Labor of Love Page 15
When all arrangements were made, Grant went to find his beast. Stored in the stables, the animal was in decent shape. When he arrived home, he would send a missive of thanks and extra coin to the farmer for its care. After another moment of speech with the Cameron lads, he headed back to the inn.
Sorcha remained just as he left her, staring straight ahead with a transfixed look. Approaching her slowly, he lowered himself in front of her. “Sorcha, are ye all right, dear?”
A sad smile crossed her face. She whispered, “Nay.”
Concerned, Grant asked, “Is it the babe? Is there something I can do for ye?”
“Nay, it isn’t the babe. It is moving more and more every day.” Sorcha shook her head vigorously. When she spoke her voice was hoarse with restrained tears. “Nay, ye have done much for me already. What ails me is nothing that can be changed.”
Grant frowned. “Maybe if ye will share it with me, ye might be surprised.”
Sorcha continued to shake her head.
Frustrated, Grant wanted more than ever to share his love for her. He wanted to comfort her, but she didn’t seem to want him to.
He stood and paced the small room. Ranting as he walked. “Samuel asks for my help, then he goes and gets himself killed before I get there. Then he leaves ye pregnant, unmarried, and alone, which I still don’t completely understand how someone like Samuel would do that. And now I have fallen in love with ye, and all I can think about is marryin’ ye and taken care of ye.”
He walked faster, his hands moving in front of him. “If Duncan could see me now, he would have a good laugh. I told him I would never marry a girl that had been touched because I wanted her to know only of me and no other. Now here I am not only proposing to a lass that has felt another’s touch but also carries a babe! Aye, he said when it hit me I wouldn’t have a choice, and he was right.”
Grant stopped pacing and landed on his knees in front of Sorcha. “Sorcha, I love ye. It doesn’t matter to me about yer past or that ye carry Samuel’s babe. I would be honored to call ye wife and to raise yer Cameron child.”
Her hands trembled, and a look of panic crossed her pale face.
“Sorcha?” He asked worriedly.
Before he could move, she pushed off the bed, rushed past him, and ran from the room. A wail poured from her open mouth.
****
Sorcha ran down the stairs.
Upon arrival at the inn she had been preoccupied with her thoughts and had paid little attention to her surroundings. The “inn” Grant had taken her to, set on top of a Scottish pub. Large Scottish men, with tangled matted hair and long unkempt flowing beards, dotted the room in tiny groups. The wooden bar swarmed with patrons. Women walked the floor carrying goblets full of ale to the waiting men.
She needed to get out. She wanted to run and hide. Grant had declared his love for her and agreed to raise Samuel’s child as his own. He absolved her of all her past indiscretions. The tears had barely been held in check while he spoke of his feelings for her. She didn’t need his forgiveness. She had already been forgiven of her sins. To hear him say he was lowering his standards for her, well she didn’t know whether to be happy or offended.
Toward the exit she ran, hoping to escape to the outside. Before she could reach her destination, she was waylaid.
Someone yelled, “Sorcha, Sorcha, is that ye lass?”
Sorcha stopped. Pivoting on her heel she looked at the burly fellow but couldn’t quite place him. Her confusion noted, the man spoke once more. “It’s me, Brassal Dubh. I used to live next to yer auntie. Do ye remember me? Those were the days.”
Sorcha didn’t know what to say, so she nodded her head in agreement. “Aye, that they were.”
Brassal patted a chair beside him. “Come sit with me and reminisce for a bit. I will even order ye a pint.”
Words of protest fell to her lips then she caught a glimpse of an angry Grant descending the stairs, and thought better of it. A fierce scowl settled upon his visage that made her knees quake. She could think of no better place to be than in the presence of a stout Irishman that she considered close as kin.
Sorcha followed Brassal to a table off in the corner of the crowded pub. The heat from Grant’s stare seared her skin as she walked away. Brassal was rumpled and burly, but basically harmless. Skirts lifted, she sat quickly, ready to proceed with any questions he might want to ask.
“What did ye wish to know?” she asked, adding a smile to her face.
“Well now let’s order that pint first, and then we will commence with the questions.”
“Oh, Brassal thank ye for the offer but I don’t believe I will have any ale today. However, I would enjoy yer company.”
A smile split his face, and a mouth full of rotted teeth could be seen. “Well then I can’t disappoint a lady. How’s yer auntie doin’?”
As Sorcha relayed her aunt’s condition with her lips, she continuously scanned the room for Grant. A large group of men entered the pub, their heads turning from side-to-side. Their quarry located, they commenced to shouting. Grant went over to meet them. This group must be the help he’d spoken of. Sorcha couldn’t get over the infernal size of the men. Openly staring, she gnawed at her lip, twisting her hands in the fold of her gown.
Brassal cocked an eyebrow. “Is everything all right lass?”
Sorcha would have said everything was all right, but she noticed Grant’s companions weren’t impeding his progress toward her current location. Grant fought the crowd heading straight for her.
Brassal must have noticed her eyes were focused on a particular individual. He asked, “Is he bothering ye lass?”
“Nay, he is not,” Sorcha answered, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.
“Are ye sure? Ye look as tense as a coiled up snake. Ye just let old Dubh know if ye are being pestered, and I will rectify the situation right quick.”
She patted his arm affectionately. Words of explanation were on the tip of her tongue, but she ran out of time.
“What is the meaning of this?” Grant’s fury was evident in his voice, his stance, and his entire being.
Brassal shrugged his shoulders and scratched his chin. Calmly he replied, “The lass and I were just catching up on old times.”
Grant wasn’t pleased with the answer. Perhaps he thought Brassal was an old flame? Whatever the case, Grant was ready to pounce at any moment. Sorcha breathed a sigh of relief when the large group of men interrupted.
“Grant, what would ye have us do?”
Grant looked perturbed by the interruption. “Bryce, just go. Go drink a pint of ale or something. We will discuss it later.”
“Do we have time to discuss it later?” asked Bryce, before blurting, “Is this the girl?”
Grant rounded on Bryce. The man backed away waving the group with him. “All right men let’s enjoy a pint or two.”
Sorcha was in deep trouble. Grant was angry, and Brassal was confused. This could only spell disaster. Grant’s friends moved away, and he settled himself on a chair at their table. Leaned back, he relaxed assuring he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Sorcha looked at Brassal, ignoring Grant. “Auntie is doing well. Many in the village help her during planting season and the like. She is still getting around and using her skills to help people.”
Inclined to converse with her, Brassal didn’t seem to mind Grant staring at them. “Aye, she always made the best bread.”
“Aye, she did.”
For a moment Brassal was silent as if thinking. Studying his nails, the old man breathed heavy sending a rush of air between his remaining teeth. “What about yer mother? I heard she married. A fine woman, yer mother. I once took a fancy to her meself but yer Auntie, she shoved me away, claimed I was too old. Why I never heard such nonsense.”
Sorcha didn’t know how to answer. Would that her mother had married Brassal, their lives would have been vastly different. Grant shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Perhaps he thought speaking of her
mother’s death would cause her undue distress. However, the subject couldn’t be avoided forever. Better to start now thinking about the good memories.
“Brassal I must say my mother would have done a mite better with ye. But ye heard correctly, she did marry.”
“Who?” Brassal asked, lifting his gaze from his hands.
“She married Lorcan Breslin.”
“Aye, so what I heard was true.”
“Aye, if ye heard that part, then ye heard true. She was married to him for a while but she, well, she is no longer with us I’m afraid.”
Brassal placed his rough hands over Sorcha’s and patted. “Oh, lass I’m sorry to hear that. She was a lovely, God fearing woman.”
“Aye, she was.” Sorcha was happy to know this was the legacy her mother had left behind.
Grant still stared at her, worry creasing his brow. Sorcha smiled and stood from her seat. “Beggin’ yer pardon gentlemen, but I must depart for the privy.”
Brassal rose and bowed, Grant stayed seated watching her under veiled eyes. She walked calmly and purposefully from the room. As soon as she was no longer in sight, she fled to the nearest church. She did need the privy, so she hadn’t spoken a falsehood, but she also needed to pray. Many worries and fears were upon her, she needed to garner strength from the Lord.
Inside Sorcha headed for the front pew. Sitting, she bowed her head and prayed. Loud words floated to her ears. Desperately she tried to tune out the noise, but as the noise continued, she heard a name that struck fear in her heart.
“Aye, I hear Nigel Duffy, an emissary from her Majesty, is headed this way. They say there was to be a double burning in Laois County for heresy, and one of the women got away.”
“Well, I heard a different story.”
“Ye did, did ye? Ye are always hearing a different story. I don’t know where ye get all yer information. Well, go ahead with it, and share what ye know.”
“Well I heard the girl and her mother were set to burn, and then a Scotsman showed up and they gave the girl to him.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Rumor was she was having a preacher’s babe, and the Scotsman was his brother.”
“Hmm…this is getting more and more intriguing.”
“Aye, I know. Then there was this other rumor that the babe belonged to someone else, and he was trying to cover his mistake.”
“I guess it don’t really matter why they are coming, does it? If that girl is close by, I hope she gets out quick.”
Sorcha bowed her head and finished her prayers. She was going to need them.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Brassal, is it?” asked Grant, as soon as Sorcha left the building.
“Aye, Brassal Dubh at yer service.”
“How do ye know Sorcha?”
Brassal raised an eyebrow. “I believe I could ask ye the same question.”
“Aye, ye could, but I won’t answer it until ye answer mine.”
“Verra well lad, keep yer trews on. I was her neighbor for a time. I lived next to her Auntie when Louisa and Sorcha moved into the village.”
Grant’s muscles relaxed. A new thought struck him. “How did ye know ye could find her here?”
Brassal laughed. “I didn’t. It was pure coincidence. I left the little village in Ireland to do a mite of traveling. Not near enough eligible women around for me, ye see, so I left. Meeting an Irish lass from me old country was merely a pleasant surprise.”
“Lucky for ye, I believe ye.”
Brassal reared back and laughed heartily. “Ye are quite fond of the young lass, I see.”
“Aye, I am.”
“And how do ye know Sorcha? With her mother not around and no other parental figure in sight, I might need to watch out for the young lass’ interests, ye see.”
If Grant perceived a serious tone he would have been annoyed, but as it was it felt good to talk to someone who knew of Sorcha’s past. “Did ye know Samuel Cameron?”
Brassal nodded.
Grant added, “I’m his brother.”
“Brother of the preacher, aye? He was a good lad.”
“Aye, he was.” Sadness threatened to overwhelm him. His family didn’t yet know of Samuel’s demise, and he dreaded telling them. The passing of time and the adventure with Sorcha had enabled him to almost forget his loss but now it came flooding back.
“Aye, I remember the boy well. I left just as the talk floated around.”
“Talk?”
“Aye, the talk Samuel had sired Sorcha’s babe.”
Grant leaned forward and squeezed the table until his knuckles turned white.
Brassal continued, “I’m bettin’ that rotten Lorcan Breslin started those rumors to save Festus’ hide. Almost ruined Brother Samuel’s reputation, it did. Anyone with half a mind should have remembered when Sorcha accused Festus of taken her by force. When she started to show signs, there should have been no doubt. To blame the preacher was utterly ridiculous.”
Grant was shocked. “Forced?”
“Aye. The lass was as pure as the driven snow, and that cad claimed she thrust herself upon him. Verra few stood up for her. Even her poor mother was afraid to stand up. The girl was talky before that, but afterwards she became silent. Just a shame it was, an absolute shame.”
Grant couldn’t move, if what Brassal said was true, it meant Sorcha’s child wasn’t a Cameron. It meant she had been lying to him all along. She’d taken him for a fool. By rescuing Sorcha he hadn’t saved Samuel’s child from burning, but Festus’.
He staggered from his seat and walked over to Bryce. Before he could think about what he was doing and change his mind, he said, “I want ye to saddle the horses and make ready to depart.”
Bryce frowned. “Already? I thought ye said ye needed a few days to shop and rest and such.”
“Nay, I have changed my mind the…”
****
“…lass won’t be goin’ with us.” Grant said as she walked through the door of the pub.
Brassal sat alone at the table where she had left him. His face morphed into a vision of stupor. He must have told Grant about the babe belonging to Festus. That was the only logical explanation for Grant wanting to leave without her. If she hadn’t run back to tell Grant the distressing news she had overheard at the church, she would have missed him entirely. He would have been gone.
Since Sorcha knew Grant’s intent, she would just have to travel alone. A few of her personal items remained in their room. She skirted the men in the pub and walked up the stairs.
She burst into the room and gathered her things quickly. She had no funds, no horse, no shelter, and no means of acquiring any. Perhaps fleeing Ireland hadn’t been the best of ideas. If she had told Grant the truth in the beginning, he would have left her to be burned, and she would no longer have to anticipate her death. It could have all been over. Now she would either die a slow death of starvation or Nigel would capture her and find new ways to torture her.
As Sorcha worked, she mulled over her choices. Grant’s sudden explosion into the room startled her.
Wilder in appearance than usual, his face was red with indignation. “What are ye doin’? Are ye addin’ thievin’ to yer list of sins?”
Sorcha swallowed her fear. None of it was her fault, except not telling him about the babe. She wouldn’t be yelled at for anything else.
“How dare ye accuse me of thievin’!”
“Why not? Ye are a liar, so I figured it wasn’t a far jump for ye.”
Sorcha had had it. “Ye want the truth?”
Grant leaned against the closed door, his arms crossed over his chest. “Aye, I believe I do, if ye are capable of it.”
Sorcha clenched her fists at her side. Her face hot with a rush of anger. “Verra well, here it is. When ye told me ye were saving me because I carried Samuel’s babe, I wanted to tell ye the truth. Samuel’s good name had been slandered enough. I could feel yer anguish over what ye believed he had done.”
When she paused he interrupted. “What was all that, ‘Samuel meant everything to ye’?”
Sighing deeply, she said, “I hadn’t spoken to a human being, since I told on Festus and no one believed me. Samuel was the first person to look beyond what Festus had done to me. Samuel was gentle and tender. He loved me as Christ loved his church. I believe he cared for me. He didn’t seem to mind the babe wasn’t actually his.”
“So Samuel never touched ye?”
“I can’t say that. Physically he never touched me beyond a kiss, but emotionally he touched my heart.” In a quiet whisper, she added, “He gave his life for me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Grant, standing straighter his arms dropping to his sides.
“Lorcan was angry because my mother left him in defense of me. She was willing to stay with Lorcan regardless of Festus, but he refused to let her, so she came to the preacher’s home with me, and we stayed with Samuel.
“This did nothing to help the rumors he was the babe’s father, but his house was a sanctuary for many, not just us. Lorcan was angry and embarrassed, and he instituted the help of the magistrate, Nigel Duffy. They showed up one day after a funeral and barged in. Nigel gave permission for Festus to take care of Samuel.
“He stood in front of me unarmed and tried to reason with them. Wh-when, I saw Festus pull a knife, I made a noise. Yer brother, bein’ the kind soul he was, turned to face me right as Festus jabbed the knife into his side.
“Don’t ye see? He was the only good thing on this earth that ever happened to me. I loved him, and he gave his life for mine!” Violent sobs racked her body as she fell to the floor.
****
“All the ship captains we spoke with said he asked for a smaller, more southern port. That farmer Festus tortured said the Cameron lads rode south. When we arrive, Sir Nigel, I suggest we visit the inns and pubs.”