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  After no captain would ferry him to Dublin, Grant decided to wait out the execution on the edge of town. He had no desire to see a man burned for something as frivolous as religion. Huddled by his fire on the day in question, he believed his location would insulate him. He was wrong.

  The location was perfect to see, hear, and even smell everything. As the Catholic clergy condemned the poor soul to death by burning, his weak nasally tone carried up the hill. Grant attempted to tune out the entire atrocity, but it was impossible. As he listened to the happenings below, he heard something unexpected. Not the sound of a man bemoaning his fate, but the sound of a woman’s voice. It rang out in a melodious sound as it sang:

  “Christ Jesus lay in death's strong bands,

  For our offenses given;

  But now at God's right hand He stands

  And brings us life from heaven;

  Therefore let us joyful be

  And sing to God right thankfully

  Loud songs of hallelujah!

  Hallelujah!”

  Grant previously deemed that whatever had happened, the individual probably deserved their punishment. But what kind of people considered it right to execute a woman for nothing more than a religious difference? And why did the lass not recant and save herself?

  Samuel had once told him it rarely mattered if one recanted. They would still be punished. But Grant didn’t know if he believed it.

  He felt an urge to ride into the town center, cut the lass free, and whisk her to safety. But before his hand could grasp his sword, he smelled the noxious odor coming from the pyre. It was too late. He had experienced more death than he cared to recount but this smell, this odor, was more than he could handle.

  Walking away from his camping area, he retched. In the cool water of a nearby stream he washed his face. Lifting his eyes to the sky a shudder ran through his body. When would he get out of this town?

  ****

  Grant stored his horse at a nearby farm until his return and headed back into town a tad on the hesitant side. The pile of ash leftover from the execution still rested in the town square. He skirted around the site, refusing to look too closely for fear of seeing more than just a barren mound of scorched wood. He sought out the tavern, entered, and searched for the captain.

  “Never saw nothing like it, I tell ye.”

  “Nor I,” said a gentleman, with a topcoat and a wig of finest quality.

  “No sir,” continued the bartender, “that poor woman. They say she never recanted. Admitted outright to reading from that English Bible, she did. Then they brought in her six — year — old son and threatened him. Can ye believe such a thing of a Catholic priest? Anyways, when they threatened the boy, they thought for sure she would recant her heresy, but she still didn’t change her mind. They made the boy watch her burnin’, of course, only way to make the child understand the error of his mother’s ways.”

  “Indeed,” said the patron.

  “It sure is a shame to lose that woman. Why, not only was she the finest tailoress in town, but she cared for all the orphaned children. Don’t know where all those poor kids will go now. No siree, no idea where they will go,” he said, shaking his head.

  The gentleman asked, “My good man, if you don’t mind my asking, how did the town clergy discover the lady’s treachery against the crown?”

  The man behind the counter scratched his head, tilting it to the left and right, as a frown covered his face. Recognition dawned in his eyes. “Well, now I think on it, I don’t rightly know. She never did a wrong thing by anybody. Why I never even seen her try to push ideas on anyone neither. It was probably just a case of someone being jealous and turning her in is all.”

  “Do you mean to say someone deliberately turned in a good woman just for spite?”

  “Aye, best I can gather, course I am just assumin’. I don’t really know, ye see.”

  “But of course. Excuse me.” The well — bred Englishman left his coins on the counter and left the tavern.

  Grant was repulsed by the two men and their discussion. Imagine someone being that vindictive. That they would give up a woman to be burnt to death, for no reason at all.

  To put the conversation from his mind, he scanned the room for the ship’s captain. The one he sought was sitting in a darkened corner less than sober. A half empty glass was cradled in his hands, and in front of him an empty bottle graced the table. Grant sidled up to the table, flipped a chair around backwards, and straddled it. He slammed his hands roughly on the wood, causing the bottle to tip on its side and roll off onto the dirty floor.

  The glassy eyed captain looked up at him. “Ye shouldn’t sit like that, lest ye split yerself in two.”

  Grant grinned, stood, and flipped the chair around correctly. “Well it is nice to know ye can still see straight after all yer drinkin’.”

  “I can see ye and yer friend perfectly fine.”

  Grant raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are ye ready to depart?”

  “Depart?”

  “Aye, ye told me ye would leave right after the burnin’.”

  The captain cringed, picked up his glass, and downed its remaining contents. “Nay, I canna depart today.”

  A curse left Grant’s lips. He placed his palms flat, pushed up, and looked the captain in the eyes. “I have already lost a week in this hole waiting on ye, and I don’t intend to waste another day. Ye have until this afternoon to take me to Dublin.”

  “Or what?”

  The drink made the captain a wee bit stupid in Grant’s opinion, although the captain might have coined his behavior as bravery.

  “Or, I will take my dagger and rip a hole in ye from neck to waist, unroll yer entrails, and sell them around town as a delicacy.”

  The old captain gulped. “I guess ye better find me a place to take a bath. Mayhap a douse of cold water will help me.”

  “Aye, maybe it will.”

  Chapter Ten

  After their one kiss, Samuel became concerned about being alone with Sorcha. He had never been this tempted by lust.

  Of course there were other feelings he held for Sorcha. He found her extremely helpful. She was a good housekeeper, a hard worker, easy to talk to and share a laugh with. And she was utterly beautiful. Gorgeous even, in a dreamy way.

  As he strolled through the flower garden next to the house, Samuel realized he wouldn’t mind having her for a wife. Was he falling in love with her? Honestly, he didn’t know. He was sure it was more than just finding her attractive, it had to be, right?

  He sighed and ran his hand through his short brown hair. Pulling at it he fought the urge to yell, as his fingers tangled in his wavy curls.

  Sorcha came running through the garden. She barreled into him and he grabbed her arms to steady her.

  Breathless, she said in a trembling voice, “Samuel, ye must come quick.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Quinn Murray. He fell from his horse and was trampled! His wife, Bridget, is lying next to him on the ground screaming.”

  Samuel girded his robe about him and took off in a run. Sorcha struggled to keep up with him. He yelled back, “What of the horse?”

  “Some of the other men got hold of it before it could do any more harm and carted it away.”

  Samuel nodded and picked up speed. He reached the scene before Sorcha. On the ground laid the wedded couple. Quinn had clearly expired. His wife was busy straightening his clothes and fussing over him. The rest of the men stood back from the scene with hats in their hands, staring at their feet.

  One of them stepped forward. “Minister?”

  Samuel nodded. He would take care of this. The villager sighed with relief. He leaned in and gingerly touched the lady’s shoulder. “Bridget?”

  She looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. “He’s dead.”

  “Aye, he is with the Lord.” Samuel was fortunate that he knew the deceased personally and could make this statement in good faith.

  The woman rose to
her feet, hugged herself, and shuffled toward her home. When she was out of ear shot the village men stepped forward. “Minister, we will bury him.”

  “Aye, ye prepare the body and we will have the funeral this afternoon.”

  “Aye.”

  ****

  Sorcha watched from behind a nearby tree. She was surprised by the humbleness of the village men. They were obviously grateful for Samuel’s presence, as well they should be. It was a disgrace they had shunned him the past weeks. In their hour of need, he hadn’t thought of how they had treated him, he had stepped forward and fulfilled his duty as their minister. She hoped they remembered his devotion when this was over.

  Samuel headed toward the home of the newly widowed woman. He caught up to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. They stopped along the path, the young woman’s fragile body racked with sobs.

  Sympathy welled inside her for the poor woman and her children. She had been a child without a father, and she understood the pain and hardships that were yet to come. She wished there was something she could do to help. Then an idea struck her. Rushing back to the house, she looked for her mother. They had a lot to do and very little time in which to do it.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Samuel returned to the house, the smell of cooked food tantalized his senses. His empty stomach growled, and he had trouble remembering when he had consumed his last meal. Through the side door, which led to the kitchen, he spotted Louisa and Sorcha busy at work. Both ladies fluttered around the room like a charm of hummingbirds. Standing to the side, he allowed the women to continue.

  When Sorcha finished putting the last dish on the table, she spun on her heel and stood face to face with Samuel. “Oh, I didn’t know ye were here.”

  She pushed her hair out of her eyes. Her lips twitched at the corners into a winsome smile.

  “Aye, I am here,” Samuel said, gulping.

  With her arm outstretched and pointing at the table, Sorcha asked, “What do ye think?”

  Samuel couldn’t take his gaze off her. Freckles stood out on her pale complexion, her hair shone from the light of the sun filtering into the room. It was a struggle to focus. “Of the food?”

  Sorcha placed her hands on her hips in a cheeky manner. “The food? Is that all ye can say? We have worked for hours to feed the family and mourners, and all ye can say is ‘of the food’?” She threw her hands in the air.

  Samuel restrained his smile. He stepped forward and placed Sorcha’s arms to her side. Placing his hands on her arms and moving them up and down in a relaxing motion, he looked into her emerald eyes. “Ye have done a wonderful work and I am certain the family will be grateful.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Samuel noticed Louisa slip quietly from the room. Alone, his head bent forward, his lips lightly brushing Sorcha’s.

  When he leaned back, Sorcha stared at his chest. “Why?”

  Resting his chin on the top of her head he breathed deeply inhaling her feminine scent. “Why what?”

  She moved her hands to his chest, placing her palms flat. His gaze was avoided. “Why me?”

  “Why not?” he shrugged.

  Sorcha tried to push away but his arms wound around her. “Sorcha, what I mean is why not ye? Why do ye think there is a reason I wouldn’t care for ye?”

  “Samuel, haven’t ye looked at me?”

  “Aye, I do, every chance I get.”

  Sorcha playfully slapped him. “Ye know what I mean.”

  “Aye, I do, and we have discussed this before.”

  “Aye we discussed it, and ye said it didn’t matter, but how can it not matter? Ever since ye started paying attention to me ye have had nothing but trouble. Everyone thinks ye are the babe’s father, yer congregation has abandoned ye, and who knows what trouble Lorcan is planning against ye.”

  “Do not let yer heart be troubled. The Lord says not to borrow troubles or worries for it won’t add one hair to yer head.”

  Sorcha arched her brow sending him an inquisitive look. “Well I know I don’t really need to borrow troubles, for the Lord knows I already have enough, but I haven’t the faintest idea what it has to do with me getting more hair.”

  Samuel chortled and shook his head. He let her go and stepped back using his hand to indicate the food. “What is yer plans for this?”

  “I thought we would set up tables outside and place the food there. That way when mourners leave the service they can eat.”

  “I think that will work verra nicely.”

  ****

  Samuel left and went to work. Sorcha watched as he disappeared from the room. Strained, Samuel and Louisa lifted the heavy oak table and carried it outside. Sucking her lip between her teeth, she realized he would have had more help if not for her. She would have to be his help — now and forever.

  Dishes laden with food were carried outside. As soon as one dish graced the wooden top a young child appeared. The girl’s golden blonde hair glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Her chunky little fingers played around her mouth, which salivated at the smell of the fresh bread.

  As Sorcha placed another dish, she saw Samuel lean down and whisper to the child. She nodded vigorously, and Samuel handed her a piece of the freshly baked bread. A smile lit the little girl’s angelic face as she skipped away.

  Peace and contentment flooded Sorcha’s soul at the sight. As she turned back to the house to retrieve more food, a mass of people flooded from the trees. Their clothes lay upon them in tatters. Rags were wrapped around swollen, bloody feet as if their shoes had disintegrated from a long arduous journey.

  One man stepped forward and spoke to Samuel. His hat twisted in his hands as if he worked to gather enough courage to talk to a man of God. “Thank ye,” muttered the man in a hoarse whisper.

  Samuel asked, “For what?”

  The man cleared his throat. “For feeding my child when I was unable.”

  Sorcha sensed the man’s shame. Samuel placed his hand on the man’s bowed head and forced him to look up. “When ye do this for the least of these, ye have done it unto Him.”

  Suddenly the man’s eyes widened and he grew pale. Sorcha didn’t understand what upset him, but it didn’t take long for her to figure it out.

  Rumbles like that of thunder shook the ground. Grabbing a handful of the table to steady herself, Sorcha looked around. Behind her was a crowd of angry men on horseback riding toward the house. One glance revealed the exiles rushing into the woods to hide.

  Chapter Twelve

  Finally, Grant was on the water and headed for Ireland. Once he landed, he was unsure how long it would take to reach Samuel. He pulled out the note once more and read the line that worried him most. “…grave danger”.

  After witnessing the execution in Ayr, he didn’t doubt Samuel’s words. If his brother was in that kind of trouble, how could he possibly hope to help him?

  For days, they floated. Grant kept to himself, and the few other passengers didn’t object. At last they arrived on the Irish coast. Grant immediately found a horse for sale, purchased the beast, and the gear he needed for at least a week of travel, and rode out.

  As the sky darkened, he found a nice spot off the road and set up camp. He hated stopping. If his eyelids hadn’t felt glued to his cheeks, he would have continued. However, it would do Samuel no good if he broke his neck falling off the horse.

  Anxiety filled him, as if time was running short. As his eyes closed and sleep overwhelmed him there was a sense something big was happening, and he was powerless to stop it.

  ****

  “What do ye think ye are doing, preacher?” spat Lorcan, making the last word sound like an expletive.

  Samuel used his hand to indicate the wide spread of food. “The ladies have prepared a meal for the mourners.”

  Lorcan laughed loudly as if trying to impress the crowd following him. “Oh is that the case.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  “Then how come ye are feeding those heretics.”


  “Pardon?”

  Lorcan looked at the men following him. “Pardon?” he mimicked. “Ye know we all worked the garden, and we all expected our portion of the take to be given to our own families and not to the likes of them.”

  Before Samuel could reply in a diplomatic way, Sorcha piped in, “Ye stupid, selfish hoarder! It was one piece of bread. Canna ye see they are right onto starvin’!”

  Sorcha felt a certain amount of bravado and boldness as she stood next to the minister. In fact, she had to restrain herself from using harsher words in regards to what she thought of Lorcan, but when Festus leaned out from behind his father all that changed.

  “Look at her cower pa. Can I go get her?”

  Lorcan paused. “Sure. Go get her son.”

  Sorcha grabbed her skirts and ran for the front door of the big house, a scream leaving her lips. “We will get the law!”

  Lorcan laughed, and a man stepped forward. “I am Nigel Duffy, the magistrate. There will be no law arriving this day, other than myself.”

  A new horror surrounded Sorcha. She saw her mother inside the kitchen door trembling with fear. The ground shook beneath her as Festus lumbered after her. Samuel rushed to her aid. Because of his smaller size, he was able to run faster and reached the house before Sorcha’s assailant. The three of them rushed inside.

  When Festus reached the doorway, he stopped.

  Lorcan asked, “What are ye doing boy?”

  Festus didn’t look back, continuing to stare intensely at his prey. “Now Pa, ye can’t rush a good game of cat and mouse.”

  Even hiding behind Samuel’s back like she was, she could smell Festus’ putrid odor. His unwashed smell flooded her senses and brought back dreaded memories of a night she would never forget. With one hand resting on Samuel’s back, she fought the urge not to faint.

  Calm and reassuring, Samuel said, “Ye don’t want to do this Festus.”

  His eyes widened, the dark part twinkling in an evil delight. “Aye, but I do.”