Sarah obeyed and plopped down on the top step, hugging her knees. “He’s coming home to me and soon.”
“So tell me when, what does he say?” Meg sat next to her.
“He says he built me a house. A house of me own. It’s not as big as Edenmore Manor, but he writes about all the rooms and says I may decorate however I choose. It is definitely not a cottage, but a proper house. Da has to say ‘aye’ to this.”
“Da has to say aye to what?”
Sarah’s father rounded the landing.
“And why do I find me wife and daughter sitting on the staircase when we have lovely chairs both above and below?”
Sarah waved her letter under his nose. “Joseph is coming home. He has built me a proper house. He’s coming home to me.”
“I haven’t said ‘aye’, yet, daughter.”
“But ye will.”
Da leaned his foot on a step. “And how do ye know I will?”
“Because ye are a man of yer word, and I am yer only daughter, and ye love me too much to deny me this.”
“That sounds a bit saucy, lass.”
Sarah entwined herself about his neck. “But it’s true and well ye know it. Joseph is a good man, Da. He has done what ye asked of him. I know he is a good man. I’ve learned to recognize good men because of me father’s example.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “All right. I will speak with the young man when he comes home. And, provided he has done what ye say, I will give me blessing.”
“He has, Da, I know he has.” Sarah hugged him again.
“He well better have, for I won’t give me blessing otherwise.”
One look in her father’s eyes told Sarah he spoke the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sarah, I think I see Joseph coming up the road.” Lucy beckoned from the nursery doorway. “Come look.”
Jumping to her feet, Sarah swiped Wee Joseph into her arms, and followed Lucy to her bedroom.
“Look there.” Lucy pulled a drapery aside and pointed. “Doesn’t that look like Joseph riding?”
Sarah didn’t wait to answer. Setting the toddler on the floor with his aunt, she tore down the stairs and out the door. Running across the wide drive and out to the road, she knew who rode that dark horse in the distance. She’d seen him ride enough times to recognize the gait.
The rider could now see her and began to gallop. She ran with all her might, faster than when she raced the Crockett boys. Arms pumping, knees rising, feet pounding, keeping her skirts out of the way. Her hair flew out behind her, the wind cooling her face as she ran.
The horseman pulled to a stop, not but a stone’s throw ahead and jumped to the ground, running toward her.
“Sarah.”
And then she was wrapped in his embrace.
He held her as she buried her face in his shoulder, the rough feel of his beard tickling her cheek.
“Joseph, don’t let go, never let go.”
He laughed, squeezing her before loosing his hold. “I want to look at you, and I must let go for that.”
She brushed the hair from her face, gazing into his eyes. “I look the same—”
But then his lips met hers. His kiss warmed all the way to her toes. Her whole being woke from a deep sleep.
“Sarah, I’ve come home for you, if you still want me.” His clear blue eyes demanded reassurance.
She stroked his stubbly cheek. “Aye, I want ye, Joseph. Now and always.”
His hands cupped the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. Leaning in, he kissed her deeply.
She pulled him to her, holding him ever closer.
And she knew. Joseph had come home. Everything else melted away like the winter’s frost. He stole her breath. Thinking came at a price. She would have to release him. She licked her lips, still savoring the taste of his kiss as she pulled back. “We need to, um, we need to let the others know yer home.”
Slowly, Joseph nodded his head. He mounted his horse and reached for her. Without a pause, she put her hand in his, and a foot in the stirrup, letting him lift her into his arms. Sarah leaned against him and sighed.
She’d come home too.
* * *
“Aye, it seems yer back again, Joseph.”
“Yes, sir, I am.” And I’m here to claim your daughter. No, Joseph couldn’t jump to it like that. This man, sitting behind yet another desk, controlled him like a marionette. Every move Joseph had made over the past eight months had been determined by this man.
Keep your mind on Sarah. It will not always be this way.
Joseph massaged his knuckles and sat straighter.
“The Reverend Fontaine is teaching me his new enterprise. I helped negotiate with the London affiliates. And, while setting things up in Bantry Bay, I built a home. Not as big as Edenmore Manor, nor your home here at Ballylawn but far more than a cottage with room to build on as needed. I have papers here from the reverend attesting to all this.” Joseph reached into his pocket, withdrawing a sealed letter addressed to Laird Thomas Stewart of Ballylawn. He held it out to Sarah’s father.
The Laird made no attempt to take the letter. “I believe ye, lad.”
Joseph set the letter on the desk and wiped his hands along his pant legs. “Sir, I believe I have kept my part of our bargain. I would ask for Sarah’s hand in marriage.” He watched Stewart’s face for some sign of an answer.
Instead, Thomas rested his elbows on his desk, his chin on his fists. “I knew ye would come back, lad. I could see it in yer eyes. Ye may not believe it, but I love my daughter. I want what is best for her. She is my only child and the delight of my heart. I would not hesitate to walk through the fires of perdition to keep her from harm. I want no less of the man she marries. Ye love her deeply, I know, but would ye lay down yer life for her? Could ye walk away if it meant her protection? Do ye love her that much?”
Joseph took the time to find the answer within himself. Standing tall, he faced the older man. “Yes, sir. I believe I love her that much.” Then he leaned forward on the desk. “But I am not putting her in danger. I have provided her a safe home. Unless you know something I don’t, there is no reason to walk away for her protection.”
Stewart leaned back in his chair, his fingertips tapping together. “Ye are a brave lad, strong and clever. I respect your parents. I know they reared ye in a godly home. Me daughter loves ye. I canna think of a reason to withhold me blessing.” Thomas stood and held out his hand. “Aye, ye may marry me Sarah.
Joseph straightened. He heard the word, saw the outstretched hand. The sun came from behind a cloud bringing streams of light into the study. Bubbling up from his core, a laugh erupted, and he clasped the laird’s hand with both of his.
“Thank you, I, ah…thank you.” Tears started down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his sleeve only to look up and see Thomas Stewart, Laird of Ballylawn, with glistening eyes.
“Promise me ye will always care for her, Joseph. Promise this old man ye will care for his daughter.”
“I promise.”
Not just you, sir, but God above. I promise I will take care of Sarah.
With or without Your help.
* * *
“Mistress Sarah, why are ye up here in yer room?” Bridget picked up a strewn dress that was sliding to the floor from the bed.
“I’d be too tempted to eavesdrop if I were downstairs.” Sarah began to pick up after herself so as not to leave Bridget with all the mess. She wanted to wear the perfect dress for Joseph, but nothing seemed right. Everything she tried on seemed old and drab. Everything but her wedding dress and veil.
Her fingers ran along the delicate lace, itching to put it on her head.
“Och, no ye don’t. I won’t be the reason for ye having bad luck all because I let ye try on yer veil.”
“That is just superstition, Bridget, just an auld wives’ tale.” How she longed to try it on, just for a moment.
“And how do ye think they get to be auld wive
s? Aye, they pay attention to the lessons of their elders.”
Perhaps, with Joseph downstairs speaking with her father, she shouldn’t tempt the fates. How long did it take for men to strike a bargain?
But then, she hoped she meant more than just some commerce.
“Bridget, I grow weary of waiting. If I don’t soon receive news, I think I will run downstairs and demand to settle this meself.”
“No, Mistress, ye know that’s not the way of things. Would ye care to sit? I’ll rub yer shoulders for ye. Or I can brush yer hair?”
“No.” Sarah tapped her chin. “Well, perhaps ye can brush me hair. I want it to look the best for Joseph.” She sat on the stool and Bridget picked up the brush. The long strokes soothed, and Sarah’s body began to calm. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander.
“Bridget, have ye ever been in love?”
The young maid giggled. “No, Mistress, though, don’t tell me mum, but I do fancy a certain lad. He’s a good and honest one and maybe one day, perhaps. But I’ve enough to think about here. If ye marry Master Joseph, ye’ll be moving to Bantry Bay. If yer wanting help, perhaps yer father will send me with ye. And if that be the case, tis best I keep me heart to meself.”
Sarah laughed. “Bridget, yer wise beyond yer years.”
“Aye” The voice sounded serious. Sarah had to look up. The twinkle in Bridget’s eyes told the truth, and both girls fell into giggles.
“Sarah?” Her mother tapped at the bedroom door before entering the room.
At once she was back to the present. She searched her mother’s face for some sign. “Is there a decision?” Fear gave birth in her belly.
“Come and see.” Her mother pulled her from the chair. Looped arm in arm, she patted Sarah’s hand and led her to the stairs.
The steps had somehow multiplied; the first floor seemed miles away. Finally, at the foot, she spotted Joseph and her father coming out of the study.
Joseph came to her, dropping to one knee. He took her hand in his. “Sarah, I love you with all my heart. I promise before God and your parents, I will cherish you as long as I live. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
It seemed impossible to laugh and cry at the same time, but Sarah could not stop doing either. Shaking all over, she put her hands to her mouth, furiously nodding, unable to speak. Finally, she pushed a squeak past her lips. “Oh, aye.”
Joseph laughed, but she could see moisture in his eyes. Standing, he took out a Luckenbooth brooch and timidly reached to pin it to her kirtle. Sarah could feel his hands shake while he struggled to latch it. The beautiful silver brooch of entwined hearts hosted her birthstone in the middle.
“Ahem.”
Joseph stepped aside, and Sarah spotted her father.
Running to his arms, she hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank ye, Da. Thank ye.” She kissed him again.
Her father hugged her back and then pulled her to his side, his arm sheltering her. “I have two small requests.”
Fear reared again, but she pushed it aside. Joseph was hers. They would be married. She could grant her father any request.
“I would like for ye to be married at Rath Mullin, where yer mother and I were married.”
Sarah peered at Joseph. He nodded, so she turned back to her father.
“My other request is to ye, Joseph. I have no son to carry on me name. The name of Stewart in my line dies with me. Would ye do me the honor of wearing me Feileadh Mor at the wedding?”
Sarah studied her father’s face, then Joseph’s, and back again. Suddenly, her heart hurt for her da. A part of her wished she could be a boy to carry on his legacy. Yet she was a woman, a woman deeply in love with a man she hoped would say “aye.”
She turned back to Joseph.
He stared at her. Nodding he gave his answer. “Aye, I will wear your belted kilt.”
Sarah flew to Joseph’s arms. This man, so caring and willing to put others before him would now be her husband.
And she would be a Crockett.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The wind whipped across the barge and through Sarah’s hair, tiny fingers tugging and pulling strands free of the braid Bridget so carefully plaited this morning.
This morning. The morning of her wedding. She awoke to birds singing and knew instantly this day bode well. Sarah held out her arms, her fists keeping tight to her plaid, as if the wind might transport her faster across Lough Swilly.
Across to Rath Mullin.
Across to Joseph and her new life with him.
Her father came near. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and she drew her arms in about her.
“Virescit vulnere virtus. Courage grows strong at the wound. Ye are a true Stewart, lass. I know ye have been wounded more than once in yer love for the lad. But ye have stood strong. Yer courage has grown and will see ye through when things are not as ye dream.”
Sarah turned to study her father’s face.
“Ye think I didn’t know how ye pined for the lad all these years? Aye, but I knew ye’d n’er be happy to live a quiet life in a cottage. Ye have an adventurous heart, lass, but it can be broken. And when it is, remember ye are still a Stewart. Virescit vulnere virtus. Let yer courage help ye to forgive, to relentlessly hang onto yer God, and to keep yer heart true.”
“I will, Da.” She smoothed her hand across his cheek before standing on tiptoe and planting a kiss.
“And that’s all I’ll say on the matter. Just ye remember, lass.” He hugged her, and then left her to her thoughts.
Her father deserved a son, she should have been a son to carry on his name. Had she disappointed him? She shook her head. No, she didn’t think she’d been a disappointment.
The shoreline flowed past with her thoughts. The man deserved a namesake. She would speak to Joseph. If he agreed, and heaven too, she would give her father that namesake. Thomas Stewart Crockett. The best of both families.
She laughed at herself. Here she was on her way to her wedding, already planning her family with Joseph.
Joseph.
She hugged herself then flung her arms and twirled. “Oh wind. Carry me to Rath Mullin. Carry me to the arms of my love.”
* * *
“James, how do I wrap this thing?” The cloistered room at Rath Mullin only added to his nerves.
James laughed at the sight. The first good laugh Joseph had heard from him in nearly a year.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to wrap this contraption about me. Sarah made my liene and her father wants me to wear this. I had no idea what I agreed to.”
James shook his head and took the long plaid from him. “Sarah did nice work on the embroidery, but do you think she got a little zealous with the fabric?”
Joseph played with the length of linen material flowing about his feet. The wedding shirt, decorated with an intricate design of hearts, hands and crowns, had room for a man twice his height. Though enormous, the detail of the purple embroidery down the sleeves and around the neck impressed him. He’d never thought of Sarah being so nimble with a needle.
“What do I do?”
James studied the cloths. “I think if you blouse it to where you want it, I’ll dress you in the plaid. We can tuck a little more after. Maybe once the plaid’s end is over your shoulder and pinned, the liene won’t look so…”
“Vast?”
“That’s the word.”
The men chuckled, and Joseph bloused the shirt up to a normal length.
“How tall does she think you are anyway?” James waggled his eyebrows. “I believe she spent too much time dreaming while you were away.”
“Just get it around me.”
James eyed the back of Joseph’s legs.
“What are you doing?”
“Just getting an idea for the length. You have nice legs.”
Joseph swatted at him. “Get on with it.”
Nimbly, James folded a section
over and then gathered the pleats, one after the other, with his right hand while holding the finished ones secure with his left. He shook the material, smoothed the creases and brought it to Joseph’s back waist, short half in.
“Where’s your belt?”
“On the bed.”
“You’ll have to get it. I can’t let go.”
“But what about the shirt?”
“We can fix that in a minute. Just put the belt on.”
Joseph let go of the liene and grabbed his belt, threading it between the folds of tartan with James help. After buckling it, he again bloused up the long shirt. The he watched, amazed, as his brother adjusted the aprons on each side and brought the ends securely in front. “How did you learn to do this?”
“When I attended school in Glasgow, I met a Highlander who taught me a thing or two.” James stood in front and picked up the corners from the long ends now hanging to the floor in front. Twisting the tips several times, he tucked them back into Joseph’s belt and brought the center of the fabric from the back over Joseph’s shoulder. Holding it in place, he felt around the table and bed.
“What are you looking for?”
“The brooch.”
Joseph clenched his jaw, sucking a breath in through his teeth. “I don’t have one. Now what do I do?”
“Hold this and don’t move. I’ll be back.”
His brother exited behind him, and Joseph stood perfectly still, afraid to shift position. James had left him in front of the mirror. The stranger looking back appeared as lost as he felt. The only truth he knew in all this was his love for Sarah. But did she really want him or the man her father wanted him to be? The temptation to rip the plaid off and wear a comfortable pair of trews, which would have given the same tartan effect and been less complicated, grew with each frustrating moment.
Finally, the door opened.
“I have an idea, or rather Father has one.”
In the mirror Joseph could see his father had joined James.
“Son, I have the brooch for you, if you will wear it?” His father opened his hand to reveal a pin shaped into an open four-petal lily forming a cross. A Huguenot cross. Fleur-de-lis in each corner touched the petals, forming hearts. He’d heard many times how this symbolized loyalty and how his parents’ friend, Matthew Maury, had given it to his father when he accepted Jesus as his Savior.
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 49