Relief

K enneth couldn't believe his eyes as he stood on deck, watching the wounded board the ship. There was no mistaking the proud bearing of the kilted Highlander striding along the dock, a set of bagpipes tucked under his arm. "Niven," he yelled, waving both arms wildly over his head.

His cousin paused, looked up and grinned.

Kenneth made his way to the top of the gangway where William was welcoming the wounded and assuring them they'd soon be home. "It's Niven," he told his friend excitedly. "On the docks."

"He's alive?" William asked, his eyes wide.

"Looks pretty lively to me," he replied. "Carrying bagpipes."

William frowned. "You don't suppose Willow's thoughts about the two pipers…no…impossible."

Before the friends could make headway against the tide of wounded, Niven had elbowed his way through and stood before them on deck.

Kenneth's throat constricted as he threw his arms around his cousin. "I am so relieved to see you," he finally managed.

"Nay as relieved as I am to see ye," Niven replied, thumping Kenneth's back.

"Are you hale, young man?" William asked, extending a hand when the cousins broke apart.

Niven accepted the gesture. "Aye, Yer Grace. Which is more than I can say for my pipes."

The three men examined the shredded bag.

"I know it won't make up for the harm I've done," William said. "I'll gladly replace them for you."

"Nay need. Lord Rowan's already offered."

William grasped Niven's elbow. "What do you know of my son?"

Niven cocked his head. "He's in yon carriage."

"But why didn't he come to the ship with you?"

Niven shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

A chill crept up Kenneth's spine.

Niven searched for the right words. In the circumstances, he ought to despise the duke for the kidnapping, but all he felt was pity. Withenshawe was about to learn that his eldest son and heir had lost a leg in the battle.

Niven had to be the one to relay the news but he sensed the possibility of Rowan's eventual recovery depended on his father. Rowan wouldn't deal well with pity, nor with pretending nothing had changed. His reluctance to accept his fate and get on with life likely had to do with his expectations of his father's reaction.

"We were only able to travel here now thanks to the Earl of Uxbridge's provision of transport," Niven began.

The duke frowned. "Henry Paget? Commander of the cavalry and Wellington's second-in-command at Waterloo?"

"The same."

"But I understood from Wellington's dispatches that Henry lost his leg in the battle."

"He did."

"The newspapers are full of the courageous way he handled the situation," Kenneth remarked. "He reportedly jested that the surgeon's saw seemed rather dull."

"Not surprised really," Withenshawe replied. "That's the kind of chap he is. Rowan's helping him, you say."

Niven filled his lungs. Sooner or later the duke would learn the truth. "The earl doesna need help. 'Tis yer son who canna walk by himself."

"A leg wound?" the duke asked.

"Aye, Yer Grace. Cannon fire took half his leg clean off."

"Here comes your Papa," Uxbridge said, standing with the aid of his crutches. "On your feet, man." He grinned like a mischievous imp. "Or foot, I should say."

Rowan didn't appreciate the humor as bile rose in his throat. He hadn't expected to deal with his father just yet. "I'm not ready for this," he replied.

"Nonsense," the earl retorted. "What are you afraid of? I'm no less of a man because I've lost a leg, and neither are you."

Rowan risked a glance out the window. He could only pray Niven had forewarned his sire. It was difficult to tell from the stern expression on his father's face.

"Ask yourself what your father is doing here in Antwerp," Uxbridge declared.

"He's come looking for me."

"Exactly. Because he loves you. Now, get up and let him see the man you are."

"But I'm no longer a whole man," Rowan muttered as the earl deftly maneuvered himself out of the carriage.

He detested the whining sound of his voice which his aching heart acknowledged had more to do with Daisy than anyone else. Struggling to stand, he cursed the crutches that never did what he wanted. He contemplated the open door, terrified of falling at his father's feet if he tried to alight alone.

Still dithering, he failed to realize his father had boarded. He unexpectedly found himself in his sobbing father's arms. "I've always been proud of you, Rowan. Now, I'm doubly proud. I'll do everything in my power to help you cope with your loss. Let's get you out of this appalling vehicle."

The knot in Rowan's gut unraveled. He stiffened his spine, gripped the crutches and said, "It's all right, Papa. I can manage."

Praying his words would turn out to be true, he slowly exited the conveyance. Sweating, but elated with his success, he wasn't surprised that the first person he saw was Niven, a cheeky grin on his mucky face.