Beyond a Doubt Page 2

  Bryce untied the pack from the horse, cared for the beast, sat cross-legged in front of the fire, and handed her a hard piece of dried meat. She stuck it in her mouth and scrunched up her face at the overabundance of salt.

  While she ate, he pulled a tunic from the pack and drew it over his bare form.

  “You don’t talk much.”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Don’t you even want to know my name? Perhaps where we are going? Or why I’m out in the woods alone?”

  Again, he shrugged.

  The man’s ability to shrug off every word was the height of annoyance. “Mister Cameron, not to be rude, but I cannot travel all the way to England with someone who never opens his mouth.”

  Those words garnered his attention. His mouth gaped open, and the salted meat fell to the ground. “England?”

  “But of course. Why else would I need to travel south?”

  “But I can’t take ye to England.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Because I’m on my way home. Crissy, me sheep, they are waitin’.”

  “I’m sorry but you did agree to help me. And I need an escort.”

  “But to England?”

  “Yes.”

  The man seemed to ponder her words. His twiddled his thumbs and scuffed his boot against the ground but didn’t speak. To keep from further questions later, Lucy spoke now. “You see, my original escort left me.”

  “Ye are alone?”

  “I’m afraid so. Not by choice, mind you. The beggar swiped my clothes, horse, and food. It was by God’s grace I have a hearty constitution and the ample ability to walk or I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

  Bryce said nothing.

  “So what food stores do you have?”

  He pinched a piece of salted meat between two fingers and held it up.

  “Ah. We will stop in the next town for supplies, I suppose.”

  He stopped chewing.

  While she spoke, her hands nervously fluttered about. “Of course, my previous companion escaped with my funds, so I will have need of yours. Rest assured, once we reach my destination all will be repaid.”

  “I have no funds.”

  “But surely you’re not traveling without some means of monetary support?”

  “Aye, I am. I have all I need.”

  “What? A horse, a tunic, a soggy pair of trews, and salted meat? I refuse to live on dried-out meat for the continuation of this journey.”

  “Verra well. I’m out of the meat, anyway.”

  “What? Surely you jest, Mister Cameron.”

  “Afraid not.” Bryce finished chewing the tough meat. He slapped his thighs. His eyebrow rose. “By the way, lass, I don’t believe ye gave me yer name.”

  “My name? Oh, yes, of course. My name is Lucy Lom—“ She paused and gnawed her lip. Perhaps it was best not to give her real name. The less he knew, the better off he would be. She continued, “Bard, Lucy Bard is my name.”

  “All right, Lucy Bard. And where are ye goin’ exactly in England?”

  “Well I must hasten to London.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief. If Bryce had been a talker, he would surely have protested, but instead he shook his head.

  For now Lucy was content with the quiet acceptance. As long as she continued on course, she would arrive in London in plenty of time.

  Chapter Six

  Bryce slept away from the fire, allowing Lucy to be close to the blaze and its warmth. He folded his arms for a pillow. A cool breeze blew, moving leaves and limbs. Stars overhead twinkled; the moon shone brightly. Bryce was at an impasse. Promises were meant to be kept. Indeed the young lass had asked for his help, and he had readily accepted, before he knew the extent of the agreement.

  Home had been within his grasp. If he’d walked on and forgotten the bath, he might have been there by now. A roaring fire would have greeted him. Back slapping, well wishes, and fond words would have been spoken. The Cameron laird, his uncle Valan Cameron, would have welcomed him. A feast would have been thrown in his honor. News of Grant’s impending return would have soared within their breasts and brought smiles to their lips.

  But instead he slept upon the cold, hard ground. A foreign woman berated him for his lack of food and funds. How long would it take him to travel to London and back home? How long could they go without supplies? How was he going to feed them and the horse?

  With a sigh, Bryce rolled onto his side. Perhaps tomorrow would look more hopeful. At last sleep overcame him.

  ****

  They traveled by foot the next day, allowing the horse to rest. An uncommon heat covered the land. Inside a small leather pouch which dangled from her wrist, Lucy carried everything she owned. Tucked neatly away was the Chinese dancing fan, called the Mai Ogi, made with slates of tortoise shell and covered in thick fabric.

  Lucy fingered the fan and sighed. Charlie may have stolen her trunk and everything within, but in leaving behind the fan, he’d lost the most valuable object of all.

  She waved the fan, generating a breeze against her flushed skin. How could she have been so stupid? Charlie had obviously been a nefarious character. Tall and gangly, his black hair combed to the right and greased into place, his pencil-thin mustache turned upwards at the corners. She had thought him debonair, dashing.

  The man had talked continuously, like a braggart. The boasting should have been a dead giveaway to his character. Or at least his knowledge and adeptness at thievery should have caught her attention. But Lucy had turned a blind eye to these things. Charm and charisma had overridden her common sense.

  “Miss, would ye like to ride now?”

  Startled by the question, she answered, “What? Oh, aye. I would indeed.”

  Bryce shifted the pack toward the horse’s hindquarters and smoothed a blanket over its back before helping her mount. Once she was in place, he surprised her by slinging himself up behind her. Then Bryce reached his arms around her sides and grabbed the reins. He clicked his tongue and the horse trotted forward.

  Lucy held her spine erect and leaned away from Bryce’s frame. Within minutes her back trembled with pain. “Do you mind if I lean against you? This position is terribly uncomfortable.”

  “Would ye like me to move?”

  “Nay, of course not. I’m sure you are as tired as I. But would you mind if I relaxed my posture?”

  Time passed and there was no reply. A look over her shoulder revealed the huge Scot gnawing upon his lip. His eyebrows knitted together.

  “Bryce?”

  “Aye?”

  “May I have an answer? My back is in a rather awkward position.”

  “Aye.”

  “Does this mean you will give me an answer or is that my answer?”

  “I don’t think Crissy will like it.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Crissy, my lass back home.”

  “Oh.” So Bryce was taken. With a sigh, Lucy shifted, intending to get off the horse. The young man obviously didn’t wish to be touched by her and to stay upon the moving beast in so awkward a position would never do. Feet swollen with blisters would be preferable to a stiff back.

  “Where are ye going?”

  “Bryce, if I cannot lean back, my spine will break in two. Therefore I believe I will walk, if you don’t mind.”

  Before she could move further, Bryce pulled her back. Within minutes the sway of the horse and the warmth of his chest lulled her into a deep sleep.

  ****

  All the way to London, ran over and over through his mind. When Bryce had promised to help the lass, he had thought about dropping her at the next local town. Although that didn’t seem possible, it would have to be. Bryce would tell Lucy he would deliver her no further than Carlisle. From there she could secure a more suitable escort.

  As Lucy fell against him, a soft snore emitted from her parted lips. Shifting upon the horse’s back, Bryce wondered, Who is this woman? Lucy Bard, she’d said. She claimed her escort ran away w
ith all her possessions. The escort probably left because of her sharp mouth. The woman didn’t cater to silence.

  A smile tugged the corner of his lips as he glanced at the charge in front of him. Short and thin, with cute brown eyes which took on a golden hue when rankled, the lass might be considered attractive.

  Brown locks caressed her neck and face, loosed from an earlier coiffure. A sniff of the air revealed that her hair smelled like a summer rain. The clothing the lass wore needed repair. The former rose-colored gown was spotted with tinges of brown and green, from dirt and grass stains. The lacy edge looked trampled and dirty. Shoes of the finest brocade, with a soft sole and a cork heel of around one inch, peeled apart. Pain emanated in his feet at the thought of walking in such finery.

  Crissy would be appalled that he’d concentrated so intently on another woman and her clothing.

  Come to think of it, he wondered what his Scottish lass was doing. The two of them hadn’t exactly spoken of commitment before he’d left. In fact, Crissy had stayed away during those last few days.

  In all the time they had known each other, neither of them had come right out and expressed words of love. When he’d willed himself to discuss the issue, Crissy had changed the subject. His personal opinion on the matter was that she’d avoided a relationship because she thought he was leaving for the Sinclair keep permanently.

  Bryce didn’t blame the hesitation. Crissy just didn’t understand love. Although young and inexperienced in the ways of men, she would understand in time.

  Bryce had sent letters to Crissy time and time again. Within the pages, he’d expressed his feelings. Hopes and dreams of a life, a family, and a farm flowed from his hand. And even though Crissy never replied, Bryce’s hope remained high. The winning of the lass could and would be accomplished by his gentlemanly ways, of that he held no doubts.

  The rest of the day the couple traveled in silence. Bryce thought of home. Who knew what Lucy thought on? The lass only spoke when she needed relief. Once that desire was fulfilled, they climbed back on the horse and continued on.

  By afternoon they reached a small settlement. A few buildings dotted the area beside the road.

  Within the dwellings, Bryce hoped to find food. Dismounting and helping Lucy to the ground, he bid her stay behind.

  “I’ll ask around. Ye stay with the horse.”

  “I will not be treated like a child. I can take care of myself. Allow me to walk around and ask as well.”

  “That may be, but ye will stay with the horse.”

  Hopefully his voice brooked no argument. Her foot stomped the ground, and Bryce twitched his lips. The lass’s temper got the best of her, if the squeal of pain was an indicator. Who came to Scotland wearing such footwear? With a shake of his head, Bryce slipped toward the biggest building.

  Posed to knock, he was interrupted as the door was slung open.

  “Whatta ye want?” said a glassy-eyed, beefy man with a scruffy beard.

  Bryce hesitated to answer.

  “Well whatta want? I don’t have all day to stand about. Me woman has decided to nag me until I fall over dead. Do ye have a dagger?”

  He shook his head in confusion.

  “More's the pity. Would have been less painful that way. Well, state yer business.”

  The inconsistent speech threw Bryce off balance. Uncertain what answer to give, he stuttered and stumbled, never giving a real reply. Confused, he didn’t notice Lucy coming up behind him.

  “Kind sir, we are in need of lodging and sustenance. Could you provide these requirements?”

  The strange man widened his eyes at the lass’s unexpected appearance. A leer covered his face. “Mayhap. If yer trade is worthy.”

  Bryce caught the meaning. With a rough yank, he pulled Lucy to his side. “I will work for our keep.”

  The man stroked his triple-jawed chin with his thumb and finger. He placed his forefinger to the sky, as if an idea occurred to him. “Big boy, come with me. The young lass can help the missus inside.”

  “Uh-uh,” stuttered Lucy, as Bryce gave her a gentle shove toward the open door. Inside a woman lay upon a thin straw mattress. A hand rested against the lady’s pale forehead; a soft moan emitted from her mouth.

  “Emmett, close the door! The draft hurts me head. Besides, do ye want me to catch me death of cold? Don’t answer that. Have ye milked the cow? Bessie isn’t goin’ to milk herself. And what about me laundry? If my clothes ruin ‘cause of yer laziness, I’ll never forgive ye. Do ye hear me, Emmett! Never!”

  Bryce cringed at the shrill squeal, which sounded like nails scraping across a metal tub.

  “Now, Doreen, I’ve brought ye a helper. This little lady is goin’ to do everythin’ ye say inside and her man here is goin’ to help me with the outside work. Isn’t that right?”

  “And what do they want in return, Emmett?”

  “I suspect they want something to eat and a place to bed down.”

  “Well, she’ll have to fix it. My head hurts and I won’t be gettin’ up to cook for no man nor his strange, odd-lookin’ woman.”

  Lucy’s face morphed into a bright red. Bryce hid a chuckle. He waved and followed Emmett out the door, winking as he left.

  Chapter Seven

  The air inside the tiny cabin was stifling. Underneath the broom handle, blisters formed on Lucy’s palms. Sweat ran in rivulets down her cheeks, blending with the dust and the grime from her earlier travel and today’s housecleaning.

  “Aren’t ye done with that sweepin’ yet? I still have a mass of chores needin’ finished. Can’t go eatin’ me food without earnin’ it.”

  Biting back a retort, Lucy placed the broom in a corner. A metal tub sat full to the rim with dirty dishes. Earlier Bryce had carried bucketload after bucketload of water inside. Presuming this water was for her use, Lucy poured one tub full and set to washing the crusted items.

  Food stuck to the utensils required extra effort to release the grime. Lucy gagged as the odors of rancid meat wafted toward her sensitive nose. This was unconscionable. Imagine one of her status slumming away in a filthy kitchen. Father, God rest his soul, would be furious if he ever found out.

  Lucy studied the room. The small cabin consisted of one bed, a table with four chairs, and an open fire with a hole in the ceiling to release smoke. A cool breeze blew through the cracks in the wooden walls.

  The weather reminded her of home. Although Caen, France, would be no warmer this time of year, the humidity in the air would make it feel so.

  These musings kept her mind occupied while she worked. Dishes washed, the laundry awaited. Fortunately it only required hanging.

  With the basket on her hip, Lucy carried the items out to a sagging line. Nearby the Scotsman wielded an ax. His tunic removed, it rested on a broken fencepost while he worked. Over his head he swung the tool. It landed against the wood, creating a loud popping sound as logs split in quick succession.

  Emmett lay against a tree, his hat pulled low over his eyes and a piece of straw dangling from his mouth.

  Lucy set the basket upon the ground. “Sir, your line needs to be restrung.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your clothesline is so far on the ground there is no way to hang the clothes up to dry.”

  Emmett snapped his fingers. A worn-out Bryce trotted over. “Aye?”

  “Lass says the clothesline needs repair.”

  Bryce dropped the ax and walked to the line. Lucy followed.

  Whispering, she said, “Bryce! This is ridiculous. There are easier ways to acquire room and board.”

  Bryce lifted his brow. He pulled the rope taut around the tree, giving it a fresh knot.

  “Stand up for yourself. Tell Emmett we’ve done enough and we are ready to eat!”

  “There’s yer line, lass.”

  “Bryce? Haven’t you heard a word I said?”

  “Aye.”

  “So what are you going to do? Use your fist to pummel him? Or just use your lips and rip him with yo
ur tongue? Or your dagger. That’s it. Use the dagger to tell him what for.”

  “I think I’ll finish choppin’ the wood.”

  “But Bryce—“

  His wrapped his calloused hand around her upper arm. “The day is almost over. Finish the laundry, cook the supper, and then we can rest.”

  With his back facing her, Bryce walked away. Anger welled inside her. Ripping the clothes one by one from their container, she practically threw them on the line. Crooked and wrinkled the clothes hung. She didn’t care about their appearance. Task finished, she kicked the basket across the yard and left it with the other garbage.

  Stomp, stomp, stomp, she went into the house. Moans of pain rent the air.

  Doreen was a woman of ample girth. The small bed creaked with distress at her every movement.

  “Why does it hurt so bad?” she wailed.

  Lucy moved closer, watching as the lady opened one eyelid.

  “Oh, it’s ye. Haven’t ye started supper yet? I’m right near to starvin’!”

  Taken aback by the swift change in attitude, Lucy remained silent. The powerful, strong voice that emerged from the woman brought clarity. The woman was faking. The audacity caused Lucy to burn with anger.

  Stalking to a nearby shelf, Lucy pulled down pots and slammed them on the table, sending out sounds of rattling metal. Lucy pilfered through jarred items. Finding a few ingredients that appeared edible, she placed them in the pot, covered them with water, stoked the fire, hung the pot over the flames, and let the ingredients come to a boil.

  The air permeated with a pleasing aroma. Doreen pushed up on her elbow. “Smells good.”

  The door flung open and Doreen fell back with another fake groan upon her lips.

  “Smells good, lass,” repeated Emmett.

  Lucy didn’t comment as she brought the pot to the table. All four of them scooted their chairs closer. Lucy filled a bowl of the steaming brew for each person.