Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6)

by Julia Brannan

  “I shouldn’t have told him like that,” she said brokenly. “I should have found a better way than that.”

  “No,” Edwin said. “There’s no good way to tell someone that sort of news. You were braver than I, that’s all. I thought he took it very well, considering.”

  “No,” she said. “No, he didn’t.”

  Edwin opened his mouth to contradict her, then stopped. Halfway across the lawn, about a hundred yards from the house Alex had stopped at an oak tree which was in his path and which had not been chopped down, partly because it was a particularly lovely specimen, and partly because it would provide natural shade in the summer for tea parties and suchlike. He leaned against it for a minute, his forehead resting on the trunk, his hands braced on the rough bark. Then he stood upright, clenched his fist and hit the tree as hard as he could, over and over again. His accompanying roar of pure agony and despair carried across the lawn, bringing more than one servant to a window to see what was happening.

  “Dear God!” Edwin said. As one they both turned and ran out of the room, across the hall and down the steps, intending together to insist that their friend come back, to find a way to console him, although they had no idea how they would achieve that. But before they’d made it more than a few feet across the grass, Alex stepped away from the tree and carried on across the lawn, walking so quickly that they would have had to run at full speed to catch up with him. Edwin would have done just that, had Caroline not gripped the sleeve of his shirt and stopped him.

  “Let him go,” she said. “We can’t help him, not now, at least.”

  “We can’t let him leave like that!” Edwin cried. “God knows what he might do!”

  He pulled away, tearing his shirt sleeve in the process. Caroline ran in front of him and gripped his arm with all her strength, bringing him to a halt.

  “Edwin,” she said, her voice trembling with tears and distress, “we’ve just broken his heart. You were right when you said you were afraid of what he’d do when we told him. He’s beyond reason, we both saw that just now. If we try to bring him back, he might become violent. And if he does, he’ll regret it once he comes to his senses. We can’t do anything for him now. Let him go. He needs to be alone, I think. By the time he gets back to London he’ll have calmed down a little. We’ll go to see him tomorrow when he’s had time to take in the news.”

  “We don’t know where he’s staying,” Edwin pointed out, still anxious to go after his friend before he got too far away.

  “We’ll find him. Sarah will know where he’s staying,” Caroline said. “He’s supposed to be her cousin, after all. She’s sure to know.”

  Edwin stopped pulling away, but was still clearly torn.

  “I want to go after him too,” Caroline said. “But when I stopped him in the hall, he was shaking with the effort of holding himself together. He didn’t want us to see him fall apart and I think, as his friends we have to respect that.”

  Edwin sighed and gave in, because she was right. They stood together and watched their friend stride away across the grass, both of them heedless of the rain that had started to fall or the servants staring with curiosity at the uncharacteristic behaviour of their employers. They watched as he walked up the incline to the top of the slope on which their Grecian temple or gothic building would one day be situated, and then he continued without pausing to admire the beautiful view, and passed out of their sight.

  They stood for a while longer, still staring at the last place they had seen him, as though expecting him to come back and accept the comfort they both longed to give him. They stood until the rain soaked through their clothes and hair, running down their faces, mingling with the tears that both of them had shed.

  Then they turned, and arm in arm slowly made their way back to the house.

  * * *

  The shop was closed, Màiri was settled in her bed for the night and Sarah was sitting with her feet in a basin of hot water sprinkled with dried lavender flowers and rose petals that she’d bought from a street seller on the corner. The relaxing scent of summer filled the room and Sarah sat back in the chair and sighed blissfully. She closed her eyes and was once again walking along a country lane, her hand firmly clasped in a strong warm one, except the strong warm hand of her imagination was Murdo’s, not Anthony/Adam’s, and the eyes looking down at her were clear grey like his daughter’s, rather than slate blue.

  She hadn’t realised that she’d fallen asleep until the knock came on the door, soft, timid even, but even so, unusual enough to bring her instantly to wakefulness. She moved to stand, forgetting that her feet were in the basin, upending it and tipping scented water and soggy petals across the floor.

  “Damn!” she said. “Who is it?” she called, not loudly enough to wake her daughter, but enough for whoever was at the door to hear her. It was the back door that led to the alley, so she reached for the pistol that she kept ready on a high shelf out of Màiri’s reach.

  “I have something for you,” a voice replied after such a long silence that she had started to think the knock had been part of her dream. She put the pistol down and opened the door immediately, expecting Anthony, as she still thought of him, to walk in.

  In the dim evening light she could just make out the shape of him leaning against the wall on the other side of the alley, drenched to the skin from the rain that had fallen steadily for the last few hours. Inexplicably, in view of the weather, rather than wearing his coat he carried it over one arm.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked, instantly alert. When he had called to see her the last time he had come to the front door, as anyone would expect her cousin to do. “Is there something wrong?”

  “I didna want anyone to see me like this,” he said, and the combination of him not having moved away from the wall and speaking in a Scottish accent out of doors, rang alarm bells with her. There was something wrong. Quickly she stepped out into the alley, glancing from left to right to see if there was anyone there. Then she gripped his arm and pulled him out of the alley and into her room, closing and locking the door behind her before turning back to face him.

  He stood in the middle of the room, the rain dripping from his clothes joining the water from the upended basin on the stone floor. In the fire and candlelight she could see that his face was white, his expression dazed, and he was shivering uncontrollably. There was clearly something very, very wrong.

  Her first instinct, as always, was practical. Going into the bedroom she returned a moment later with a blanket, which she laid over the chair.

  “Come on,” she said. “You need to get warm.” Gently she took the folded coat from his arm and hung it on a hook near the fire to dry. It was heavier than she had expected it to be, but she put that down to the fact that it was wet. As he still stood unmoving, his eyes glazed, she then pulled his shirt out of his breeches, intending to help him lift it over his head, as he seemed incapable of doing anything at the moment.

  Then she stopped, assailed by the memory of all the shirts she’d helped men to take off in her past life, having to pretend she couldn’t wait to see what was underneath, while dreading what was to come. She took a deep breath, dismissed the memory, and reached for the bottom of the shirt again. His hands moved over hers arresting her movement, and she looked up at him. His eyes had cleared, and his expression told her that he knew exactly what she’d just been thinking.

  Sir Anthony always had an uncanny ability for reading people’s minds, she thought.

  “I’m sorry, lassie,” he said softly. “I shouldna have come here the night. It’s strange,” he continued, speaking more to himself than to her. “Last time I wanted to be alone, but this time…I couldna bear it. And you’re the closest I have to family here.”

  “Then you should have come,” she said, “whatever it is that’s happened.” His hands were warm on hers and she realised that it was shock, not cold that was causing him to shiver. Whatever it was was very bad. She looked down and gasped. H
is right hand was badly swollen and covered with clotted blood.

  “What have you done to your hand?” she cried.

  He followed her gaze, staring at his mangled hand as though aware for the first time that he was injured.

  “I…I dinna rightly remember,” he said.

  He released her hands and turning, swiftly lifted his shirt over his head, placing it near the fire to dry. She had a glimpse of a broad, heavily muscled back and long, powerful arms, and then he unfolded the blanket and wrapped it round his shoulders. He sat down on the chair opposite to hers. She hesitated for a moment, torn between the wish to tend his injured hand and the need to find out what was wrong. Then she sat down facing him.

  “What is it?” she asked. “It’s Beth, isn’t it? What’s happened to her?” She couldn’t think of anything else that would have brought this strong, capable man to the state he was in right now.

  “She’s dead,” he said, as bluntly as Caroline had done earlier that day. He looked up at Sarah and his eyes filled with tears, which spilled down his cheeks unheeded. “She’s dead,” he repeated in a choked voice. He lifted his hands and covered his face, the blanket falling from his shoulders.

  “Oh, God!” he cried. “I canna bear it.”

  She rose from her chair instinctively and crossed the space between them, kneeling by his side and pulling his head onto her shoulder. He wrapped his arms round her and sobbed, his whole body shaking uncontrollably with grief. Gently she stroked his hair and murmured meaningless sounds of comfort, while the tears poured down her own face, dripping onto his hair. How could someone as full of life as Beth was be dead? It wasn’t possible.

  Of course it was possible. It was just the sort of thing that the jealous, vengeful God her bastard of a father had believed in, had taught her to believe in, would do; take away the life of someone beautiful and caring just when she had everything to live for, even though she hadn’t known it. What had this man done to deserve to suffer such grief, not once, but twice? Nothing.

  There was no God. And if there was, she wanted nothing to do with Him.

  She sat, her mind full of hatred and pity, love and grief, and comforted this man whose name she did not know, until his sobs turned to hiccups and then shuddering breaths as he fought to regain control of himself. Then very gently she released him, stood up, and pulled the blanket back over his shoulders. She gave him her handkerchief, and he leaned back in the chair, wiped his eyes and blew his nose, still breathing heavily. She put some more wood on the fire, which was burning very low, noting with surprise that enough time had passed for the spilled water to have spread across the stone floor and started to dry.

  She picked up the basin, hung the kettle on its hook over the fire to boil some water, and went into the shop to get some salve for Alex’s hand. When she came back he was standing and had his shirt in his hands ready to put back on, although it was still obviously wet. The church clock struck eleven.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said. “I canna imagine what ye must think of me. I shouldna have come here tonight. It’s late. I’ll go, and let ye away to your bed.”

  “Yes, you should have come. And if it was possible to think more of you than I already do, I would. Don’t leave yet. Let your shirt dry properly. I’ll look at your hand. I’m no Anne, but I can at least wash it for you.”

  He looked down at his swollen hand, then straightened his fingers carefully, wincing as he did. “I dinna think there’s any bones broken,” he said indifferently.

  She took the shirt out of his hands and hung it back up to continue drying. Then she bustled about, getting two pewter mugs from the dresser and pouring gin from a jug into them, followed by hot water and a spoonful of honey. She stirred briskly and handed him a cup. The scent of juniper rose from the mug.

  “Sit down,” she said. “I’ll tend your hand, and while I do you can tell me what happened, if you feel able to. And drink that, it’ll comfort you.”

  He sat, and drank, and told her what had happened earlier in the day, while she tenderly washed the blood away from his hand and examined it. The knuckles were badly swollen and skinned, and his whole hand was blackened with bruising, but it seemed he was right; nothing was broken, and in time it would heal.

  “I canna mind what happened after I left,” he said. “I walked across the grass, I remember that, and then I was at the inn where I left the horse. I tellt the landlord some nonsense about the lady no’ being agreeable and that I’d decided to go home after all, then I rode back to London like the devil. I’ve no idea why I pushed the poor horse so, I didna have anything to come back for. Anyway, I sat in my room for a while, and then I thought I was going to go mad so I came here. I did need to come, but it could have waited till the morning. I wanted to—”

  He was interrupted by a noise from the bedroom, then a small voice cried, “Adam!”

  “Oh, Christ,” he said softly. “I’m—”

  “If you say you’re sorry once more, I’m going to hit you,” Sarah said. She disappeared into the adjoining room, returning a minute later with a wild-haired, sleepy-eyed bundle in her arms. On seeing Alex, Màiri beamed and lunged towards him, causing Sarah to nearly drop her. Alex leaned across and grabbed the little girl, settling her on his lap, where she snuggled in against his bare chest. He pulled the blanket back up around them both, so that only her head was visible. She rested it against him, her eyes already closing again.

  “Say goodnight,” Sarah said, “and then you have to go back to bed.”

  “Ah, no, let her bide awhile,” Alex said softly. “She’s nae bother, and I need to say goodbye to her,” he added when Sarah looked doubtful.

  She sat down suddenly.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked.

  “Aye, I’m leaving,” he said. “I’ve no reason to stay now, lassie. And I’m a danger to ye every day I stay. If someone finds out ye’ve no’ got a cousin Adam—”

  “How would anyone find that out?” she asked. “I don’t want you to go,” she added sadly.

  He smiled, his eyes warm, sad, still red-rimmed from weeping.

  “I canna stay, Sarah. I have to try to go on wi’ my life. It’s what she’d want. Ye tellt me that when she was very ill she said she wanted to die, but then she changed her mind.”

  “Yes,” Sarah said. “It was very sudden. She was eating and drinking because we blackmailed her into it, but then suddenly she got her spirit back, and that was when we knew she was going to get better.”

  “Aye, well, she remembered,” he said.

  “Remembered what?”

  “That for us, suicide is a mortal sin. If she’d let herself die then she’d no’ have gone to Heaven and never could have been reunited with me. She knew well that I’d be waiting for her. And now she’s waiting for me, and I must take comfort from that and go on until God sees fit to let me go. I’ve an oath to fulfil, and maybe I can be useful in some other ways. And when He chooses to take me, then I’ll go to her gladly. What’s amiss?”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?” Sarah said. “Do you think Murdo’s waiting for me, too?”

  “I do. Do ye no’ believe in God at all? I ken ye’re no’ of my faith, but surely you believe that Christ is our Saviour? Did your father no’ teach you that, and him a minister?”

  “No,” she said bitterly. “My father taught me that I was full of sin, and that God hated sinners and would send me straight to hell. He said that everyone was evil, but women even more so because of Eve, and that it was his duty as one who had seen the light and the will of God to drive Satan out of me in the hope that God would take pity on me. I don’t know if there is a God or not, but if there is, then He must be evil. What sort of God needs a little girl to be beaten and starved for Him to take pity on her?”

  “God isna evil,” Alex said softly. “He loves us so much that He sent His only son to die for us, so that we could be forgiven. It’s no’ just the Catholics who believe that, but the Anglicans too, and other
Christians. We’ve our differences, it’s true, but we all believe that. It seems to me that it was your father who was evil, no’ God.”

  Màiri murmured softly in her sleep, and then settled closer in to him.

  “The Christ I learned about loves bairns,” Alex said, smiling down at the little dark head resting trustingly against his chest. “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of Heaven. That’s what He said.”

  “That’s what…someone told me that once,” Sarah said, straining to remember. She knew that biblical phrase. Who had said that to her? Not her father. He never would have said anything so gentle.

  “Sarah, I wouldna ask you to bring wee Màiri up as a Catholic,” Alex said, “for that would bring you a world of trouble. But I wouldna want you to raise her in the hate of God either. For if you do, then it seems to me that your father will have won, and will have shut you out of the light of Christ forever. Dinna let a twisted man make your mind up for you on this. You must look into it yourself and make your own decision.”

  “I’ve never thought of it in that way before,” Sarah said.

  “You’re a good woman and a clever one, and a wonderful mother to this wee lassie,” Alex said. “Ye’ll do right by her, I’m sure of that.”

  “I’ll look into it, for her sake if not for mine,” Sarah said. “But I can’t promise you anything.”

  “No more do I expect you to,” Alex replied. “Now you must away to your bed, for it’s after midnight. No,” he said when she bent to lift Màiri from his lap, “please, let her bide a wee bit longer. She’s a comfort to me, and I need that tonight. I’ll no’ leave her alone.”

  Sarah smiled. That meant he would stay the night, and in the morning he would still be there and she would have at least a little time more with him.