Labor of Love

by Felicia Rogers

  Labor of Love

  by Felicia Rogers

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  LABOR OF LOVE

  Copyright © 2013 FELICIA ROGERS

  ISBN 978-1-62135-122-1

  Cover Art Designed by Book Beautiful

  First of all, I must thank my Lord and Savior for continuing to give me story ideas and the strength to place them on paper.

  And to Ericka Bujard…

  A strong, courageous woman, who has spent her life overcoming obstacles and fighting battles, always coming out the winner. “One” of my favorite cousins, who spent an entire week making me feel ten feet tall. Love ya, girl!

  Prologue

  Grant had prepared for months to leave the Sinclair keep, but something would always detain him just a while longer.

  The last he had heard from his little brother, Samuel was headed for Ireland to spit in the faces of the Catholic clergy and preach the word of the Lord in the King’s English.

  Grant, I wish I had time for pleasantries and all the normal platitudes I share with ye, but I am afraid this time I write for another purpose. I believe I am in grave danger. I have included a map and directions of my location. Come quickly, Grant. I need ye.

  Ye brother, Samuel.

  It seemed his brother’s antics had gotten him in a spot of trouble, and he needed his big brother to come and rectify the situation.

  Grave danger? That could mean anything. Did the boy need to be rescued from incarceration or did he need an army? Why couldn’t the lad have been more specific? He guessed it didn’t matter, for he was the only Cameron left at the Sinclair keep. The rest had gone home months earlier. He would just have to be enough.

  After digesting this new bit of information, he went in search of Duncan. In the yard, the Sinclair Laird ran and played with his son and daughter. His pregnant wife sat to the side under a shade tree engaged in needle work. Grant had been away watching Lyall, Duncan’s sister — in — law, during the first pregnancy and Boyd had filled him in on the moodiness and weirdness that occurred. Watching the mistress first hand he determined the oddness Boyd spoke of must have come from the twain babes warring inside Arbella, because this time she seemed at peace with the child growing within.

  At times Duncan and Arbella’s happiness was annoying. The secret smiles, the brief touches, the lingering stares, why couldn’t they just love each other in private? It was made even worse by their love of the Lord. They constantly quoted scripture to one another, about Christ loving the church as man should love his wife, or argued the meaning of passage after infuriating passage.

  As much as Grant cared for the couple and their family, he was glad to be leaving this den of love. At least before Lyall had perished in the fire, there had been some excitement and peril. The way things stood, he hadn’t lifted his sword to an enemy in months.

  He sighed. When he arrived home, it would be much the same. His father was progressing in age. Grant, as the eldest son, would be required to take on more responsibilities of the clan. He might even have to settle down and have children!

  Duncan stopped to catch his breath. The corner of his lips lifted into a grin. “Aye, can I help ye?”

  Grant shook his head to clear it. “Aye. I am just coming to say good-bye.”

  “Today is the day, is it?”

  “Aye, today is the day. But alas, I am still not headed to Cameron lands,” Grant said, dejection lacing his words.

  Duncan arched his brow. “Ye aren’t going home?”

  Grant shook his head.

  “I hate to pull it out of ye, but where are ye going?”

  Sighing deeply, Grant kicked at the dirt. “Samuel sent a missive from Ireland, and he needs some assistance. Who knows what for? He has probably gotten into an argument and needs my help to get the answer.” He grinned at the thought, shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever the case, I thought I would make a slight detour and offer him aid.”

  “Do ye need assistance on this ‘detour’?”

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t detailed.”

  “Ye know if ye need a companion all ye need do is ask.”

  Grant looked away. “Aye, I know.”

  He wasn’t one to ask for help. He was a leader. He led and others followed. His head bowed, he saw Dorcas leaving her hut. Maybe he should ask for her companionship on this journey. Her head rose, and he was caught in his lustful leer. Her lips twitched in a knowing grin.

  Grant had informed her he was leaving. Dorcas had spent hours begging him to stay, or to at least take her with him. But as much as he enjoyed her company, she would never be his life mate. His life mate would be unknown to any other man. He would spend hours, days, months, years, training his wife in the art of loving and being loved.

  Duncan glanced at Dorcas, tilting his head in her direction. “Taken a fancy to that one have ye?”

  “Nay, not truly. She served a purpose.” Grant recognized the callousness in his attitude, and clenched his teeth.

  Duncan must have noticed as well, because he frowned. “Dorcas is a decent woman.”

  “Aye, she is.”

  “Ye know one day ye are going to lose yer heart to someone ye would have never expected.”

  Grant leaned his head back and roared with mocking laughter. Suddenly he became serious. “My wife will be worthy of the Cameron name. She will be Scottish born and bred, and pure as the driven snow. I will be her only master. And she won’t care one wit for religious drivel.”

  Duncan leaned back and crossed his arms. “Is that right?”

  Grant mimicked his pose. “Aye, it is.”

  Stance relaxed, Duncan said, “Let me ask ye one question, without the words of the Good Book, why should she remain pure?”

  Grant was at a loss. Duncan continued, “Certainly not pressure from society, because men like ye and me don’t give a second glance to a lass that is not willing to share her pleasures. But the Lord, He encourages a woman be of only one man and that man her husband.”

  Grant would have responded but he was saved by Arbella’s bulging appearance. “The conversation appears to be serious. I could feel the frowns from across the yard.”

  Duncan responded, “Grant is leaving us today.”

  Arbella shielded her eyes from the blinding sun and leaned back to look up at Grant. “We will miss you. Know you are welcome to return anytime.”

  Grant leaned forward and embraced Arbella. Next he grasped Duncan’s hand, and gave him a pat on the back. Belongings picked up off the ground, he hoisted the small sack over his shoulder, and headed toward his waiting horse. Once in the saddle, he took one more look around the place he had called home for many years, before galloping out of the gates toward Ireland and his destiny.

  Chapter One

  Ireland 1557 – One month prior

  During the reign of Bloody Mary

  Samuel used the bottom of his brown woolen robe to wipe the sweat from his brow. His small congregation worked side by side, planting crops for the growing season. They didn’t do this for themselves but for him. The whole community had come out to help plant the garden for their new minister, the minister that would bring them the words of life from the Good Book.

  As he wo
rked, his eyes unconsciously drifted toward her. Although round with child, she still toiled in the garden like the rest of the villagers. She was the most beautiful woman Samuel had ever seen.

  Today her auburn hair was arranged in a bun and covered. When her hair was unfettered it hung to her waist in soft waves. When it was in such a state, she spent her time pushing it out of her eyes and placing it behind her ears. Her green eyes radiated warmth. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, only adding to her charm.

  Since becoming acquainted with the townspeople, he had wanted to speak with Sorcha, but she had remained elusive. The others in the community said she rarely spoke. He found this hard to believe. Her mouth seemed to beckon one to have speech. Her plump red lips begged to discuss all sorts of matters.

  ****

  Sorcha stood up and leaned, stretching her back. Her hand unconsciously came forward and stroked her swollen abdomen with affection. She felt him again. Raising her head, she sent him a shy smile. Why did the new minister stare at her so? Her mother said he was interested in her, but she couldn’t understand why that would be.

  Gaze shifting downward, she went back to work. As she worked, she realized planting seeds in the ground and waiting for them to grow, was just like spreading God’s word and waiting for it to grow in someone’s heart. Samuel had preached a message about seeds dropping on good soil, how they sprouted and grew. But if they fell on rocky ground, they would be choked out by the cares of this world.

  Sorcha was happy to say her soil was fertile and ready to be tilled. She could have been bitter about her lot in life, but had chosen to take what her mother had coined the “Joseph approach.” She had decided that what man had clearly meant for evil, God could turn for His good. Therefore, she didn’t let her misfortunes keep her from the Lord, but rather bring her closer.

  When she was done, she headed home. Her mother had left an hour before to set supper on the table. Tonight was their night to serve Samuel Cameron, the community’s own Protestant minister. Her stepfather, Lorcan, wouldn’t like it. But it was the one thing her mother insisted upon and the only time her stepfather had given her mother her own way.

  Would Festus be there tonight? Since their unfortunate first encounter he didn’t visit often. She told her mother what had happened, but Louisa hadn’t believed her. Sorcha couldn’t blame her. Her father had died when she was young, and they had almost starved before Lorcan came along and married her mother. Her mother considered Lorcan as her earthly savior sent by God, and although Sorcha felt she knew different, she loved her mother too much to ruin her illusions.

  As Sorcha reached the front door she heard raised voices.

  “Why does that heretic need to come here? Why must I continue to serve him from my table?”

  Louisa sighed. “Now Lorcan, ye know the community does this on a rotating way and this is our time.”

  “And ye know I don’t like having a heathen in my home. I am a solid Catholic.”

  Through the crack in the shutters of the front window, Sorcha watched. In the corner of the kitchen, leaning back as if he owned the placed was Festus, Lorcan’s son. Sorcha would love to run to the woods and hide, but she didn’t wish to offend Samuel. He was relatively new to their community. He had come all the way from the Scottish Highlands to minister to them, and she wasn’t going to be the one to insult him.

  As she eavesdropped a little longer, mentally trying to prepare herself for tonight’s adventure, she heard a distinct creaking sound. Turning her head, she saw the object of her thoughts leaning casually against the porch railing. Even though he was covered from neck to foot in a long brown robe, she could sense strength.

  He placed his finger to his lips in a shushing motion. In the simple action was the permission to enter at her own pace with the assurance he wouldn’t tell. She nodded her head in understanding and continued to eavesdrop. Wonder if he knew he was entering a brood of vipers?

  The voices grew louder and louder until Sorcha no longer had to struggle to hear. Samuel stepped forward. Twisting his head in her direction, he lifted one corner of his lips and tapped the door. A hush descended. Sorcha could hear her mother shuffling forward. She could almost see the glare her mother sent Lorcan, a clear warning for him to behave.

  Louisa pulled the door wide, allowing Samuel to enter. She extended her arm and pointed him toward the bare table. “Welcome. Samuel, feel free to go ahead and take a seat while I place the victuals on the table.”

  Samuel sat, his face displaying a wide grin. “Thank ye, Lorcan, for having me in yer home.”

  “Well it weren’t exactly my idea,” mumbled Lorcan under his breath, barely concealing his disgust at having to eat with the minister.

  Sorcha chose this moment to open the door and slip inside. She kept her head down and shuffled her feet until she reached the table.

  “Lift yer feet girl, ye be stirring dust up in me food.”

  “That’s right ye lazy, fat cow, pick up yer feet,” snickered Festus, as he repeated his father while adding his own words of cruelty.

  Samuel jumped to his feet, pulled out a chair, and held it for her. She was glad her hair had loosened and hung down covering the blush that crept across her cheeks. Louisa set the food on the table and planted herself across from Samuel.

  “Would ye say grace?” Louisa asked humbly, attempting to ignore the earlier remarks of the men folk.

  Lorcan grunted.

  Samuel bowed his head and gave thanks for the bountiful meal. When he brought his head up Festus was giving him a black stare. Sorcha felt pity for the minister, but there was nothing she could do to help him.

  Samuel took care and focused on his meal. The simple fare was enjoyed in stoic silence. Every time Sorcha would reach for something on the table, her arm would accidentally brush his, and he would smile in her direction.

  The awkward meal over, Lorcan said, “Sorcha, why don’t ye get up and go saddle the minister’s mare?”

  “That’s right,” snickered Festus, “get off yer lazy rear and saddle the mare.”

  Sorcha felt Samuel’s fist clench, as it brushed her leg. She reached over and squeezed his hand, communicating that it was all right.

  Obediently, she rose from the chair and headed to the door, making sure to lift her feet. Once outside, she took a deep breath of mountain air, placed a hand under her belly, and took off in a near run toward the barn. She talked to herself as she saddled the mare.

  “Just who does he think he is? How dare Festus embarrass me in front of the minister? Calling me fat and lazy while he sits in the corner and doesn’t lift a finger all day long! Boy, how I wish men could carry babies. Then he might know what it is like to waddle like a duck all day and never get to sit and put up yer feet.”

  The mare whinnied in agreement.

  ****

  When Sorcha left for the outside, Lorcan spoke. Samuel wasn’t happy, but he accepted the inquiry nonetheless. He needed to attempt to make peace with Lorcan for Louisa’s sake.

  “Now the big mouth has left, I got some questions for ye.”

  Samuel didn’t like the continual way Lorcan insulted Sorcha. If she had not stayed his hand moments before, his righteous anger might have brought a different outcome. Instead of answering questions in Lorcan’s home, he might have been peeling potatoes in a jail cell.

  He desired to tell Lorcan what he thought of his behavior, but he feared doing so would only ake matters worse for Sorcha and her mother. Louisa tensed, her lips clinched together. Was she worried about what was to come? He wished for a way to put her at ease but figured his only option was to answer the man’s questions and see where they might lead.

  “Since I am new to the area I have been asked many questions. Feel free to ask, and I will give ye my most honest reply.”

  Lorcan snorted. “Do ye think we’re stupid?”

  Samuel’s brows knitted into a frown. “I beg yer pardon?”

  “Every one of us knows ye only chose the Protestant faith
so ye can wear yer fancy robe, get free dinners, and still have yer women as well.”

  Louisa gasped in horror.

  Festus snickered.

  Samuel grinned. “And to believe I thought ye might actually have an intelligent question to ask of me.”

  Lorcan glared.

  Festus frowned in concentration.

  Louisa used a napkin to hide a smile.

  Samuel rose from the table and bowed with a “Good evening,” on his lips. He escaped to the barn, barely managing to contain his laughter until he was in private.

  He pushed open the doors, hearing a vehement, yet musical sounding female voice. It was venting its grievances against the whole world in one breath. He snuck around the stall door. Sorcha rubbed his horse with a vigorous motion.

  Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, wishing to capture her scent. When all he smelled was horse flesh and other animals, he opened his eyes and studied her. His lips twitched at the continued haranguing. Since the young lass rarely spoke in the presence of others, this was a rare sight.

  Samuel stepped from the shadows. “Please leave some of her hide intact.”

  Sorcha jumped. “I — I didn’t hear ye come in.”

  “Aye, that was apparent.”

  Red covered her cheeks. He’d embarrassed her.

  Before he could apologize, she said, “I’m sorry.” He would have asked what she had to be sorry for, if she hadn’t kept talking. “I know Lorcan can be a real horse’s behind, but he does have his good qualities. I mean, he could have disregarded my mother because she had a child, but he didn’t. He could have made me move out when I turned eighteen, but he allowed me to stay.”

  As she continued to extol the virtues of her stepfather, Samuel stared at her. Her green eyes burned with an intensity that matched her tone. The waning sunlight drifted through the stable roof sparkling and shimmering as it fell on her bright red hair. Her lips continued to move in a mesmerizing fashion, even as his ears ceased to hear the words rolling from them.