailing wife. It suits me fine, for now. I'm a city fellow, though. It's a little remote. It'll take getting used to." She knew the feeling.

Bachelor quarters. The words sounded good as they rang in her brain. He was unmarried.

They reached the medical-supply center in town and busily inspected and selected from the large line of rather dusty stock. In no time at all, they had made the necessary purchases and loaded the car with their packages.

The ride home was uneventful, a quiet, peaceful ride.

But the happiness was marred by the occasional throbbing of her ankle and the terrifying memory of how she had gone hurtling over the jagged cliff.

The days passed. And then the weeks. Scotty was amazing. With the drive and determination that Hillary had noticed on their first meeting, she had taken on and conquered each step of her recovery. Day after day, hour after hour, the two had worked together on each muscle-building exercise.

Scotty's muscle tone was good now, and her self-confidence was building with each success that she made. She was getting stronger.

The day that she first stood in her walker was a proud and joyful one. Her arms shakily supported her weight as she lifted herself from the chair, determination etched on her face, with Hillary standing nearby. From that point on, both patient and nurse knew that the success they both yearned for could be a reality.

Hillary had not seen much of Kent in the lazy days that followed their trip for supplies, but he was still very much on her mind. Dr. Newburg came by only occasionally now, as Scotty was far along on her road to recovery.

In the evenings, after Scotty retired for the night. Hillary would sit alone in her room, reading book after book of the delightful poetry borrowed from the well-stocked shelves in the study downstairs.

Looking out in the dark of the night, from her room on the second floor of the castle, she could see the wandering beam of the lighthouse making its mark across the blackness of the sky. Kent's lighthouse.

Sitting in the solitude of her quiet room, she found great comfort in knowing that he was living there, beneath the steady beam of light that crossed the sky.

He was so quiet, so handsome, a man she could sense felt deeply and strongly about life. She knew that there was much his mind knew, that there had to be deep reasons and feelings to account for his sometimes withdrawn behavior. She thought of him often, hoping that the day would come when she would be able to understand the man she cared for so greatly.

On one bright sunny afternoon, while Scotty was comfortably napping, Hillary changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and donned her sneakers, yearning for the fresh air outside the walls of the castle and the peaceful rhythm of the waves along the shore.

She would take no more chances climbing around on the rocky uneven cliffs in shoes that had no tread, for the memory of her fearful night still haunted her.

But since that night, there had been no more suggestions of danger. Even the talk of the incident had died a quick death with her decision to regard it as an accident. Though she knew better, she could almost wish it had been—as they had all easily assumed—a figment of her overactive imagination.

She left the house in good spirits and almost immediately ran into Mitchell. Soon they were weaving in and out of the large rock formations that surrounded Eagle's Watch on three sides. It was exhilarating to climb high in the sunlight, feeling the heat on her back.

But when Mitchell suggested that they scramble down the rocky path that began far behind the castle and led to a small sandy beach, she was more than a little apprehensive. She finally agreed, though.

When she arrived at the bottom, she was more than glad that she had steeled herself to make the trip. The sandy stretch of beach that opened before them was a very small one, a semi-sheltered little place with walls of rock acting as shields on three sides, barring the wind. It was peaceful and lovely. A spray of the fresh salt air touched her freckled face as Mitchell took her hand and drew her to a comfortable spot in the sand. They sat together, laughing and talking for quite some time, Mitchell's voice gay, his easy laugh ringing over the sound of the waves. Hillary felt relaxed, at home. She was glad she had come, she was glad she had a friend like Mitchell. She looked over at his dark-skinned profile as he gazed out at the horizon, his wavy dark hair dipping over one eye, his body relaxed and natural. Never, she knew now, could she feel the same about him as she did about Kent, never could she love him. And yet she liked his company, enjoyed being with him. She liked his easy laugh, his cheerful disposition. He was a friend. So they sat and laughed in the peace of the day, tossing shells and pebbles into the tumult of the ocean, watching the rise and fall of the waves on the small beach.

"You're really something else, Hillary," he said, as they were getting ready to climb to the top once again. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer to him.

Her muscles tensed. She didn't want more than his friendship.

But Mitchell smiled. "No, Hillary, don't worry, I can see how the land lies. And it's okay, really. You're a very special girl, maybe just too special for the likes of me. But I just want you to know how much I care about you, as a person, as a friend." His voice was warm. "I am your friend, Hillary, remember that." He leaned over and kissed her lightly on her cheek.

She felt warm and happy, a gentle glow inside her as she smiled back at him. "Thanks, Mitchell. You've made my day."

She felt as bright as the sun as they climbed the path upward. It had been a good day.