Labor of Love

by Felicia Rogers

  He stood between the Sinclair’s keep and Nigel Duffy, between a rock and a hard place. A good look at his adversaries, and he raised his eyebrows in curiosity. Only eight men sat in front of him: Nigel, Lorcan, Festus and five unnamed soldiers. Bryce had been hard on the Sinclair lad that offered to stay behind and help them in town but it seems his efforts had been worth it. Nigel’s fighting force had been reduced to a third.

  Duncan seemed just as surprised. “Is this it?”

  “Aye, it would appear so. I believe yer cousin must have done his job well.”

  “I’m insulted.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t know of yer minimum requirements for a battle.”

  Duncan yelled out arbitrarily to anyone willing to listen. “Where is my blindfold? I need my blindfold and perhaps a rope to tie one of my hands behind my back.”

  Nigel shifted in his saddle, appearing ill at ease. Lorcan turned his head and gazed everywhere but at the men in front of him as if he would rather be somewhere else. Festus appeared confused.

  Grant said, “As ye can see, yer men are outnumbered. Perhaps ye should turn around and head home.”

  Nigel answered, “I only see two of you. How do you suppose we are outnumbered?”

  Grant picked at his teeth, expressing his boredom. With an outstretched hand he pointed at Duncan. “Do ye know who this is?”

  “I am afraid I have not yet had the pleasure,” replied Nigel.

  “Well, let me pleasure ye then. This is Duncan Sinclair. He has been known to take on ten men at one time and walk away without a scratch upon his person. Since ye only have eight in yer party and he can fight all of ye by himself, that leaves none for me, and therefore ye are clearly outnumbered. It is simple mathematics.”

  Festus laughed. “That is ridiculous! I could take him out with one arrow from where I sit.”

  An unexpected voice yelled, “I wouldn’t, if I were ye.”

  Festus glanced above him at the top of the walls. They were lined with Scotsmen all with arrows notched and pointed at the little party of eight. His eyes went around the top row and settled on a familiar figure. “Sorcha?”

  Grant followed Festus’ gaze. Sure enough Sorcha was on the top of the wall with an arrow set and ready, pointed directly at Festus’ cold heart. He would have words with her later about placing herself in danger, but for now he was glad she was on his side.

  Sorcha yelled, “Ye should turn yer horses around and head back to Ireland while ye still can.”

  Silence settled in the air at her suggestion. The wail of a newborn babe echoed over the walls. Festus scrunched up his nose, squinted his eyes. “Is that my babe?” he asked.

  Nigel interrupted, “Of course not. Remember that is my child.” Nigel smiled. Festus frowned.

  “I don’t understand. Did ye know Sorcha?”

  The magistrate slapped his head, and whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “No, you fool. Remember we agreed I would help you with your little problem if you would allow me to raise the child.”

  “What problem?” questioned Festus.

  Nigel’s frustration showed. Fingers tightened on the reins until they were white. Sweat beaded on his brow. He seemed to have no patience for Festus and his questions. “May we discuss this later?”

  “Nay, I think ye need to tell me what problem ye are talking about? I don’t have a problem that I know of.”

  Grant could tell it was going to be a long day. He stood there and tried to hold in his mirth as he listened to Nigel explain to Festus how much trouble he had been in for touching Sorcha and how he had been willing to help in her demise in exchange for the child. Festus in return tried to say he hadn’t done anything to Sorcha that she hadn’t asked for.

  Grant barely restrained his anger. He wanted to strike Festus. He knew he could take all eight of the men, especially with Duncan’s help, but he preferred to do so alone. If he killed an emissary of the Queen, his life and his family’s life would forever be in danger. Besides Samuel’s death had been enough. Duncan’s blood on his hands would be too much.

  As much as Grant longed to avenge his brother, he hadn’t had time to study his newfound faith. He didn’t know if he should or shouldn’t feel that way. He was betting it was the latter.

  Fortunate for all involved, Nigel gave up trying to explain to Festus why they were there. He said, “Now Sir Cameron, if ye will but hand over the child we will be on our way.”

  “No one is touching my child.”

  “Yer child? Did ye sleep with her as well? I didn’t realize she was asking for it from everybody.”

  How dare the refuse speak of Sorcha in that way? Grant jumped forward. He would crush him where he stood. Duncan restrained him.

  Nigel addressed Festus with exasperation. “No, you idiot. She was pregnant before she even met him, don’t you remember? He is just claiming the child as his own.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  A smile of awareness settled upon Nigel’s visage. “Because he loves her.”

  “He what? She doesn’t even have a heifer to offer. Ye didn’t give her a heifer to offer, did ye, Pa? Because if ye did, that heifer should belong to me.”

  Lorcan shook his head and explained to his son Sorcha had no dowry to offer any man. That seemed to please Festus. Grant was in awe that a man that stupid could have survived in the world for so long.

  Grant answered Nigel’s statement. “Aye, I do love her. What of it?”

  “Do ye know who I am?” Nigel asked.

  Grant assumed Nigel was in the employment of the queen, due to his station, attire, and speech. Besides the fact that with every opportunity presented the man announced his relationship to the royal. Was the man trying to confuse them or was he going to reveal something they didn’t know. Let the troll explain who he was. Magistrate by day and traitor by night would have been Grant’s description.

  When Grant said nothing, Nigel straightened his jacket, lifted his chin in the air, and spoke loudly. “Well, let me inform you and your new found friends. I am a royal emissary of her Majesty Queen Mary. I have been appointed to prosecute heresy in Ireland. Your friend up there has been condemned to death by her beliefs.”

  Grant interrupted, “Ye say that, yet ye gave her to me because ye killed my brother, or did ye forget that?”

  “Nay, I did not forget. But you must understand I gave you Sorcha, not the child.”

  Grant raised his brow. “Is that so? I believe I specifically remember being offered the babe as a replacement for my dead brother. Ye remember tellin’ me it was his child she carried, don’t ye?”

  The horse underneath Nigel walked in a skittish circle. Nigel cleared his throat. “Well, I do apologize. It only came to my attention later that the child indeed did not belong to your brother. It seems the mere wisp of a girl does get around.”

  There was a swift intake of breath from above. Grant hoped Sorcha didn’t slip the arrow lose too soon.

  Nigel continued. “But you were still mistaken. I meant for you to remain close by until the babe could be born, then you could take Sorcha and do as you wished.”

  “What do ye need with a child?” Grant thought he knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth, or from the rear, which suited Nigel more.

  “Not that it is any of your business. But if you must know my wife would like the child.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Do you truly see? Do you understand I have the authority to take the child? I also have the authority to take Sorcha back to Ireland or any other town and burn her for her crimes against the crown.”

  Grant glanced at Sorcha. She was visibly shaken. He wished he could reassure her Eva was safe. He would never let anything happen to either of them. Grant looked back to Nigel who still sat astride his horse. “By whose authority do ye think to do these things?”

  “As I said, by the Queen’s.”

  “We do not recognize her authority here.”

  “Pardon
me? Is she not your Queen as well?”

  “Forgive me, but I will not discuss politics with ye. What I will discuss is ye leaving and getting off of Sinclair lands.”

  “I would be glad to leave as soon as ye hand over the child.”

  “It appears we are at a standstill. For I will not allow ye to leave with any part of my family.”

  “Since you insist, we shall take the child by force. Men advance.”

  Five uniformed soldiers dismounted from their horses with swords drawn and took one step forward. When they looked up at the men lining the keep walls with arrows notched and pointed toward them, the pitiful step they had taken forward quickly became two steps back. Nigel was aggravated and raised his voice in anger. “What are you doing?”

  “Well sir, we don’t wish to get killed so your wife can raise an illegitimate Irish child.”

  The man who spoke was physically close to Nigel. Rapier ripped from his scabbard, Nigel plunged the tip into the young man’s chest. The remainder of the soldiers stared in fear. A high heeled, pointed toed boot was placed against the dead man’s chest, as he pulled his weapon free. Taking a clean cloth from his jacket, he swiped the blade free of blood. “Now who wishes to stay and fight to rescue my child, and who wishes to run like a scared chicken.”

  No one moved. “Now that is better. Let us try this again.” Nigel indicated the men should continue with their advance.

  Lorcan looked at him. “Nigel, this is madness. We are vastly outnumbered and outmatched, not to mention they have the high ground. How can ye possibly hope to become the victor?”

  “Because they shall bow to my authority before violence is necessary.”

  Lorcan snorted. “They aren’t goin’ to bow to yer authority! Don’t ye remember that ye were stuck in Ireland as a punishment? Nobody even cares what happens to ye. I doubt the crown even knows where ye are! And don’t worry about yer little wifey, if ye disappear she will merely find another man and marry again, perhaps one that will fill her belly with her own babe.”

  Grant and Duncan placed their swords down, tips to the ground. Duncan was struggling to remain awake. Yawning, he said, “Grant, do ye think they are ever goin’ to get started. My victuals are getting cold.”

  Nigel was ready to end the confrontation as well. “Men move forward and retrieve my child by the order of the queen!” he yelled, ignoring Lorcan’s warnings.

  The four remaining soldiers moved together in unison with swords drawn and held in front of them. Grant stood to the side. “Go ahead, Duncan. I know ye haven’t had the pleasure in a while.”

  Duncan didn’t speak as he took down the men one at a time. He didn’t wish to kill them if there was another way, which Grant found vastly different from the man he had left behind several months before. The first man, Duncan punched in the face with his fist. He crumpled to the ground, holding his bleeding nose. The second, he elbowed in the gut. The soldier doubled over and fell to the ground, writhing in agony. The third, he jerked his hair and pulled him down, kneeing him in the head, again sending another one to the ground in pain. The fourth, turned a sickly green color, vomited, turned, and ran before coming close enough to be touched.

  If Grant hadn’t known better he would have thought the moves were planned. The men on the ground were clearly in not as much pain as they were leading Nigel to believe. Fortunate for them, he left them to their wallowing and focused on another.

  Nigel swore with dissatisfaction. “Festus, retrieve the child.”

  “Nay, I don’t think so. I have a girl and a heifer at home and yer happiness isn’t worth my own.” Festus turned and rode away.

  Grant was glad to see him go. Festus reached the veil of the trees, in a dream-like motion he spun around. In his hand was a readied arrow.

  Grant regretted not bringing his bow to the fight. He saw his life as it could have been flash before his eyes. He would have finally made it back to his home on Cameron lands. His family would have welcomed him, but he would not be alone. He would have a family of his own. That was what his home had been missing all along. Not his family of the past but his family of the future. But it was too late. Festus was preparing to take his life. No one could stop him from such a great distance.

  Just as the thought left his mind, an arrow sailed overhead and landed squarely in Festus’ rounded chest. He fell from the horse, hitting the ground hard. The sound could be heard from Grant’s current location.

  Lorcan screamed, “Nay!” He rode toward his son, then stopped short. He headed back toward Nigel with his sword drawn. “This is all yer fault!”

  “Lorcan, put that sword down before you hurt some — ” The last word was choked out as Nigel’s lungs filled with blood. He glanced at the blade protruding from his chest. His eyes widened as he looked at Lorcan.

  Grant was having trouble focusing on all that was transpiring without him even lifting a finger. The three soldiers, hurt, but not fatally, rose from the ground. They retrieved their horses and rode away, leaving their weapons behind. Festus was killed by an arrow from above. Grant searched for the man that held an arrowless bow.

  Shock filled him to discover Sorcha was the only one who no longer clutched an arrow in her bow. Body leaning against the wall, her head tilted to the side and lying against the cool rock, she appeared distressed. Grant wished to run to her side.

  Before he could take a step, Arbella was there comforting her. Grant’s gaze moved back to Lorcan, the only remaining threat.

  “Now what?” Grant asked Lorcan as he continued to stare at the red ground his horse tread upon.

  “Well, obviously I don’t care about the child. Ye can have it and Sorcha.”

  “Then what do ye want?”

  “To leave in peace. I believe I might have a heifer waiting on me at home.”

  Grant nodded his head in agreement. Lorcan walked over and kicked the dead Nigel, spitting on him for good measure. As he mounted and rode away, Grant and Duncan reentered the keep gates.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The bodies were disposed of. The next couple of days, Grant, Sorcha, and Eva settled into the Sinclair’s household and rested. A month passed, and a celebration was ordered.

  Arbella gave Sorcha a gown of green emerald to wear, saying it matched her eyes. Gold braiding edged the dress, highlighting the gold flecks that ran through her auburn hair.

  While she studied the gown, Eva slept quietly on the bed. On more than one occasion, Arbella offered the services of her friend, Tamara to watch Eva, allowing Sorcha to spend an evening alone with Grant.

  But she hadn’t seen him in days. He had been busy helping Duncan, with who knows what. Every time she inquired about spending time together, he insisted she needed her rest. Arbella kept her in her room, serving her food, ordering baths, and ensuring she rested and did nothing else.

  Nerves threatened to make her sick. She kept checking her appearance in the looking glass. Today she was taking Arbella up on her offer. Everything needed to be perfect. This was the first time Grant would see her at her best. The first time he would see her without a babe in her belly, the first time he would see her, truly clean.

  Tamara showed up early and offered to arrange her hair and Sorcha gratefully accepted. As Tamara twisted and twirled strand after strand, Sorcha reflected on the last couple days.

  She was distraught over taking Festus’ life and insisted on speaking with the minister. The minister listened patiently, never interrupting in her long and sorrowful tale. She told him of how she met Festus in the beginning, what she had done to him in the end, and everything that occurred in between. She explained how she met Samuel, what he meant to her, and what he taught her. She told him how he explained the love of Jesus and how she accepted Him into her life. The minister helped her understand she hadn’t lifted a finger in defense of herself, but rather to protect Grant’s life. The hardest part of what he said had not been in Jesus forgiving her, but in forgiving herself. As soon as she cried out for forgiveness,
she knew He was just and worthy to do so.

  After talking to the minister, she came back to her room for the rest Grant wished her to have. She tried to follow his orders. Her body needed to rest yet her mind protested. At night she was alone with the babe and her nightmares.

  Waking in the dark of night she would scream for mercy and instantly felt cradled in love. But surprisingly, when she woke she was always alone.

  Arbella was her only human contact during these days. Sometimes she came alone, sometimes she brought her twins and her newborn daughter. Glenna Rose and Andrew Fletcher, were a loveable and rambunctious twosome. Their antics kept Sorcha and Arbella on the verge of hysterics most of their visit. When Arbella would come alone, Sorcha would ask her questions. Such as, where is Grant? What is he doing? Has he left without me and gone home? Doesn’t he love me anymore?

  Arbella assured Sorcha Grant’s feelings had not diminished in the slightest. He kept his distance because he loved her and she needed to rest and recover her strength. Sorcha personally felt her strength would return more quickly with Grant by her side, but since he remained elusive, she was unable to tell him her feelings.

  Tamara enacted a final tug. “What do ye think?”

  Sorcha was transfixed by the vision she witnessed in front of her. Green ribbons and pearls were weaved through her up swept hair. Tiny ringlets of auburn silkiness framed her face. “Is that me?”

  “Aye it is. Ye are stunning.”

  “Thank ye,” was all Sorcha could push past her restricted throat.

  ****

  “What will she think? Will she like it?” asked Grant.

  Arbella chortled. “Of course, she will. You have done a wonderful job.”

  “Are ye laughin’ at my fears, lass?”

  Arbella laughed all the louder. “Aye, I believe I am.”

  Grant grabbed her about the waist and proceeded to tickle her.

  Duncan walked out into the yard. He folded his arms crosswise over his chest and waited. Grant didn’t release her, and Duncan asked, “Exactly, what are ye doin’ to me wife?”