Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  Feed Duncan. Fill his glass. Be kind. Such seemingly simple things to do—but with the suspicious way he’s behaving toward me, Father, those acts will take every last shred of my will and a boatload of Christ’s love to accomplish. I don’t want to obey Your Holy Word only to keep my job. If I did that, ‘twould be living by law and not by grace. I’m praying now for wisdom and a forgiving heart. Help me, Lord. Help me minute by minute. I cannot do this on my own.

  Sleepless, she continued to stand at the window. A slight movement caught her attention. She spied the stranger she’d seen on those other occasions in the yard. She couldn’t tell much by the weak moonlight, but maybe he was involved somehow. I simply cannot stay silent about seeing him any longer. If he is a guard, he’s had to have seen something; if I’ve been wrong about presuming he’s a guard, then I need to get one of the men to capture him.

  Brigit’s heart pattered as fast as a toe dancer’s feet as she slipped into a wrapper and ran to the servants’ staircase. She grabbed the knob and twisted, but the door refused to open. The stubborn thing wouldn’t budge.

  “Oh no!” She tried twice more, each second pounding with her heartbeat. He’ll get away. I’m fiddling with this stupid door, and that man is getting away!

  Frustrated and unwilling to let the matter alone, she dashed back to her room. Ignoring the icy weather, she opened her bedroom window and crawled out onto the roof. Slick it was, and so cold that it felt burning hot beneath her hands and knees. Normally Brigit rather enjoyed looking out her window, but looking down from this vantage point didn’t give her any pleasure—it nearly scared the wits straight out of her.

  She tried to recall the house’s floor plan. Could she go right and drop down onto one of the children’s balconies? No, wait. Right would be Duncan’s—well, she did need to get him. She stood and wobbled. Clumps of snow slid away and made soft, distant plops as they hit the ground. She started to pray aloud, “Dear Lord Almighty, don’t let me turn into one of those plopping sounds myself!”

  Cold. Oh, cold, cold, cold. Each step she took made her shiver worse. Brigit strove to keep her footing as she crossed the roof, then groaned as she drew close to a chimney. In her effort to keep from slipping right over the edge, she’d gone too far. Both arms stuck out to help her balance, she looked behind her. No. She couldn’t possibly turn and go back. She’d barely kept alive going straight ahead. Turning all the way around would be pure folly. “Lord, You know I’m not here to kill myself. Aye, You do. I’d take it kindly if You’d grant me deliverance.”

  The trellis—the very tips of a trellis stuck up beyond the edge of the roof. She whispered her thanks to the Lord, then swallowed hard. He’d given her a way down, but it wasn’t going to be easy. Then again, how many times had Da said most of the good things in life didn’t come easy?

  Sure she’d skid right over the edge if she took another step, Brigit took a deep breath to steel herself. As it was, she slipped as she laid down on her belly with her feet toward the drop-off. Her fingers scrabbled for any hold, but it was a vain effort. She skidded over the edge and barely muffled her shriek as she caught the trellis and held on for dear life.

  For a second she closed her eyes. “God, don’t stop now. I need Your help, and I’m needing it badly.” She opened her eyes and saw violets. Violets? Oh! Her gown and robe were hooked on the trellis—as if God had snagged her there for safety’s sake! She had to hold on with one hand while she freed her slushy garments with the other. The clammy fabric slapped at her legs, and she shuddered. When she got hold of Duncan and he apprehended the stranger because of her tremendous effort, that man was going to owe her at least a dozen apologies.

  It being winter, the vines on the trellis were dried-out, rough things. Nary a leaf remained—something Brigit counted as a blessing, because she’d end up slipping on them or wearing them if they were present. The whole trellis wobbled, and she didn’t waste time. It might snap.

  She also hurried because she needed Duncan to nab that stranger. The longer it took her to alert Duncan, the greater the chance was that the intruder would slip away.

  “Fine thing for a young lady to do in the dead of winter, in the middle of the night,” she muttered as she climbed down. “’Tis nothing short of a miracle I haven’t broken my neck.”

  A big, rough hand clamped around her ankle. “That could still be arranged.”

  Chapter 17

  One quick yank, and Duncan pulled Brigit off the trellis. He caught her—a chivalrous thing to do, all things considered. The mud puddle there would have been a just reward for her perfidy.

  “Duncan!”

  “Surprised?” He clamped a hand over her mouth and hauled her toward the kitchen. He didn’t want her crying alarm and warning her partner. Hopefully, John would catch him. It took every last shred of decency for Duncan not to shake her senseless. What had she taken this time, and to whom was she going to pass it?

  Just tonight, after everyone else went to bed, he and John had a quick exchange. The two of them concocted a solid plan to capture the thief once and for all. Duncan no more than set foot into his bedchamber and went to shut a crack in the curtains when he saw a bit of snow slide over the edge. It wouldn’t have been anything to catch his attention, but then several more followed. Realizing someone was on the roof—of all things!—he ran outside.

  He could scarcely believe his eyes. Brigit. Regardless of what logic told him and the way he’d been behaving over the last two weeks, deep in his heart, Duncan secretly still fostered a thread of hope that she was innocent. The thread snapped, and the full weight of her betrayal hit him. He’d trusted her with his family and almost with his heart—he’d been ready to propose! Anger mixed with incredulity. He nearly bellowed her name, but cold reason washed over him. If he startled her, she’d likely slip and break her neck; he wanted the satisfaction of doing that deed with his own hands—not that he would, but the thought satisfied a savage need inside of him. Besides, if he made a noise, he’d scare off her accomplice.

  For having been as skilled as she’d been with her other episodes of theft, she wasn’t smooth this time at all. The daft woman had let out a shriek loud enough to wake Methuselah, then muttered to herself the whole time she scrambled down the trellis. No doubt about it, the woman had a death wish.

  Now Brigit didn’t act innocent. No, she surely didn’t. She squirmed and struggled—even tried to bite his hand. He got her in through the kitchen door, kicked it shut, and bumped into the counter ere he reached the table. The whole while, Brigit gave him more grief than a tiger in a burlap sack.

  He dumped her onto the table where Cook usually kneaded bread. Keeping his hand firmly over her mouth, he anchored Brigit in place by clenching the belt to her robe. “Don’t you make a sound.”

  She reached up and closed both hands around his wrist. Though she tried, she couldn’t yank his hand away. Before Duncan could imagine the depth of her desperate insanity, she turned loose and threw herself backward. A tug and loud rip ensued. Within a second, she ended up in a heap on the floor; he stood with a soggy belt to a flowery robe in his hand. He tossed it aside and dove after her. She smacked at him and yelped, “You’re letting him get away!”

  Duncan pinned her to the floor. “Let me guess: He won’t even bother to come after you. Regardless of the cliché, I’ve found there is no honor among thieves. You’re going to have to shoulder the blame yourself.”

  Brigit stared at Duncan in disbelief. Here she was, trying to unravel the mystery and catch whomever it was who had been robbing this good family of their treasures. What happened? Duncan considered this as proof that she was the guilty party.

  She glowered at him. “While you’re wasting time with that ridiculous notion, the thief is making his escape!”

  “I’ll settle for one of the pair.” He reached across her and grabbed the torn belt. Quick as could be, he grabbed both of her wrists in one of his massive hands.

  “If you—” She tugged against hi
m, but to no avail. He had her well and truly bound, knotted faster than a schooner in a gale.

  “Be silent, or I’ll use the other length to gag you.”

  Duncan stood and lifted Brigit to her feet. He pulled out a chair and nudged her into it.

  Nothing he did made sense. He’d actually been quite gentle when he’d lifted her; and the minute he had her seated, he hastily jerked the flaps of her robe shut. How could a man have the mind of a jackal and the manners of a saint?

  She started to shiver. Her soggy garments, her bare feet, and the unheated kitchen combined to make her miserable. Brigit swished her head from side to side, trying to get a swath of hair that had worked free from her braid to cease drooping over her left eye. All she succeeded in doing was to whip herself with the wet plait.

  “Fighting won’t get you anything.” Duncan scowled. “Now tell me who your partner is and where I can find him.”

  Utterly frustrated, she glowered back. “I don’t have a partner because I’m not a thief. I was coming to get you because I saw a man in the yard!”

  “So you nearly broke your neck, crossing the roof in order to reach me.”

  “The door is jammed. I had no choice.”

  Duncan shook his head, skepticism painting every last feature.

  “That’s right. Go on ahead and scoff. You’ve been pointing your finger at me, and I was working to prove my innocence. I had to do something—as long as that villain is free, you’ll keep blaming me.”

  “Obviously for good cause,” he said in a voice rich with vindication. “An innocent person wouldn’t be sneaking around at night, and I caught you dead to rights. I won’t let anyone steal from my family.”

  “Neither will I. You’re falsely accusing me, and if I do nothing, it’ll cost me my job. You’ll be stealing the very bread out of my parents’ mouths!”

  Chapter 18

  Hush!” He barked the order in a hoarse tone. Memories of his young years—of his family being cold, hungry, and sick—flooded Duncan’s mind. He’d not yet reached his seventh birthday, but he’d known things were dire. Even so, Emily had never once stooped to thievery. Duncan held no sympathy for this maid.

  “But—”

  “I’ll not listen to another of your lies. You’ve betrayed the trust and kindness of this family. Don’t try to justify it by trying to earn my pity or sympathy with sad tales about your family’s woes. The truth stands—”

  “Aye, it does!” Brigit stared him straight in the face.

  Tears glossed her eyes, but fire burned in her cheeks. She’d been caught, and ‘twas nothing more than embarrassment and anger that caused this reaction. Duncan refused to be moved by her words.

  He yanked out a chair, slammed it down next to her, but failed to take it. “Not another word out of you. John will be here soon, and I’ll have him waken Emily.”

  Brigit’s gasp only fired his temper more.

  “Oh yes. Emily will be told. You couldn’t believe we’d leave her ignorant of your role in this. The children will have to be warned, too—so don’t think you can weasel your way back into anyone’s good graces—not after what you’ve done.”

  “I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything!”

  Duncan scoffed. “If you were innocent, you’d still be sleeping in your bed—not climbing down a trellis at this hour. John will have to determine whether to turn you out or turn you over to the authorities.”

  As if on cue, John came into the kitchen. He lit a lamp and stared at Brigit. “There are tracks out in the mud. Most have a dusting inside them, so I know they’re left over from the party. There is one set that’s fresh. I saw a man, but he ran before I could get close.”

  Duncan noticed that Brigit’s fiery denial of guilt didn’t settle any better with John than it did with him. She pled that she would never steal—not as an upright Christian woman and because she needed to keep her job so she could provide for her parents.

  John’s jaw hardened as he stared at her. “You’re giving yourself plenty of motive.”

  Brigit lifted her chin in a dignified manner that was at direct odds with the lock of hair hanging down her face and her spongy garments. “Supposing you men are right. Try explaining why I’d be risking my neck to walk across a snowy roof when I don’t have a single treasure on me!”

  Duncan gritted his teeth. She had a point. He’d not caught her red-handed.

  A rustling in the doorway made Duncan and John whirl around. Emily entered the kitchen with a shocked look on her face. Brigit couldn’t help herself. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Miss Emily. Honest, I didn’t!”

  John hastened to his wife’s side. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she clutched him. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take care of this.”

  Emily shook her head. “Something’s wrong.”

  “I know, dear. Duncan and I are handling this. You go on back to bed.”

  “But everything’s back.” Emily gave her husband a bewildered look. “Up in the hallway. There’s a towel, and everything that’s been stolen is on it—the statue and the cameo and our little Anna Kathleen’s locket and your book—it’s all there except my sister Anna’s ring.”

  Duncan couldn’t bear to see Em cry. She rarely wept—except during the months when she was carrying a babe. Then she cried enough to float an armada. He would process the information about the returned articles in a few moments. For now he intended to block Emily’s access to Brigit. Tenderhearted as Emily was, she would—

  “What is that odd sound?” Emily’s tears were tapering down to the hiccup stage, and she pulled away from John.

  Duncan and John took a quick look at one another, then both focused on the same thing at the same time.

  “Look at the poor girl!” Emily ran to Brigit’s side and quickly flipped back the silly lock of hair to expose the maid’s pale face.

  At first, Duncan thought her lips were quivering in a theatrical attempt to earn pity, but then the truth dawned. Her teeth were chattering. Even then the noise wasn’t from that. It was because her chair rattled on the floor from her shivers.

  “You’ve scared the lass.” Emily looked down and let out a breathless shriek. She fumbled with the binding. “You’ve tied her! Undo this at once.”

  Duncan yanked a knife from the butcher block and sliced clean through with a single swipe. He kept a hand on Brigit’s shoulder. Originally it was to keep her from trying to bolt, but now it was to keep her from falling out of the chair. He frowned at her. The woman felt cold as sleet.

  As he was in just shirtsleeves, Duncan didn’t have a coat to offer. He swept Brigit into his arms and growled, “Em, you come along and see to it she changes.” He headed up the stairs with his sister pattering directly behind him. When they got to the stairway to the attic, Em managed to open the door without the least bit of effort. Duncan shot a yet-another-lie look at Brigit. It was wasted effort. The lass huddled into a ball in his arms. Aye, she did—but at least she exercised enough intelligence not to cling to him.

  Emily went ahead of them and opened the third attic bedroom door. A blast of cold met them. Brigit had left the small window open, and the room felt like the inside of an icehouse. While Duncan lowered Brigit onto a bed she obviously hadn’t slept in, he rasped, “Emily, don’t shut the window. The floor may be slippery over there, and I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

  “Nonsense.” The window slammed shut. “We need to warm her up at once.”

  He straightened, turned, and wagged his forefinger at Emily. “No arguments. Make sure she dresses warmly and pack the remainder of her belongings. You have five minutes.”

  Temper had him wanting to bellow the words, but discretion demanded he not. The last thing he needed to do was wake the whole household. Emily needed a chance to accept the betrayal before everyone else was told. He went back to the stairs.

  The door stuck.

  Brigit wrapped her shawl more closely about her shoulders. Lord, I’m in such a mess. What am I
to do?

  Duncan carried her valise and kept one hand clamped around her elbow as he led her down the road. Brigit refused to say a word. She didn’t dare. The minute she opened her mouth, she’d humiliate herself by weeping. Her boot hit a rut, and she started to tumble, but Duncan jerked her upright.

  “Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. Right about now she’d vow the boots he wore hid cloven hooves. How could she once have believed him to be charming and kind? If anyone was guilty of deceit, Duncan O’Brien topped the list.

  He stopped. “I asked if you were all right.”

  She nodded. He let go of her elbow and tilted her face up to his. He stared at her but said nothing. Brigit turned away from his touch and started to walk again.

  “No.” He took hold of her arm and drew her the wrong direction. “Come this way.”

  So that’s the way of it. Mr. John wanted me thrown out of the house at once. He couldn’t even wait until sunrise to get rid of me. They were just pacifying Miss Emily with the tale of Duncan giving me a ride into town. He’s really going to take me to the edge of the estate and send me on my way. Brigit swallowed, but the big lump in her throat didn’t move. The sooner she put some distance between herself and this place, the better. She walked alongside Duncan in absolute silence.

  “You’re still shivering. That shawl isn’t warm enough.” He started to remove his thick, brown greatcoat.

  Brigit bit back a cry. The last thing she wanted was to be wrapped in this hateful man’s garment. “Leave me alone.” She sped up until she was nearly running.

  Duncan caught her in a few strides. “Slow down before you slip again.” He gained a better hold of her, and his voice took on a rough edge. “You’ll stay with my parents at the caretaker’s cottage. They’ve just returned home from a long trip. I’ll arrange for the rest of the staff to think you’re here to help my folks air out the place and spruce it up.”