“If you—” She tugged against him, 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, 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 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 can I 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!”
Eighteen
“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 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 Brigit’s fiery denial of guilt didn’t settle any better with John than it did with him. She pled that she’d 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 looked 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 shou
lders. 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.”
Brigit shuddered. Her reputation was in tatters, and she’d never get another job without references. What would happen to Mum and Da?
Duncan opened the unlocked door to the caretaker’s cottage and nudged her inside. She could barely see the embers glowing on the hearth. He led her over to a settee and whispered, “Lie down here. I’ll stir up the fire.”
Woodenly, she seated herself in the corner of the settee. She watched Duncan’s broad back as he squatted at the hearth, added kindling and a pair of logs, and brought the fire back to life. Even when the room radiated with its warmth, Brigit couldn’t stop shaking.
Duncan walked behind the settee. He spoke in low tones to someone, but Brigit was too stiff to turn and couldn’t understand what was said. A few moments later, Duncan stood before her and unfolded a thick quilt. He draped it around her shoulders and managed somehow to raise and twist her so she was bundled in it. By the time he finished, he’d laid her down and robbed her of her shoes.
❧
Duncan decided to spend the night in the wingback chair. He could keep watch over the fire and Brigit. He’d been so sure of her guilt. John seemed convinced, too. But Em—Em vouched for Brigit’s goodness.
And that attic door stuck.
Then that moment out on the road changed everything. The ache in Brigit’s eyes nearly knocked him to his knees. In that split second, everything settled in his mind. He knew for certain this woman—the woman he still loved—was innocent.
From the time he’d started dealing with business, Duncan discovered he’d been given a gift of discernment. He could sense the character of a man and determine whether or not to hire him or contract his services. Even weasels like the sail maker knew better than to try anything shady with him. From the first time he saw Brigit, he’d seen the goodness in her. Aye, he had. She’d filled his glass with milk that time, then gone on to fill his heart with sunshine.
But he’d been a fool. In his rush to avoid marriage, he’d not trusted the gift the Lord gave him. It took a voyage away from Brigit to make him come to his senses; but once he returned, he let the octopus of doubt nearly strangle him. Looking into Brigit’s eyes, he’d seen the truth. Oh, he had. She was innocent; he was guilty. His heart had been right from the very start, and he’d been a fool to allow circumstances to cloud his judgment and test his love. He’d hurt her because of it.
He had a lot to make up for.
Duncan hadn’t followed John’s edict to get rid of Brigit at once. He’d made up his mind, and John could bluster all he wanted. Until Duncan could prove Brigit was blameless, he was going to shelter her reputation and feelings by having her live with his own parents. He’d vouched for her innocence just now when he told his parents who she was and why he’d brought her here.
It had taken a long while for her to fall asleep. Silent tears streamed down her face until she did. Though Duncan knelt by the settee and tried to reassure her, she’d been too far gone to hear a word he said. Between cold and shock, she just lay there and trembled. Mama had offered to brew tea, but Duncan doubted Brigit would be able to swallow it. Papa cleared his throat, beetled his brows as he looked at Brigit and hesitantly suggested, “Medicinal brandy or whiskey might do the trick.”
So on top of all of my mistakes, I’d give Brigit the humiliation of thinking I’d made a sot of her.
He shook his head. “Rest. What she needs is her rest.”
“I’ll go make up the bed in the spare room.”
John had added a fair-sized bedroom and a workshop onto the other side of the kitchen years ago, but Duncan shook his head again. “Mama needs her rest, and the fire here’s what the lass needs more than anything.”
Both of those statements were true, but they were only an excuse. He couldn’t bear to leave Brigit alone in this calamity. Even after she fell asleep, he couldn’t stand to be more than just a few feet away.
Still alarmed at how cold she’d become, Duncan tiptoed over to make sure she’d warmed up. Even though Brigit lay exactly where he’d put her, she’d managed to curl into the quilt tighter than the coil in a seahorse’s tail.
At least the shivering stopped. He counted that as a good sign. He’d have to settle for that one sign, because nothing else looked very promising. Dried tears pasted wild strands of her ebony hair to her face. Just days ago, playing with the children in snow had caused those same strands to form springy tendrils around her hairline. He tenderly fingered the strands. Lord, help me make this up to her. Help me make things right.
Duncan went back and took his station in the wingback chair. Thoughts swirled in his mind. He had no right to claim his love for her until he earned her trust. He’d nearly shattered her with his accusations, and a sensitive woman like Brigit would need time to get over such ugliness. The best thing he could do was show his support for her and prove her innocence. Once he did, God willing, she’d become his bride.
Sweat rolled off his forehead, but Duncan popped another log onto the fire. Purgatory probably felt cooler than this parlor, but he refused to risk Brigit’s catching a chill. Finally he settled back into the chair and decided he could afford to doze. On the slim chance she woke up, Brigit wouldn’t be able to get away. He had her shoes beneath his chair. Even more he had her in his heart.
Nineteen
“You did what?” The force of John’s bellow could have filled every last sail on a clipper.
Duncan didn’t mind the bluster. He’d expected it. Locking eyes with John, he said very clearly, “I took Brigit to my parents’ cottage. She’s staying with them until this matter is cleared up.”
“It’s already solved, and I won’t have her on my property.”
“She’s not on our property, Dear,” Emily whispered. “You gave the cottage to my parents. It was very generous of you. You did it right after you added on that nice, big second room.”
“This isn’t a game.” John glowered at them.
“No, ’tisn’t,” Duncan agreed. “I’m saying here and now
, Brigit is the woman I love. The devil can have a holiday in a suspicious mind, and I was fool enough to let him—but no more. We have no proof against her. None. What I do have is my faith in her and in the Almighty.”
Emily yanked on John’s hand. “John—”
“Don’t be taken in by love, Duncan.” John gave him a world-weary look. “Remember Anna.”
“If I would have minded that advice, I’d have never wed you,” Emily said quietly.
Duncan nodded. “I’ll prove Brigit’s innocence; and once I do, I want her welcomed back with open arms. She’s going to be my wife.”
❧
“Christmas is just around the corner.” Nonny O’Brien’s cheerful announcement didn’t much lift Brigit’s spirits. Not wanting to cast a pall over Duncan and Emily’s mama’s happy mood, Brigit plastered on a smile and nodded.
“We want to celebrate the holiday in the Old World way. I ken ’tis an imposition, but I was thinkin’ to ask for your help.” Soon Nonny had Brigit firmly entrenched in her plans. They sewed doll clothes for the twins, painted a whole fleet of ships for Phillip, and polished up little jewelry boxes Papa O’Brien made for the older girls.
Being involved in those holiday customs helped Brigit regain a few shreds of her serenity. She always loved the holidays, and she could see how much Nonny and Papa loved their family by the affection in their eyes and voices and how they lavished thought and time into making a special gift for each grandchild. Brigit knew the children would be delighted.
Truth be told, Brigit had a second reason for looking forward to Christmas. Duncan’s new vessel would be finished any day. As soon as Christmas was over, he was due to take the ship on her maiden voyage. From what she’d overheard, she gathered it would be an extended voyage. She needed to have time away from him.
Duncan came by each day and promised to prove her innocence. To his credit—or was it Emily’s?—the rest of the Newcomb staff had been told Nonny O’Brien needed Brigit’s help with several Christmas projects. It was the truth, but Brigit felt it was only a half-truth, and such things made her squirm. What else could she do, though? At least she’d not been subjected to public scrutiny or shame, and every bit of her salary still came so she could take care of her parents.
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