Beyond a Doubt

by Felicia Rogers

  Then he saw it. The man lifted his arm and a knife glinted in the sunlight. One flick of Charles Dubois’ wrist and the Admiral would be no more.

  Without thought Bryce leapt with one bound onto the stage. The Admiral was underneath him on the ground as the knife sailed over their heads and embedded itself in a tree.

  Before the Admiral was righted, soldiers seized Charles Dubois. Gustav led the detachment of soldiers taking him into custody. Charles ranted and raved that they’d found the wrong man.

  Jean Broussard rushed to Bryce and his friend. He gave thanks as they were escorted away. Lucy was stuck amidst a wild crowd. Pressed against the stage, she looked as if her eyes would pop from her head.

  Bryce escaped from Jean and rushed back to her. He lifted his hands high, and pulled her up alongside him. Soon Jean ushered them both away.

  The hurry and mad dash didn’t end until a hackney delivered them all to the Broussard home.

  Once everyone settled inside, Lucy’s hands fluttered over Bryce's body, looking for injuries. He smiled at her loving fretting.

  He drew Lucy close to his side. She hadn’t taken a step away from him since the incident.

  When everyone calmed, the questions began.

  “How did you know about the danger?”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “How did you know I was speaking?”

  “Was that the same man who was at the party?”

  Bryce expected Lucy to step in with all the answers, but the lass remained silent. When the volley ended, Bryce unlatched the pouch from Lucy’s wrist and handed over the Chinese fan.

  Jean took the fan and placed a candle behind it. The words lit up the wall, causing gasps around the room.

  “Lucy here is L.L. In Scotland she kind of... confiscated the fan. Then she headed to London to give the note to Joshua, only he perished before she was able. It took a long time to decipher the code and know where to come, but once we figured it all out we tried to meet ye to give ye the message, but at the celebration Dubois showed before we had a chance. The announcement seemed our only option.”

  “That was a brave thing you did, jumping in front of that knife.”

  The Admiral’s wife added, “You could have been killed.”

  They reviewed and discussed everything. Bryce and Lucy were surprised by how much Jean knew.

  Satisfied with their answers, Bryce and Lucy were delivered back to the Lombard home. For days cards, messages, and flowers arrived, thanking Lucy. The lass could never go back to being a spy. Her secret identity no longer existed.

  Before long, they returned to London. The Lombard home was cleaned and back to normal. As the days went on, Lucy brought back the household staff. The atmosphere calmed and the house became more organized.

  They no longer ran away. They no longer had to think about everyone else. Now they could focus on each other.

  One day after helping with the horses, Bryce lifted his nose to the air. The smell of the city had grown on him but it wasn’t home. The Highlands called him.

  At dinner when grace was said, Lucy had a habit of asking everyone to mention one thing they were thankful for. One evening when it came to Bryce’s turn he knew it was time.

  With a room full of people present, he said, “I’m thankful the Lord allowed me to meet and love one such as ye, Lucy Lombard.”

  A blush covered Lucy’s face and he almost felt bad for embarrassing her, but he couldn’t be sorry about his love for her. That night when the servants retired for the evening, he asked Lucy if she would like to take a walk.

  “In the dark?”

  “Nay, in the moonlight.”

  She nodded and they set out. Even through her cloak, Bryce could feel her trembling as they walked. They reached a place of privacy. Bryce stopped and spun her around to face him.

  He cleared his throat, got down on one knee, and looked at the woman he loved. “Will ye marry me?”

  Epilogue

  He stood upon a jagged rock. Wind blew gently behind him. White sheep dotting the hillside bleated. He’d been home now for a few months. The sights and smells reminded him of childhood. The clouds reminded him of other times, happier times.

  Like the day in the park. The day Lucy had lain at his side and they’d watched the clouds overhead, fantasizing different objects that matched their shape. Now those days were no more.

  He remembered the day outside Lucy’s London home. He’d asked for her hand, declared his love, and she’d stood still. After a few moments tears had welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. He remembered telling her, “It’s not all that bad.” But she’d shook her head and run inside.

  When he’d found her, she had locked herself in her room. For days she’d refused to see him. Then, red-rimmed and puffy-eyed, she’d walked out of the room and told him no. Bryce had been devastated. He’d saddled his horse and packed his belongings, and set out for home. The trip took no time at all as he’d traveled day and night, trying to escape the pain he felt in his heart.

  When he’d reached Cameron lands, Bryce had mentioned nothing of the detour he’d taken. His father immediately had given him land and sheep. A wife was the next on the list but he’d refrained from even the thought; the hurt was still too deep.

  Within a few days of his homecoming, Crissy had come to visit. Stomach round with child, she’d glowed with happiness. She had been married for three summers and was expecting her second babe. Nothing had gone according to plan.

  Weeks had passed and Bryce assumed the hurt would ease. Then a missive had arrived. Everyone in the keep had feared the worst. Grant was still in Ireland, but on his way home, and he needed assistance. Grant had gone to Ireland to help his younger brother, Samuel. The young man had left his home in Scotland to witness to the Protestants of Ireland.

  Bryce and others in the clan had left to assist their future laird. Bryce had only recently returned with Grant and his new family.

  The sad news of Samuel Cameron’s passing held the clan in deep mourning.

  That day, as Bryce worked the fields and stared at the blue sky, he gathered his courage. A message had arrived at Laird Valan’s home and been delivered to him yester eve. The heavy parchment rested in his sporran.

  Sitting down, he pulled out the parchment. Warmed from the closeness of his body, it tickled his nose as he smelled the paper. The scent was familiar. Carefully breaking the seal, he unfolded the pages. The fine script gave him pause. Taking a deep breath, he began to read.

  My dearest Bryce,

  I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. I know the Highland air is much agreeable to you.

  As I pen this missive, I wonder what you’re doing. Are you watching your flock? Are you sitting in front of a toasty fire? Are you alone?

  My fervent hope, however selfish it may seem, is that you are indeed alone and miserable. Therefore we will at least be in a similar circumstance.

  First off, I must beg your forgiveness. Each time I longed to write you, the words seemed tense. It has taken time for me to explain to myself, much less others.

  You must understand that after we arrived back in London, many letters came. Queen Mary publicly wanted to thank me for discovering the plot, but in truth she was concerned for herself. She feared I was spying on her as well. She received me to her chambers and questioned me extensively as to my background and my allegiance. Some soothing was acquired by my French heritage, although not much.

  My past activities caused everyone in my association to become suspect. Because of this I couldn’t possibly bind myself to you. If I had, the whole Cameron clan would have been in grave danger.

  Although this is the case, I must admit your proposal came as a bit of a shock. I had loved you for some time but was unclear of your feelings for me. However, since my issues with the crown have been resolved and the responsibilities of my position ended, I would like to inquire if the offer still stands?

  There the letter abruptly ende
d. Bryce flung it on the ground and lifted his foot to grind the pages into the mud. Changing his mind, he bent over to pick up the parchment and in his sight were a pair of black, shiny boots. Slowly lifting his head, he saw a long skirt. He stood. Extended to his full height, he dropped his mouth open.

  “Does the offer still stand?” asked Lucy.

  Before she could change her mind, Bryce scooped her into his arms and charged down the hill to find the minister.

  “Aye, it does.”

  Author’s Note

  By all accounts my story is fiction, but in truth on August 22, 1572, Admiral Gaspard II de Coligny was the object of an assassination attempt. When the attempt failed, all claims that King Henry II of France was involved were denied.

  Coligny’s goal was to have a Huguenot colony in Brazil to secure a way to religious freedom for French Protestants.

  About the Author

  Felicia Rogers, born and raised in the southern part of the United States, is a Christian wife and mother. She is just your average, ordinary woman, with a side interest-- writing. For eleven years, every waking moment of her life was consumed with changing diapers, wiping noses, and kissing scrapes. But now that her children have grown and she enjoys a modicum of freedom, in addition to taking care of hearth and home, she writes! She enjoys adding a flavor of realism and humor to her all too real romance stories. For what is love without a little laughter?

  Also by Felicia Rogers:

  Prologue

  Grant had prepared for months to leave the Sinclair keep, but something would always detain him just a while longer.

  The last he had heard from his little brother, Samuel was headed for Ireland to spit in the faces of the Catholic clergy and preach the word of the Lord in the King’s English.

  Grant, I wish I had time for pleasantries and all the normal platitudes I share with ye, but I am afraid this time I write for another purpose. I believe I am in grave danger. I have included a map and directions of my location. Come quickly, Grant. I need ye.

  Ye brother, Samuel.

  It seemed his brother’s antics had gotten him in a spot of trouble, and he needed his big brother to come and rectify the situation.

  Grave danger? That could mean anything. Did the boy need to be rescued from incarceration or did he need an army? Why couldn’t the lad have been more specific? He guessed it didn’t matter, for he was the only Cameron left at the Sinclair keep. The rest had gone home months earlier. He would just have to be enough.

  After digesting this new bit of information, he went in search of Duncan. In the yard, the Sinclair Laird ran and played with his son and daughter. His pregnant wife sat to the side under a shade tree engaged in needle work. Grant had been away watching Lyall, Duncan’s sister — in — law, during the first pregnancy and Boyd had filled him in on the moodiness and weirdness that occurred. Watching the mistress first hand he determined the oddness Boyd spoke of must have come from the twain babes warring inside Arbella, because this time she seemed at peace with the child growing within.

  At times Duncan and Arbella’s happiness was annoying. The secret smiles, the brief touches, the lingering stares, why couldn’t they just love each other in private? It was made even worse by their love of the Lord. They constantly quoted scripture to one another, about Christ loving the church as man should love his wife, or argued the meaning of passage after infuriating passage.

  As much as Grant cared for the couple and their family, he was glad to be leaving this den of love. At least before Lyall had perished in the fire, there had been some excitement and peril. The way things stood, he hadn’t lifted his sword to an enemy in months.

  He sighed. When he arrived home, it would be much the same. His father was progressing in age. Grant, as the eldest son, would be required to take on more responsibilities of the clan. He might even have to settle down and have children!

  Duncan stopped to catch his breath. The corner of his lips lifted into a grin. “Aye, can I help ye?”

  Grant shook his head to clear it. “Aye. I am just coming to say good-bye.”

  “Today is the day, is it?”

  “Aye, today is the day. But alas, I am still not headed to Cameron lands,” Grant said, dejection lacing his words.

  Duncan arched his brow. “Ye aren’t going home?”

  Grant shook his head.

  “I hate to pull it out of ye, but where are ye going?”

  Sighing deeply, Grant kicked at the dirt. “Samuel sent a missive from Ireland, and he needs some assistance. Who knows what for? He has probably gotten into an argument and needs my help to get the answer.” He grinned at the thought, shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever the case, I thought I would make a slight detour and offer him aid.”

  “Do ye need assistance on this ‘detour’?”

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t detailed.”

  “Ye know if ye need a companion all ye need do is ask.”

  Grant looked away. “Aye, I know.”

  He wasn’t one to ask for help. He was a leader. He led and others followed. His head bowed, he saw Dorcas leaving her hut. Maybe he should ask for her companionship on this journey. Her head rose, and he was caught in his lustful leer. Her lips twitched in a knowing grin.

  Grant had informed her he was leaving. Dorcas had spent hours begging him to stay, or to at least take her with him. But as much as he enjoyed her company, she would never be his life mate. His life mate would be unknown to any other man. He would spend hours, days, months, years, training his wife in the art of loving and being loved.

  Duncan glanced at Dorcas, tilting his head in her direction. “Taken a fancy to that one have ye?”

  “Nay, not truly. She served a purpose.” Grant recognized the callousness in his attitude, and clenched his teeth.

  Duncan must have noticed as well, because he frowned. “Dorcas is a decent woman.”

  “Aye, she is.”

  “Ye know one day ye are going to lose yer heart to someone ye would have never expected.”

  Grant leaned his head back and roared with mocking laughter. Suddenly he became serious. “My wife will be worthy of the Cameron name. She will be Scottish born and bred, and pure as the driven snow. I will be her only master. And she won’t care one wit for religious drivel.”

  Duncan leaned back and crossed his arms. “Is that right?”

  Grant mimicked his pose. “Aye, it is.”

  Stance relaxed, Duncan said, “Let me ask ye one question, without the words of the Good Book, why should she remain pure?”

  Grant was at a loss. Duncan continued, “Certainly not pressure from society, because men like ye and me don’t give a second glance to a lass that is not willing to share her pleasures. But the Lord, He encourages a woman be of only one man and that man her husband.”

  Grant would have responded but he was saved by Arbella’s bulging appearance. “The conversation appears to be serious. I could feel the frowns from across the yard.”

  Duncan responded, “Grant is leaving us today.”

  Arbella shielded her eyes from the blinding sun and leaned back to look up at Grant. “We will miss you. Know you are welcome to return anytime.”

  Grant leaned forward and embraced Arbella. Next he grasped Duncan’s hand, and gave him a pat on the back. Belongings picked up off the ground, he hoisted the small sack over his shoulder, and headed toward his waiting horse. Once in the saddle, he took one more look around the place he had called home for many years, before galloping out of the gates toward Ireland and his destiny.

  Chapter One

  Ireland 1557 – One month prior

  During the reign of Bloody Mary

  Samuel used the bottom of his brown woolen robe to wipe the sweat from his brow. His small congregation worked side by side, planting crops for the growing season. They didn’t do this for themselves but for him. The whole community had come out to help plant the garden for their new minister, the minister that would bring them the words of life from the Good B
ook.

  As he worked, his eyes unconsciously drifted toward her. Although round with child, she still toiled in the garden like the rest of the villagers. She was the most beautiful woman Samuel had ever seen.

  Today her auburn hair was arranged in a bun and covered. When her hair was unfettered it hung to her waist in soft waves. When it was in such a state, she spent her time pushing it out of her eyes and placing it behind her ears. Her green eyes radiated warmth. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, only adding to her charm.

  Since becoming acquainted with the townspeople, he had wanted to speak with Sorcha, but she had remained elusive. The others in the community said she rarely spoke. He found this hard to believe. Her mouth seemed to beckon one to have speech. Her plump red lips begged to discuss all sorts of matters.

  ****

  Sorcha stood up and leaned, stretching her back. Her hand unconsciously came forward and stroked her swollen abdomen with affection. She felt him again. Raising her head, she sent him a shy smile. Why did the new minister stare at her so? Her mother said he was interested in her, but she couldn’t understand why that would be.

  Gaze shifting downward, she went back to work. As she worked, she realized planting seeds in the ground and waiting for them to grow, was just like spreading God’s word and waiting for it to grow in someone’s heart. Samuel had preached a message about seeds dropping on good soil, how they sprouted and grew. But if they fell on rocky ground, they would be choked out by the cares of this world.

  Sorcha was happy to say her soil was fertile and ready to be tilled. She could have been bitter about her lot in life, but had chosen to take what her mother had coined the “Joseph approach.” She had decided that what man had clearly meant for evil, God could turn for His good. Therefore, she didn’t let her misfortunes keep her from the Lord, but rather bring her closer.