“Can I help you?”
Grant spoke first. “Aye. My lady is interested in that gown.”
The woman studied their appearance. “Not to be rude, but I believe that particular dress is a bit out of your range.”
Angered by the woman’s superior attitude, Grant reached for his sporran intent on purchasing the dress whether Sorcha wanted it or not. He could always give it to one of his many sisters if it didn’t fit or she didn’t care for the color.
But before he could make a move Sorcha responded, “Ye have a mighty high opinion of yer wares. No one said a thing about purchasin’. We wanted to look at it only.”
Sorcha proceeded to walk toward her initial destination. When she reached the dress, she fingered the material. Little humming noises came from her throat as if she was in deep thought. Could she be searching for the price tag?
A wise man would have given her a price range. But it was too late now. Besides she had found what she was looking for.
****
Sorcha gasped. These people were out of their minds! There was no way she would spend that amount of money on one article of clothing! Why her mother could have made her a whole wardrobe for such a price.
Grant was staring, trying to get her attention but she ignored him. He shook his head vigorously as he stood directly behind the sales woman. Perhaps he thought she would embarrass him. She had no intentions of doing any such thing, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to embarrass someone else.
Intertwined with Grant, she walked toward the front door, ignoring the shop girl. As they exited Sorcha spoke loudly. “Grant, I know ye could afford to buy the whole lot of dresses they have to offer, but I believe I would prefer to beat my own gown against a rock and continue wearing my rags than to purchase a gown with stitches that could have been sewn better by my blind grandmother. Truly, we must tell our friends of the shoddy articles they carry here. And the prices are utterly ridiculous.”
In parting Sorcha added, “Good day to ye.” The sales woman was struck mute. Who knew if she believed her or not, but whatever the case she was thinking about Sorcha’s words.
When they made it to the street Grant laughed. “Lass, ye are full of surprises.”
Sorcha bowed. “So ye keep telling me.”
She looked around for another store but nothing stood out. Sighing to herself she knew there was nothing else to be done. They would have to leave without new clothes, or a bath. Besides any dress she purchased would need to be altered to cover her growing belly. Probably best to wait until she had more time to choose anyway.
Sorcha walked to the waiting horses. Grant reached for her arm and stopped her from moving forward. “Where are ye goin’?”
“To the horses.”
“Why?”
“Grant, we need to go to the docks.”
“Lass, we have time to get ye that new dress.”
“Nay, Grant we do not. Besides any dress we buy won’t fit my current figure. I would much rather shop once we land in Scotland. If that is all right.”
“Aye, if ye wish.”
“That is if ye can put up with my stench until then.”
Grant’s grin said it all. “Aye lass, I believe we will make do.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nigel listened to an irate Festus. He had grunted and grumbled ever since they lost Sorcha and Grant. As their group plodded along, all Nigel heard was how Festus needed to return home to his girl and his cow. His one stupid heifer!
The men were growing weary of the conversation and one finally asked, “Don’t you believe your girl will wait on you?”
“Well of course she will wait on me. Hand and foot when I get back, aye she will.”
The soldier asking the questions didn’t realize how thick-headed Festus was and continued to ask more questions. “No, I mean are you afraid she will find another while you are away?”
“Another what?”
“Why, another companion.”
“A what?”
“Another man to marry.”
Festus leaped from his mount, stomped in a fast gait toward the soldier, grabbed his jacket, and pulled him to the ground. The soldier was unexpectedly pinned beneath him. He shielded his face as Festus raised his hands to pummel him. “What do ye know about me girl?”
Lorcan appeared to enjoy his son’s display of power, a smile plastered across his face. Personally, Nigel was disgusted by the whole scene. With a disgruntled snort, Nigel said, “Festus remove your person from my soldier, please.”
“Nay. Not until he tells me what he knows of my Cecilla.”
“You ignorant toad, he knows nothing of your woman! He, like everyone else, is tired of you bemoaning your fate at being separated from her. Your statements are leading us to believe perhaps if you are gone overly long she will turn her fancies toward another. That is all.”
Nigel was breathing heavy by the time he finished. He wasn’t entirely convinced Festus understood him, but the oaf did release the soldier and step back. “Now shall we carry on in our search?”
“Aye, we better before Cecilla believes I am not goin’ to return.”
Nigel’s eyes widened, he should have known it was too good to be true.
They continued along the same path. Festus rode ahead. He found himself in utter disbelief he was being led by one such as Festus. When he returned home to England, he was certain to be hard pressed to convince any of his associates of the horrors he had witnessed under the service of her Majesty.
Of course, he would be unable to mention he was chasing a woman to retrieve her child. His wife schemed if she could acquire a babe in Ireland perhaps she could pass it off as her very own upon their return. She argued no one in England could prove otherwise, due to the distance and length of their stay abroad.
Therefore his tales of harrowing experiences as being performed on behalf of the crown would need to be spun carefully. Nigel couldn’t wait to relate how he had combed all along the Irish countryside led by a madman. He could see it now.
The men from his gentleman’s club would come to his home to visit. They would gather in his parlor with their own glass of wine, directly imported from France. They would listen attentively as he extolled the virtues and rewards of working for the English monarchy. Then he would rile them with tales of his adventures. They would laugh uproariously at the sheer madness of it all. He would of course have to convince them of the truth of the tales. Superior skills as a purveyor of justice would be exalted. He could see their faces now.
As he contemplated the voices he would hear in the future, the voices of the present intruded. The English soldiers rode behind Festus spoke in hushed tones.
“You know Cecilla means blind, don’t you?”
“Nay, I didn’t. But he better hope the girl is blind or she may run away from him screaming.”
“He talks about the heifer so much I wonder which one he is missin’ more!”
Guffaws went around. Fortunately, Festus and Lorcan were too far ahead of the crowd to hear the jeers at Festus’ expense. Not that he cared one way or the other. From his perspective Festus had been almost as big a headache as Sorcha.
They traveled for a good long bit before Festus called the group to a halt. Nigel rode to the front where Festus hunched studying the ground and a pile of dung.
“Their horses waited here, while they took a journey on foot. There appears to be three sets of footprints leading along this trail.”
“Should we follow?”
Festus scratched his head as if in deep thought. Nigel wondered if it was a painful act.
“I don’t rightly know which way yet. From the footsteps it looks like they came back here and took off that way.” Festus pointed a large round finger in the direction of the horse’s prints.
“Perhaps we should follow the horse trail. But didn’t you say there were three sets of footprints? Who do you think the third person is? Do you think we could be following the wrong people or perh
aps they picked up someone to help them along the way?”
Lorcan deferred to Festus. “Nay, we are following them. This is their horses.”
“How do you know?”
“The horse droppings smell the same.”
Nigel grimaced with disgust. “I will take your word for it. But, what of the third person?”
“Don’t know. I think we should follow the horse trail and see. It won’t matter if there is a second or third person, we have enough to take ‘em.”
“I agree. Mount up boys, we are moving out.”
****
The docks were loaded with people and cargo. Grant and Sorcha found the captain and their vessel, and boarded. She waited alone as Grant stowed the gear in their quarters.
The horses were sold, and the funds used to pay for their passage. He promised when they reached Scotland they would take time to shop and buy supplies before traveling on. He was confident Nigel wouldn’t pursue them across the water, but she wasn’t as sure.
Something urged Nigel on in his pursuit. He originally wanted her for her babe, but surely that motivation had changed. Otherwise why would he have released her? Whatever it was would keep him coming until it was removed, or his prey was caught.
A voice called, “All aboard.”
A few moments later the boat slipped away from the shore of her homeland. At the railing, she stared back at the land. She was leaving the only home she had ever known, never to return. In the last month, she had endured many firsts, and this would just be one more.
God had seen her through much, and this would surely be no different. Even with all the trials she had faced in Ireland she was still saddened at leaving. But she had no time to dwell on her sadness. Other more pressing concerns weighed on her mind. As the boat pulled away from the shore, she was getting closer and closer to revealing her secret to Grant.
The more Sorcha thought about the task, the more worried she became. She grasped the railing tightly as sweat beaded along her forehead. Her palms felt clammy, and she had trouble catching her breath. Before she could stop herself, her legs crumpled from under her, and she fell to the cold hard deck.
When she awoke, she was lying on a small wooden berth, a cool cloth pressed to her head. She tried to rise but was promptly pushed back down.
“Sorcha, ye need to lie still.”
“Grant, what happened?”
“I was hoping ye could tell me. I returned from our quarters, and there was a crowd gathered on deck. As I squeezed in closer I discovered ye were lying in a heap, and they were trying to wake ye.”
“Oh, I must have swooned,” she hid her face, hoping he wouldn’t ask why.
He picked up her hand and caressed it lightly, looking into her face with concern. “Will ye miss Ireland verra much?”
She swallowed her fear. “Nay, it wasn’t that.”
“Then what could have caused yer reaction? The heat? The babe?”
She shook her head. “Nay. At least I don’t think so.”
Grant’s gaze pierced her own. He was going to ask her, she could feel it. She wasn’t going to be able to lie this time.
“Verra well then. Just rest a bit, and I will go retrieve ye some dinner. May seem like swill, but it will be a site better than what we have been eatin’.”
Sorcha’s smile of relief couldn’t have been more genuine. She had to tell him, but maybe she could wait just a while longer. Already she was totally and utterly in love with him and her feelings were growing stronger with each passing day.
Sitting in the berth she bumped her head on the shelf above. “Ow!”
Grant who had turned his back to her briefly, turned to face her. “What happened?”
“I hit my head.”
Back on the bed he sat and gently touched the area. He slanted, lowering himself toward her, and gave the forming knot a small peck of a kiss. “There that should make it feel better.”
She stared at him. The revelation that she loved him buzzing around her head had been enough to shock her, but his gentle treatment was sending her over the edge. She had no idea how he felt about her. Mostly likely he thought her a harlot, since she had given him no cause to believe otherwise.
Surely all his gentleness and playfulness toward her had been out of respect for his late brother. And the kisses, well she couldn’t quite reconcile those just now. Perhaps he liked to kiss women, and she was the only one available. He hadn’t kissed her in a while. Maybe he had found another to give his affections to? Sorcha hoped that was not the case.
Assured she was fine, Grant left the room to retrieve their food. Curled up in a little ball upon the thin mattress, Sorcha wept. Too many things were going wrong. Recognition of her love for him only made things worse. If he decided not to throw her overboard when he found out about the babe’s true father, would he allow her to go along to Cameron lands? If so, what happened when they arrived and he married another? Would she be able to sit idly by and watch as he held another woman in his arms?
Chapter Thirty-Three
The voyage was fairly uneventful. Other than Sorcha’s mishap in the beginning, it had been smooth sailing. The waters lay calm, and the sky remained clear. They landed just as he requested, at a small port city just south of Ayr, Scotland. It was hard to believe he’d left from the bustling town only a month before.
Two missives had been sent by another boat headed for Ayr. One note was to be hand delivered to the Cameron laird. It contained information on his impending arrival. The other was to be taken to the farmer who held his horse.
Grant worried about returning for the animal. Doing so could present the perfect opportunity for their capture. Instead of going himself he informed the farmer a group of Cameron lads would be by to retrieve it.
On the ride across the water, Sorcha was amazingly reserved, shying away from him. Even though they shared the small quarters, with him on the top berth and her on the bottom, she avoided him. Was there something amiss? These misgivings gave him pause about taking her home too quick.
When they docked and departed the boat, Grant thanked the captain. He grabbed their meager belongings in one hand and pulled Sorcha along with the other. She followed meekly, dragging her feet.
The port city wasn’t much. A few ill constructed buildings ran the length of one street.
Passengers leaving the vessel looked as lost as he. A wooden sign hanging by a pair of thin ropes creaked as a gentle breeze pushed it back and forth. The words engrained in the wood read, The Inn. Still holding Sorcha’s hand, he led her to the building. Light filtered through the dusty panes, landing on dirty smeared rushes. The surroundings were ignored as he requested a room. Directed upstairs by the man behind the counter, Grant ushered Sorcha along.
First door on the right at the top of the stairs, were the words of the proprietor. Reaching the landing, he spotted the door. The handle rattled loosely in his hands as he pushed it open. Still pulling Sorcha’s resistant body along, he drew her to the bed and sat her down. Their belongings thumped against the floor. Sure the door was closed, Grant faced her.
She sat demurely on the edge of the bed with her hands folded upon her lap. Her spine was ramrod straight. Evidence of the babe was pronounced, as her abdomen protruded more and more with each passing day.
He wanted to rush to her side, hold her in his arms, and speak of his love for her. The whole trip across the water from Ireland to Scotland he had deliberated on how he would reveal his feelings. Sometimes she was such a spitfire, while other times she behaved like a wounded flower, making it hard to know when and how to communicate with her.
Looking at her, Grant yearned to tell her that her past didn’t matter. If she would forgive his past indiscretions, he could surely forgive hers. He would explain how he would gladly accept Samuel’s child and raise it as his own. These must be the words she longed to hear, right?
Desperate to approach her, he refrained because he was afraid. Aye, Grant Cameron the mighty warrior, future lair
d of the Cameron’s, was afraid to tell a wee lass what he felt. She could crush him with one blow. All she would need to say was that she could never love him.
“I must go and see if our help has arrived,” he said, instead of sharing his feelings.
Not waiting for a reply, he left. Grant stalked to the stables, every step he took lanced with anger and frustration. Why couldn’t he just tell the girl how he felt? Surely he could take it if she said nay. Of course he could change her mind. There wasn’t a woman alive that had said nay to him and not changed their mind.
But Sorcha was different. He didn’t just want her body, he wanted all of her. He wanted a lifetime of loving her.
The thoughts jumbled in his head as he headed toward the stables. A familiar voice reached his hearing.
“Aye, this is the place. We just have to find where they are held up,” said Bryce Cameron.
Grant walked through the door, and the tips of ten blades pointed at his throat. “Hold on lads, it is me.”
Bryce grasped him in a fierce hug. “Grant, it is good to see ye again. I have such an adventure to share with ye. Besides the fact, I have been looking for ye every day for I don’t know how long. And I seem to remember ye telling me ye was on yer way home with all haste, and yet ye hadn’t made it. Yer family is at their wits’ end.”
Grant drew in a ragged breath, and relaxed as the swords were pulled away. “I was headed home when a letter arrived from Samuel. I had to go see to him.”
“How is he?”
“We shall discuss that later. Right now we have more pressing matters.” Grant explained to them how he had run into a spot of trouble in Ireland. He told them how he had rescued a pregnant lass, and although he had been assured of safe passage, the magistrate betrayed him and started pursuit as soon as they were out of eye shot. Next he told them where he was staying and what he expected of them.
Labor of Love Page 14