Brigit shuddered. Her reputation was in tatters, and she’d never get another job without references. What would happen to Mum and Da?
Duncan opened the unlocked door to the caretaker’s cottage and nudged her inside. She could barely see the embers glowing on the hearth. He led her over to a settee and whispered, “Lie down here. I’ll stir up the fire.”
Woodenly, she seated herself in the corner of the settee. She watched Duncan’s broad back as he squatted at the hearth, added kindling and a pair of logs, and brought the fire back to life. Even when the room radiated with its warmth, Brigit couldn’t stop shaking.
Duncan walked behind the settee. He spoke in low tones to someone, but Brigit was too stiff to turn and couldn’t understand what was said. A few moments later, Duncan stood before her and unfolded a thick quilt. He draped it around her shoulders and managed somehow to raise and twist her so she was bundled in it. By the time he finished, he’d laid her down and robbed her of her shoes.
Duncan decided to spend the night in the wingback chair. He could keep watch over the fire and Brigit. He’d been so sure of her guilt. John seemed convinced, too. But Em—Em vouched for Brigit’s goodness.
And that attic door stuck.
Then that moment out on the road changed everything. The ache in Brigit’s eyes nearly knocked him to his knees. In that split second, everything settled in his mind. He knew for certain this woman—the woman he still loved—was innocent.
From the time he’d started dealing with business, Duncan discovered he’d been given a gift of discernment. He could sense the character of a man and determine whether or not to hire him or contract his services. Even weasels like the sailmaker knew better than to try anything shady with him. From the first time he’d seen Brigit, he’d seen the goodness in her. Aye, he had. She’d filled his glass with milk that time, then gone on to fill his heart with sunshine.
But he’d been a fool. In his rush to avoid marriage, he’d not trusted the gift the Lord had given him. It took a voyage away from Brigit to make him come to his senses, but once he’d returned, he’d let the octopus of doubt nearly strangle him. Looking into Brigit’s eyes, he’d seen the truth. Oh, he had. She was innocent; he was guilty. His heart had been right from the very start, and he’d been a fool to allow circumstances to cloud his judgment and test his love. He’d hurt her because of it.
He had a lot to make up for.
Duncan hadn’t followed John’s edict to get rid of Brigit at once. He’d made up his mind, and John could bluster all he wanted. Until Duncan could prove Brigit was blameless, he was going to shelter her reputation and feelings by having her live with his own parents. He’d vouched for her innocence just now when he told his parents who she was and why he’d brought her here.
It had taken a long while for her to fall asleep. Silent tears streamed down her face until she did. Though Duncan knelt by the settee and tried to reassure her, she was too far gone to hear a word he said. Between cold and shock, she just lay there and trembled. Mama offered to brew tea, but Duncan doubted Brigit would be able to swallow it. Papa cleared his throat, beetled his brows as he looked at Brigit, and hesitantly suggested, “Medicinal brandy or whiskey might do the trick.”
So on top of all of my mistakes, I’d give Brigit the humiliation of thinking I’d made a sot of her.
He shook his head. “Rest. What she needs is her rest.”
Dad nodded. “I’ll have Mama make up the bed in the spare room.”
John had added a fair-sized bedroom and a workshop onto the other side of the kitchen years ago, but Duncan shook his head again. “Mama needs her rest, and the fire here’s what the lass needs more than anything.”
Both of those statements were true, but they were only an excuse. He couldn’t bear to leave Brigit alone in this calamity. Even after she fell asleep, he couldn’t stand to be more than just a few feet away.
Still alarmed at how cold she’d become, Duncan tiptoed over to make sure she’d warmed up. Even though Brigit lay exactly where he’d put her, she’d managed to curl into the quilt tighter than the coil in a seahorse’s tail.
At least the shivering had stopped. He counted that as a good sign. He’d have to settle for that one sign, because nothing else looked very promising. Dried tears pasted wild strands of her ebony hair to her face. Just days ago, playing with the children in snow had caused those same strands to form springy tendrils around her hairline. He tenderly fingered the strands. Lord, help me make this up to her. Help me make things right.
Duncan went back and took his station in the wingback chair. Thoughts swirled in his mind. He had no right to claim his love for her until he earned her trust. He’d nearly shattered her with his accusations, and a sensitive woman like Brigit would need time to get over such ugliness. The best thing he could do was show his support for her and prove her innocence. Once he did, God willing, she’d become his bride.
Sweat rolled off his forehead, but Duncan popped another log onto the fire. Purgatory probably felt cooler than this parlor, but he refused to risk Brigit’s catching a chill. Finally he settled back into the chair and decided he could afford to doze. On the slim chance she woke up, Brigit wouldn’t be able to get away. He had her shoes beneath his chair. Even more, he had her in his heart.
Chapter 19
You did what?” The force of John’s bellow could have filled every last sail on a clipper.
Duncan didn’t mind the bluster. He’d expected it. Locking eyes with John, he said very clearly, “I took Brigit to my parents’ cottage. She’s staying with them until this matter is cleared up.”
“It’s already solved, and I won’t have her on my property.”
“She’s not on our property, dear,” Emily whispered. “You gave the cottage to my parents. It was very generous of you. You did it right after you added on that nice, big second room.”
“This isn’t a game.” John glowered at them.
“No, ’tisn’t,” Duncan agreed. “I’m saying here and now, Brigit is the woman I love. The devil can have a holiday in a suspicious mind, and I was fool enough to let him—but no more. We have no proof against her. None. What I do have is my faith in her and in the Almighty.”
Emily yanked on John’s hand. “John—”
“Don’t be taken in by love, Duncan.” John gave him a world-weary look. “Remember Anna.”
“If I would have minded that advice, I’d have never wed you,” Emily said quietly.
Duncan nodded. “I’ll prove Brigit’s innocence; and once I do, I want her welcomed back with open arms. She’s going to be my wife.”
“Christmas is just around the corner.” Nonny O’Brien’s cheerful announcement didn’t much lift Brigit’s spirits. Not wanting to cast a pall over Duncan and Emily’s mama’s happy mood, Brigit plastered on a smile and nodded.
“We want to celebrate the holiday in the Old World way. I ken ’tis an imposition, but I was thinkin’ to ask for your help.” Soon Nonny had Brigit firmly entrenched in her plans. They sewed doll clothes for the twins, painted a whole fleet of ships for Phillip, and polished up little jewelry boxes Papa O’Brien had made for the older girls.
Being involved in those holiday customs helped Brigit regain a few shreds of her serenity. She always loved the holidays, and she could see how much Nonny and Papa loved their family by the affection in their eyes and voices and how they lavished thought and time into making a special gift for each grandchild. Brigit knew the children would be delighted.
Truth be told, Brigit had a second reason for looking forward to Christmas. Duncan’s new vessel would be finished any day. As soon as Christmas was over, he was due to take the ship on her maiden voyage. From what she’d overheard, she gathered it would be an extended voyage. She needed to have time away from him.
Duncan came by each day and promised to prove her innocence. To his credit—or was it Emily’s?—the rest of the Newcomb staff had been told Nonny O’Brien needed Brigit’s help with several Christ
mas projects. It was the truth, but Brigit felt it was only a half-truth, and such things made her squirm. What else could she do though? At least she’d not been subjected to public scrutiny or shame, and every bit of her salary still came so she could take care of her parents.
Mum would take one look at her and know something was dreadfully wrong, so Brigit didn’t want to go home. Bless his heart, Papa O’Brien delivered the money to her parents and came back with a handful of cheerful stories and the assurance that all was well with them.
Someone pounded on the door. Brigit ran to answer it. The minute she saw who stood there, she wanted to slam it shut. Duncan’s arms were full of fabric.
“Emily’s asked if you’ll make new gowns for the staff.”
Brigit stared at the two huge bolts of material and blinked to be sure it wasn’t her overactive imagination. Indeed it wasn’t. Miss Emily hadn’t sent solid cornflower blue serge or wool. No, she hadn’t. She’d had her brother deliver a dainty green-and-white ivy print and a stunningly feminine, very stylish pink cabbage rose.
Duncan stood in the doorway and gave her an amused look. “You needn’t decide betwixt the pieces, if that’s why you’re hesitating. Emily wants you to make a gown from both fabrics for each of you.”
“My. Oh, dear me. Yes, well …” She backed away from the door and gestured for him to come in. I’ve been a bogbrain, leaving him out in the cold.
Duncan conscientiously wiped off his boots before he stepped over the threshold. He carried the bolts over to a small table on the far side of the parlor and propped them up against it. After making sure they wouldn’t slide and fall, he set down a small wooden case. “There you are.”
When he turned back around, Brigit forced herself to keep her hands folded at her waist. “Miss Emily chose bonny cloth, to be sure.”
“So you like it?”
Brigit nodded. She didn’t want to prolong the conversation. In fact, she wished Nonny would come out of the kitchen and ease this dreadfully awkward encounter.
Duncan took a seat and made himself at home. Brigit wanted to shove him straight back out the door; but it wasn’t her home, and she had no right. He’d dropped by at least once a day since she’d come here. Now ‘twas a good thing for a son to be dutiful and loving. Clearly he displayed both of those laudable qualities toward his parents—but he’d been checking up on her. He and she both knew part of his intent was to hover like a hungry hawk, and she was the field mouse he’d nab if the merest opportunity presented itself. Oh, he’d said he intended to prove she was innocent, but Brigit’s trust in him was too badly shaken to allow her to believe him.
“Em sent you the whatnots in that case.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. The man looked comfortable enough to stay a good long while. “She wanted to be sure you had everything you needed.”
At your request, so I wouldn’t steal? Brigit held her tongue. Regardless of how upset she felt, antagonizing him wasn’t right. “Please let Miss Emily know I’ll get to sewing at once.”
“My sister is a bit distracted these days. If you find you require anything else, just let me know.”
Brigit nodded.
Duncan must have figured out she didn’t care to pursue a conversation, because after silence stretched between them, he stood. He walked toward the door and stopped directly in front of Brigit. “You didn’t catch a chill from the other night?”
He sounded almost concerned. Brigit could scarcely credit it would matter to him at all. Likely Miss Emily wanted to know. Staring at his shoulder, she said, “I’ll save the scraps for the girls’ sewing baskets.”
Duncan made an impatient sound and tilted her face to his. Before he could speak his mind, Nonny’s laughter sounded from the other side of the room. “Nonsense. You’ll keep those scraps yourself. Duncan-mine, I’m wanting a wee bit of satin. The palest blue, if you have it—just scrap is all. About a yard or so will do nicely.” She came over and patted his chest. “Drop it off whenever’s convenient.”
“I’ll see to it.” After giving his mother a quick and sure hug and kiss, he left.
Brigit went to the fabric and touched it.
“I’ll have ye know, our Duncan chose those prints,” Nonny said in a gay lilt. “Our Em had him get them in Lowell. You’ll be a pretty sight in that green, come Christmas.”
“I’ll be sure to make up that print for the girls first.”
Nonny shook her head. “Dinna be thinkin’ you sneaked that by me with your sweet vow. You’re to make one for yourself, too.”
Brigit busied herself with some housekeeping, then ventured toward the small wooden box. Inside were needles, thread, scissors, a tape measure, a slip of paper with everyone’s measurements, and a thimble. Another bit of paper had been folded and wedged into the lid.
Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.
MATTHEW 5:11–12
Brigit folded the verse and tucked it in her pocket. God, please bless Miss Emily and Nonny for their kindness. To be sure, I’m in the fiery furnace; but You gave them to me just like You allowed Shadrach to have Meshach and Abednego with him during his trials.
During the next week, she took out the slip of paper and read the verse over and over again. Oh, she knew that verse. Back when she was but a small lass, she’d committed it to memory. That was all well and good, but now it served two purposes: It prompted her to keep her eyes on the Lord in her troubles, and it reminded her someone still had faith in her honesty.
Duncan continued to drop by. Sometimes he had a good excuse—like with the blue satin. He’d brought by no less than five different shades of blue so his mother could make a choice that suited her fancy. There was no mistaking it—Duncan O’Brien cherished his family.
Most times he just came by. He didn’t seem to have any reason at all, but Brigit knew the truth—he was there to intimidate her and spy on her. She tried to make herself scarce during his visitations, but that wasn’t very easy in the small cottage. She felt clumsy as a cow with him around. Awkward and fumble-fingered as a twelve-year-old lass, and all because he made her so self-conscious. Every last thing she did fell under Duncan O’Brien’s scrutiny. Each time he left, she’d breathe a sigh of relief.
Working helped keep her mind off her troubles. Brigit stayed industrious from the minute she woke until Nonny O’Brien chided her into blowing out the lamp at night. She already had Cook’s and Lee’s dresses nearly finished, and she’d cut out Fiona’s and Trudy’s today. As both of them were identical in size, it made more sense to tackle them at the same time.
After having cut out all of those gowns, Brigit still had cloth left … cloth originally earmarked for her. She wouldn’t make it up. No, she wouldn’t.
That night she waited until Nonny and Papa went to bed; then Brigit sat by the hearth and carefully embroidered. When her eyes grew too weary, she tucked away her stitching and turned in for the night. After she blew out her lamp, she climbed into bed and curled into a ball of misery.
Da always said God had a purpose for everything. Aye, and he also said anything worthwhile was hard won. Lord, I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be learning from all of this.
A faint scraping sound interrupted her prayer.
Brigit slid out of bed and threw on her robe. Her bare feet made no noise on the floor as she crossed into the doorway. A man had nearly folded himself in half to fit through the window; but when he turned, a shaft of moonlight illuminated his face.
He was the man she’d seen out in the yard all those nights!
Brigit didn’t even pause to consider her actions. She ran across the room and used the seat of the chair as a stepping stool in order to leap onto the man’s back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as she screamed, �
�Help!”
Papa O’Brien ran out and managed to belt the intruder in the middle.
The door crashed open, and Duncan thundered in with a bellow. Brigit continued to cling to the stranger as he wheeled around. Papa was in midswing and couldn’t stop. He accidentally knocked her off. She hit the wall as she saw Duncan lunge and heard him hiss, “You!”
Chapter 20
The tide had come in late that night, and Duncan had needed to be there to meet a vessel. He’d ordered special gifts for John and Emily, and he didn’t want them to find out. As he rode by his parents’ cottage, he heard Brigit’s screams. He vaulted off his mount and tore through the front door.
Seeing her hit the floor made his heart stand still. Seeing Edward made his blood run cold.
The uppercut he served Edward hit true, as did the blow to his middle. Edward crumpled over; but the odd part of it was, he’d never put up the slightest defense. “Fetch some rope,” Duncan barked.
“I know where there’s some,” his father said, panting. “Just a minute.”
“Brigit? Are you all right?” Duncan knelt by her and bit back a roar as she dazedly lifted her hand to her head. “Come here, sweet.” He scooped her up and carried her to the settee. He didn’t want to turn her loose or put her in the other room. He refused to let her out of his sight, but Edward’s moan let Duncan know he couldn’t turn his back for a single second.
“I’ve got her, son.” His mother patted his arm.
“Rope.” His father came back into the room, holding aloft a fair length. “Good sturdy rope ’tis. We’ll bind him to a chair.”
Duncan thrust Edward into the chair and set to work. He yanked the rope tight and knotted it once more for good measure. That task done, he wheeled around and strode to the settee. His mother was clucking over Brigit, whose wide eyes and pale face made his heart lurch. A quick glance at the spot on Brigit’s temple told him she’d have a headache and a good-sized lump for a day or so. Even so, he couldn’t resist cupping her cheek. “Are you all right?”
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