The Gentle Wind's Caress

by Anne Brear

  The door opened from the kitchen and Isabelle stepped through. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

  Not wanting her to withdraw, Hamish smiled and hoped his eyes told her he came as her friend. ‘Mrs Farrell. My sympathies to you and your family.’

  She faltered, her pale eyes showing her uncertainty, and then she gathered herself and came towards him. ‘Thank you, Mr MacGregor.’

  Hamish let go of a pent-up breath and held out his hand, was pleased when she took it. ‘Shall we discuss your needs outside? The day is not too cold and the wind has dropped.’

  ‘Very well.’ She nodded and took down a shawl hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

  It alarmed Hamish how thin she was and the much-worn black garments of mourning did nothing to give her colour. Indeed, they only added to her wan appearance. Dark shadows bruised under her eyes.

  In silence, they walked to the front gate. The carriage stood in the drive and Brown inclined his head to Isabelle.

  Hamish stopped and looked out over the road and into the distance. Flat fields spread as far as he could see. He was very aware of her standing beside him. He realised he towered over her and fought the instinct to crouch so she wouldn’t be intimidated. Suddenly, he recalled their last conversation and knew she would never feel that way with him. She had cut him down with words and a simple, unforgiving glare. An unfamiliar thud changed the rhythm of his heartbeat. He never wanted her to look at him that way again. Shame filled him at the thought. What did it matter how she looked at him? She would never be his.

  ‘Ethan sent you, didn’t he?’ Her voice was soft, delicate, unlike the first time they met.

  ‘I offered to call on you. To save Ethan from himself. His temper would rule him the moment he saw your husband.’

  ‘You speak the truth and, to my shame, I cannot cope with more… upheaval at the moment even though my desire to see Ethan is very strong. My brothers need me, especially since Farrell...’ She gave a little shake of her head as if to clear her mind. ‘I mustn’t bore you with such things.’

  ‘You don’t bore me in the least.’ He smiled. ‘Ethan worries, and, after his last confrontation with your husband I felt it best that he remains at Bracken Hall. He does not know about your father, and I know he would want me to help you in anyway I can.’

  She blinked back tears and stared straight ahead. ‘Farrell refuses to give me any money. I don’t even know if he has money, though he did sell all the sheep yesterday, but they haven’t been taken yet. I’m guessing he’d likely receive the money when they are collected.’

  Hamish nodded and remained silent, instinctively knowing she needed to talk, to think things out aloud.

  Isabelle sighed, a long sad sigh that pulled at Hamish’s heart. ‘I fear my father will lie in a pauper’s grave, unmarked. As bad as Mrs Peacock’s establishment was, she allowed the dead a cross with their name on it. I would like for Father to lie next to Mother and Sally.’

  He had no idea who Mrs Peacock was or anything about her establishment, but the depth of her unhappiness made him want to hold her to him and promise her the world, anything she desires just to take away the pain from her eyes.

  Instead, he lightly touched her hand where it rested on top of the gate. ‘I will help you.’

  She lifted her gaze to him and frowned. ‘Farrell will never allow Ethan to-’

  ‘No, you misunderstand me.’ He stared into her eyes, captivated by the shadow of her soul he saw there. ‘I, me, alone will help you bury your father.’

  ‘You?’

  He nodded, eager to please her, to have her need and depend on him like she needed and depended on Ethan.

  ‘But you don’t approve of me-’

  ‘Let me help you, I beg you.’ Hamish searched his coat pockets and brought out a small leather pouch. He gave it to her. ‘I believe there are three or four guineas in there. Perhaps more. Use them.’

  Isabelle gasped, her eyes widened. ‘But I cannot repay you…’

  ‘I do not need repaying.’ He took her hand, kissed it and was rewarded by the relief in her eyes, the tender smile of thanks on her lips. ‘I will call again. Soon.’

  ***

  Isabelle folded her arms on the table and laid her head on them. The boys were upstairs changing out of their wet clothes. She knew she should do the same, but didn’t have the energy to mount the stairs. Tiredness weighted down her limbs. Her stomach growled, forcing her to think of the child she carried and with the pace of a snail she rose and set about making a pot of tea and slicing the bread.

  Outside the rain continued to batter against the windows and she shuddered to think what foul mood Farrell would be in when he came inside from putting the horse away.

  At least they had buried her father without turmoil. Farrell’s constant vigil over them failed to affect her today. Whether he guarded them like a gaoler or not wasn’t the issue as she watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. In church, she prayed for her departed family but also prayed harder for her freedom. Mr MacGregor’s money had bought a decent funeral and, due to her prudence, a few shillings left over now jingled in her skirt pocket. After several quarrels, Farrell allowed and believed the funeral bill was sent to Ethan, and she let him think it. It had given her some comfort to see Mr MacGregor standing outside the church today. Farrell hadn’t thought anything by it, still presuming he was a church warden, but to her, it been a sign that she wasn’t alone in the world.

  The door banged open and she closed her eyes. Farrell never did anything quietly.

  ‘I hope yer’ve done enough for an extra guest?’ Farrell laughed.

  Her eyes snapped open, as did her mouth. Farrell grinned at her and next to him, looking pleased with himself stood Neville Peacock. ‘W…What is he doing here?’

  Farrell pulled out a chair and flopped down onto it, indicating to Neville to do the same. ‘He’s staying a while.’

  A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she groped for a chair. ‘You aren’t serious.’

  ‘Indeed I am, Wife.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ She stared from one to the other. ‘You and he-’

  ‘Are now friends.’ Farrell took a piece of bread and applied a liberal spread of pickled onions to it. ‘He’s keepin’ an eye on yer while I’m away.’

  ‘Away?’ She blinked rapidly. Her heart pounded. ‘Away where?’

  ‘We need a bit more capital for America.’ He bit into the bread and chewed. ‘The sale of the animals won’t bring in enough funds. So, I need to try me hand at a few things.’

  ‘You’re going to steal?’

  He gulped down the last of his bread and stood. ‘Steal, poach, which ever takes me fancy.’ Farrell shrugged, not caring. ‘Peacock here, will keep an eye on yer while I’m gone.’ He went into the scullery and the larder.

  The boys entered the kitchen and Hughie checked his step as he realised who sat at the table. ‘Belle? What’s he doing here?’ Hughie came straight to her side and Bertie followed close behind.

  Isabelle felt sick, her stomach churned. ‘He’s suddenly become Farrell’s friend,’ she sneered. ‘He’s here to watch us while Farrell goes away.’

  Farrell strode in, stuffing a small sack with the last of her ham and a small tart. ‘I’ll be gone about three days.’ He paused and glared at the boys. ‘Peacock knows what’s what. He’ll not put up with yer nonsense. I’ve told him to crack yer skull if yer try any funny business and if he lets you escape then I’ll crack his skull!’

  Bertie huddled by Isabelle’s chair and his frightened face sent her into a fury. She jerked up from her chair and flew around the table to slap Farrell’s surprised face before she realised she’d done it.

  ‘Bitch!’ His went to hit her but she stepped back quickly, bumping into Neville, who’d stood and now staggered, but kept both himself and her upright.

  As Farrell advanced, Neville raised his hand. ‘No. Don’t mark her any more. If Harrington comes he’ll think I’ve done i
t and I ain’t’ takin’ your beating.’

  Farrell stopped a foot from them. His breath came in short puffs. ‘She needs puttin’ in her place!’

  ‘Aye, well, you can leave that to me. I’ll enjoy it.’ Neville grinned and pushed Isabelle back towards the range on the other side of the table.

  Grabbing his coat off the hook on the backdoor, Farrell glared at her and then lunged for Bertie. The boy squealed.

  ‘Get your hands off him!’ Hughie ran for Farrell, but the older man raised his fist.

  ‘Take one more step and I’ll squash his nose over his face.’

  Isabelle felt that her heart would surely stop. ‘Let him go, Farrell, please. I’m begging you.’

  Farrell grinned. ‘I don’t think so. He’s my insurance, yer see. I know yer’ll not be tempted to run if yer know I have him.’

  ‘I promise I won’t run. I promise.’ She clasped her hands together, fighting to stay calm. ‘He’s only a little boy. You don’t need him.’

  ‘Take me instead,’ Hughie demanded, glaring at him. ‘I can live rough better than he can.’

  Farrell laughed and plucked Bertie’s coat from a hook. ‘Yer think I’m stupid? I know yer’d open yer mouth the first chance yer got. No, this little chap suits me fine.’ He gave him his coat as though they were going on a Sunday afternoon picnic.

  ‘Please, don’t take him,’ Isabelle cried, gripping the chair, wishing she could throw it at her husband’s head. ‘Let him go! Take me if you must.’

  Bertie struggled against Farrell’s grip and received a clout around the ear for his troubles.

  Hughie reached out to snatch Bertie back and in a split second, Farrell kicked him in the groin. Gasping, Hughie buckled to the floor. Isabelle ran to his side as he lay groaning.

  Farrell glared at them in triumph. ‘Yer think yer’ve got it hard here, just yer wait until we get ter America. Yer life won’t be worth livin’.’ With that he pushed a sobbing Bertie out of the kitchen and slammed the door.

  Neville, hesitant and wary, inched forward and helped Hughie up and onto a chair.

  Isabelle crumpled onto a footstool by the door.

  ‘I’ll make tea.’ Neville went to the range and placed the black kettle on the hob plate.

  For a short time, the only sound in the room was Hughie’s sucking in gulps of air and the muted noise of the fire shifting. Stunned beyond belief, she sat as still as a statue and let her mind swarm with the knowledge that Farrell had disappeared to God knows where with her little brother. She rocked in agony.

  ‘Why did you marry him, Belle?’

  Neville’s question brought her head up to stare at him. Hatred and despair filled her. ‘To get away from you!’

  ‘And you think I would have treated you worse than he does?’

  ‘I didn’t know that at the time, did I?’ She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle to stop herself from scratching his eyes out. ‘I was the biggest fool. I trusted your she-devil of a mother, but I should have known better that she wouldn’t do anything in kindness regarding me.’

  He looked away. ‘She was jealous.’

  ‘Of me?’ Isabelle laughed without humour. ‘What could she be jealous of?’

  ‘How I felt about you.’ A flush crept up his neck. He scored into the table surface with his fingernail. ‘Everything would have been so different if only you hadn’t rejected me.’

  Isabelle closed her eyes and a single tear ran down her cheek. No words could alter the situation or undo the hurt. After a moment, she sniffed and straightened. Wallowing wouldn’t do her any good either. ‘I’m going out, Hughie. I won’t be long.’

  ‘No, Belle.’ Neville barred her way. ‘I can’t let you go.’

  Her lip curled back in a snarl. He easily caught her hands as they came up to rip his face. They struggled for a moment, but she soon gave up, knowing she couldn’t risk the baby. Hughie had tried to rise, but lost all remaining colour with the movement and with a grunt collapsed back down on the chair.

  Isabelle flung off Neville’s restraint and stalked back to the table. She covered Hughie’s bent head with her hand. ‘It’s all right. Rest.’

  Neville, watching her out the corner of his eye, poured cups of tea, adding plenty of sugar to each. He pushed two over to their side of the table.

  Isabelle peered at him over the rim of her cup. ‘How did all this come about between you and Farrell?’

  ‘I saw you today, outside the church. Farrell saw me and when you were talking to the vicar, he called me over. We spoke and he asked me to come to the farm and watch over you all.’

  ‘A chance too good for you to pass up?’ she scoffed.

  He shrugged one shoulder. ‘He said that if I could gather the money I could go with you to America.’

  She locked her gaze with his. ‘I am not going to America. Do you understand? I am leaving here with Ethan Harrington and neither you nor Farrell will stop me.’

  ‘He told me he hates Harrington more than any person alive.’ Neville leant over the table. ‘He’ll kill you if go to that man.’

  Isabelle’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘And I will kill him if he tries to stop me.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ethan reined in Copper at the edge of the Meadow Farm’s orchard. A couple of goats stared at him before returning to cropping the weeds by the wall. A sow rooted in the undergrowth by the back of the sheds, but other than that all was still.

  He frowned. It was early, not long after dawn, and this was one of the busiest hours on a farm. Obviously, someone was up and about to have let the goats and sow out, but why was it so quiet? A tingle of fear held him still in the saddle. Copper snorted in the chill air, uneasy with Ethan’s tense body.

  With a soft click of his tongue, Ethan guided Copper around the orchard and to the back of the yard. Apprehension pushed Ethan on and into the yard itself, despite Isabelle’s request to not return. But something made him ride here this morning. Instinct told him to.

  He stood in the stirrups and gazed over the fields. Empty. No sheep or cattle had been brought in close for the coming winter. Christmas was only a week away.

  Scanning the yard, he noticed the general state of neglect. The quiet unnerved him. He contemplated what to do. Barging into the house could set Farrell off.

  He jumped as two chickens unexpectedly flapped their feathers as they emerged from one of the sheds. Peering at the kitchen window, he tried to make out movement within, but the room was too dark.

  Slowly, he dismounted and, with Copper trailing behind him, he checked inside each shed door. Surely, someone should be milking by now? Dark, silent emptiness was his only answer.

  Ethan glanced at the house. A flash of movement at the window was so brief he doubted he actually saw it. Then, the back door opened and his heart soared as Isabelle ran across the yard and hurled into his arms.

  ‘Hold me!’ Her sobs shook her body and she clung to him, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket. She buried her head into his chest.

  ‘Hush, my love. I’m here.’ He smoothed her hair and noticed it was lank and tangled. He tried to pull back to see her properly. ‘Isabelle…’

  ‘It’s been awful.’ She was crying so hard he could barely understand her.

  ‘My love.’ Forcing her from him, he gasped as he searched her gaunt face. She was terribly thin and fragile looking. Anger so swift and furious ignited, blinding him to all sense and reason. ‘That bastard I’ll kill him.’

  ‘No!’ She hung onto his arm as he marched for the house. ‘He’s not here.’

  Ethan savagely pulled free of her hold. ‘Don’t lie to me! Don’t protect the coward. He’ll not live to see another day.’

  ‘He’s gone.’ Isabelle sank to her knees on the ground. What little colour she had, drained from her face leaving her ghost-like. ‘He took Bertie.’

  ‘Bertie?’

  ‘My youngest brother, remember?’

  Ethan’s emotions swung from rage to tenderness. She looked l
ike a broken flower flattened by a wild storm. Her black skirts billowed around her, the fading bruised cheek ugly against the paleness of her face. The light had vanished from her pale blue eyes taking with it her strength, her spirit, her soul. Her eyes had always told him her feelings and as he stared at her he knew she couldn’t cope with much more.

  In one stride Ethan was beside her, kneeling before her on the dirt and stones. He folded her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. ‘Oh, my darling. Let me take you away from here. We’ll go anywhere you want.’

  ‘I can go no where until Bertie comes back.’

  ‘Tell me everything.’ He listened as she spoke of Farrell’s cruelty, the hardship of watching her father die, the house imprisonment, the selling of the animals to finance Farrell’s plans to sail to America, the lack of food and finally of his departure two days ago with Bertie as his hostage.

  With every sentence, Ethan became more alarmed. He cursed himself for ever leaving her. Farrell was a madman and needed locking up. How she had suffered! ‘I’m so sorry you have endured this.’

  ‘I had no choice but to.’ She kissed him and he held her tight. ‘I would bear anything for you.’

  He stood and drew her up and against him. He kissed her with a deep longing that he could no longer control. Her lips parted eagerly, wanting him, accepting him. She was so soft, so passionate. His tongue explored her mouth, familiarising his mind to her delights once more.

  Raising his head, he smiled down at her. ‘I love you and we will never be apart again.’

  She nestled into his shoulder and sighed.

  Ethan rubbed her back. Her body fit into his naturally, as though they were made from the same mould. When he thought of Farrell touching her bile rose in his throat. He imagined knocking the man’s teeth down his throat and grunted with satisfaction at the idea.

  ‘But that is not all I have to tell you.’ Her voice brought him back from his tortured thoughts and recriminations.

  ‘There’s more?’

  She nodded and traced her finger across his bottom lip, a faint smile played on her mouth. ‘I am with child. Your child.’