Labor of Love

by Felicia Rogers

“Aye, that would be Sorcha,” said Lorcan.

  “You must be daft. How could that mere girl best that many men?”

  Lorcan shrugged. “I don’t know how, but I am tellin’ ye, she is right handy with a bow.”

  Nigel hated to but he needed advice. “What do you recommend?”

  “Me?” asked Lorcan, rubbing it in.

  “Aye, you. You know the girl and her abilities, what do you suggest we do?”

  “Well,” he said with a thoughtful pose. “I believe we should pretend to give up. Back off and track them a little slower, perhaps. If we give them a false sense of security then mayhap they will drop their guard.”

  “Lorcan?”

  “Aye?”

  “I don’t know where you retrieved that idea, but it is worth considering.”

  “Occasionally that does happen ye know.”

  “If you say so,” Nigel mumbled. More strongly, he added, “Go ahead and do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sorcha remained in the tree until her legs went numb. Only a handful of arrows were left at her disposal. If any more men came their way, they could be in trouble. Grant had picked up a bow and started taking out some of the men himself. When she heard them yell “retreat” she didn’t move. What if it was a trick?

  Under the tree her horse waited patiently for her to climb down. The men crested the hill and started down the other side out of their vision. Grant bent and picked up his sword, scooting closer to her location.

  Whistling brought his horse. Astride, he galloped toward her. The limb rubbed the back of her legs through her gown. Her fingers closed around the tree trunk, and she steadied herself.

  Grant sat underneath her. “Can ye get down, lass?”

  Sorcha’s voice shook. “I don’t know.”

  “Well ye try, and if it doesn’t work out I will be here to catch ye.”

  The slow awkward descent caused her muscles to quiver with the effort. Exertion and fear made her weak. Sorcha was able to leave her perch, but as she held to the limb with her hands and walked her feet down the trunk, her fingers slipped.

  ****

  The lass’ arms trembled as she hung from the tree. Grant moved under her as her fingers slipped from the limb. Sorcha landed in his waiting arms.

  Grant peered at her with concern. “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “Aye,” Sorcha answered breathlessly.

  On the ground her legs shuddered. Without his assistance she would fall on her face.

  “Grant?” she asked.

  “Aye, lass?”

  “Can I ride with ye?”

  “Huh?”

  “Can I ride with ye? I don’t think I can remain astride my horse.” Quietly she added, “I have never killed a man before.”

  Grant took pity on Sorcha. She had killed to protect him. There was the possibility she had done it for herself, of course. But he liked to think she was somewhat selfless. The lass had to have some good qualities or Samuel wouldn’t have cared for her. Would he?

  Why was he debating? Grant didn’t know how long they might have before the men recouped their losses and returned. The quiver removed from her back, he carefully picked her up by the waist, and placed her on his horse. The other beast secured to his, he placed himself behind Sorcha.

  Hoping to put distance between them and the conniving magistrate, Grant kicked the horse into motion. They rode well into the afternoon. Sorcha laid her head back on his chest and fell asleep.

  The smell of her hair wafted around his head and up into his nose causing him to gag. How long had she been in that cell wearing these same clothes with no way to clean herself? From her putrid stench it must have been a long while. If they were going to continue to ride like this, then she was going to have to have a bath, and some fresh clothing, soon.

  They rode a tad farther, and Grant spotted a cabin. At first glance it appeared to be abandoned. He shook Sorcha to wake her, placing a finger over her lips to indicate she should remain silent. They dismounted. Sorcha waited by the horse as he checked the area.

  Around the outside he walked, heading toward the open front door. Indeed the place seemed to have been deserted. Small animals scurried across the cracked wooden floor. A booted foot shooed the fur balls toward the opening. “Out with ye.”

  One more time he looked around assuring that the place was indeed vacant. When he felt comfortable he headed back for Sorcha. “Come on lass, we can stay here for the night.”

  Sorcha nodded and walked where he directed. Entering the room, she found a seat, and sat down. Exhaustion overwhelmed her as she let out a breathy sigh.

  Ensured she was settled, Grant left her to stash the horses. Thoughts about Sorcha’s comfort pervaded his mind. A bath and fresh attire hadn’t been in her immediate past, of that he was certain. What other items might have been denied her? Food?

  Belly growling with hunger, Grant groaned. When had Sorcha eaten last?

  The meager supplies were carried to the front door. Dropped outside on the dilapidated porch, Grant searched for a surprise.

  ****

  Warmth and the spray of water droplets were felt on her cheeks. When Sorcha pried her tired eyes open there was a large silver tub filling the little room.

  “I laid some soap out for ye, plus some fresh clothes.”

  Sorcha was pleased, if not a little confused. “Where did ye get the clothes?”

  “They were here in the cabin. I’m goin’ to go out and give ye some privacy.”

  “Grant?”

  “Aye?”

  “Thank ye,” she whispered, heat infusing her cheeks.

  Grant bowed and walked away. Sorcha stripped and slid into the tub. Grant had heated the water, laid out a towel, and everything else she could possibly need. She sank down, immersing herself and cleaning her hair. Quickly she washed, climbed out, dried, and dressed. She felt better than she had in a long time.

  A fire roared in the fireplace and Sorcha sat in front of it. She fingered through her wet hair as she studied the glowing embers. Probably she should have asked more questions about the cabin, the soap, and the clothes, but she just couldn’t worry about those things. Tears coursed down her face. It seemed all she did since she met Grant was cry. And all he did was ask her if she was all right. The man probably thought her completely helpless.

  Into the flames she stared, watching as they licked at the wood. The sound of the wood heating and popping brought her back to reality. Throat burning she gulped. She knew what she had to do. The truth needed to be told, no matter what the outcome.

  ****

  The tiny piece of wood took shape in his hand. Fleck by fleck the wood shavings fell at his feet until he finished. The wings of the bird flared out to the side as if it was ready to take flight.

  Placing the whittled object on the banister, Grant leaned against the porch railing. Woods surrounded the cabin wrapping it in a type of cocoon. Alert to unusual noises, Grant waited. Surely the lass was clean by now.

  The door had no lock and no other means of securing it. Holding the side of the door, he pulled it open slowly not wishing to interrupt Sorcha in an awkward position. When he saw her back, he walked farther inside. Clothed and sitting upright, she gazed at the fire, her eyes glazed.

  “Are ye all right?” he asked.

  Tears raced down her cheeks and dropped off her chin. “Don’t ask me that question.”

  Instead of asking why she said that he walked to the fireplace and fanned the smoke. The flames rolling from the fireplace were black and contained an unusual odor. “What did ye put in the fire?”

  “My clothes.”

  “Ah, that was probably the best place for them.”

  “No pretending, uh? Just that was the best place for them.” Sighing, she said, “I guess ye noticed they weren’t exactly in their best condition.”

  “Aye, I noticed.”

  Sorcha gazed at him. “I’m not normally that filthy.”

  “I didn’t think y
e were.”

  “Samuel wouldn’t have liked me thusly, correct?”

  “Right,” Grant responded. Guilt consumed him about his earlier comment, but he wasn’t sure how to repair the damage.

  Sorcha sighed. “Grant, do ye believe we have time to speak with one another?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Then I must tell ye something.”

  “I’m listenin’.”

  Her mouth opened but a noise from outside interrupted.

  “It is just a tree limb against the window, lass. But it does remind me I have ye something to eat.”

  “Ye do?” she asked, her mouth salivating at the mention of food.

  “I do.”

  “Well, where is it?”

  “Calm down lass,” he laughed and went outside coming back in with a roasted hare. She ripped it from his hands, peeled the meat from the bone, and plucked it into her mouth.

  “This is delicious,” she said, with a mouthful of the animal. “Did ye eat?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She looked at the hare’s remains and gasped. “I didna mean to eat all of it.”

  Chortling, he said, “It is all right lass, I already ate.”

  “Don’t ye ever get tired of saying that?”

  “Saying what?”

  “That it is ‘all right’ or asking if I am all right. Can’t ye ask me anything else?”

  “Well, what should I be saying?”

  “I don’t know, maybe ye can discuss yer plans with me.”

  “My plans?”

  Mumbling, Sorcha raised her hands in frustration. “Ye brother was never this dense.” Louder, she said, “What are yer plans for getting us away from here and out of Nigel Duffy’s clutches?”

  “I guess it depends on where ye want to go.”

  She looked at him questioningly. “Where I want to go?”

  “Aye.”

  “I am hardly in a position to go where I want to go.”

  “Are ye saying when Samuel was ready to travel home, ye wouldn’t have gone with him?”

  “Oh, Grant, The place I go is not important to me.” Quietly she added, “However, I do wish I could turn back time.”

  “So ye don’t have a problem returning to Scotland with me?”

  “Nay.”

  “My sisters are going to love ye. And my father will be verra excited to have ye.”

  “What of yer mother?”

  Grant shied away. “She is no longer with us.” He paused. “Didna Samuel tell ye?”

  “Nay. We didna know each other that long,” she murmured.

  He looked at her round belly but didn’t ask the obvious question. “On a different subject, I believe we can sleep here tonight.”

  “Are ye sure?” Sorcha asked.

  “Aye, I believe so. They are still following us, but maintaining a healthy distance. I think they’re trying to lure us into believing they are leaving us alone.”

  “Will they find us?”

  “Nay, at least not immediately. I spent some time redirecting our trail.”

  From her seat she jumped, ran to the straw stuffed mattress in the corner, lay down, and stretched out. Sounds like a satisfied animal rolled from her throat. Grant covered his mouth and coughed to hide his laughter at her behavior.

  “Oh, laugh if ye want. I haven’t had a decent bed to sleep on in so long I can’t remember.” Intense contemplation took hold as she furrowed her brow and leaned up on her elbow. “Where are ye sleepin’?”

  “I was plannin’ to sleep right here on the floor. Unless ye would rather I go outside?”

  “Nay!” The fear lacing her voice shocked them both.

  Not commenting on her panic, Grant settled in front of the fire, falling asleep as soon as his eyelids hit his cheeks.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Unable to sleep Sorcha listened to Grant’s heavy breathing. How could she have let him distract her? All set to tell the truth then he had to go and mention food! She hadn’t been able to help herself. Every thought in her mind was lost, save for the food she hoped to consume.

  One thing led to another and she was asking about his plans. Hurt displayed on his face when she said she couldn’t go where she wished. Sorcha had been truthful only in part. The place did matter, but mostly she just wanted to return to the past. A place where she and her mother lived with Samuel in Christian peace and harmony, to sit together at the table and share a meal, to worship together in spirit and in truth, to be herself with no pretenses.

  The labor performed in Samuel’s home had never felt like work. Every action was done because of love.

  Closing her eyes, she attempted to get comfortable. She needed to rest. Tomorrow would host a full day of riding as they continued to escape from Nigel and his men. With her hand she covered a yawn. On her side she watched shadows flicker over the wall unaware of falling into a deep slumber.

  “Samuel my cookin’ isn’t that good.”

  “Aye, it is. I think we should send ye to the Queen and see if we can change her opinions.”

  She giggled as Samuel chased her around the room. Over her shoulder she glanced at him, seeing a stain spread. “Samuel, yer tunic! Ye are bleeding!”

  Samuel gazed at himself. “Aye, I am.”

  In a flash, he was on his knees, consumed by an inferno of heat.

  Sorcha thrashed wildly on the small bed. Into the straw she moaned as she woke from the agony of the dream world and entered into reality. Slick with sweat, her clothing stuck to her body.

  Grant lay on his thin plaid seemingly at peace. Huddled under the thin worn coverlet, she watched his chest rise and fall with his deep, even breathing. In features, he favored Samuel very little. Where Samuel had been trim, Grant was sinewy. Where Samuel had soft facial features, Grant’s features were more defined, with sharp angles.

  Samuel had been given to light-hearted moments. He had made her feel special. She was certain in the future they would have married and had a whole gaggle of children. Physical moments of tenderness had been shared, which Sorcha had thought impossible after Festus.

  Now as tears overflowed and wet her bed, loneliness overwhelmed her. She crawled from the pallet and onto the floor. The cover with her, she laid her back against Grant’s, covered herself, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  ****

  Screams for Samuel in her sleep wrenched at his heart. Grant ached to comfort her, but wasn’t sure it would be appropriate.

  The atrocities the young lass had seen were enough to slay a grown man. He couldn’t imagine how one of her youth and innocence might feel.

  The screaming stopped, but he was afraid to turn and look. His eyes averted, he pretended sleep, hoping the lass would calm down and be able to rest. Air whooshed behind him, as Sorcha’s small frame snuggled against his own. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms.

  Eventually, Grant returned to sleep. When he woke the next morning, Sorcha’s head lay on his chest. Her hair smelled of fresh sunshine and flowers. She was a very pretty girl with auburn hair and a splattering of freckles around the ridge of her button nose. He could see why Samuel had taken a shine to her. Come to think of it, how had Samuel felt about the lass?

  If Grant didn’t know his brother, he might have thought Samuel was killed because he took advantage of the girl. Sorcha appeared to know Lorcan and the magistrate on a personal level. Someone named Festus was mentioned on multiple occasions but as of yet she hadn’t explained. Perhaps Festus was an old beau that had taken care of Samuel on her behalf?

  Sorcha didn’t have any problems talking, yet she hadn’t told him the things he most needed to know. Once they were safely on the boat and headed to Scotland, Grant would ask all these questions and more. Currently all that was important was keeping her safe.

  Absentmindedly, Grant rubbed his fingers up and down her arm. The smooth silky feel of her skin reminded him of some of his previous companions. He had been without female companionship for some time
now. The lack of which was beginning to take its toll.

  When he told Duncan he was ready to settle down, he meant it. However, Grant had no idea how long it would take him to find the right woman.

  Grant adored women. He loved their gracefulness. He loved the way they walked. He loved the lilt to their voices. He loved their long flowing hair. He enjoyed the fire that lit their eyes when they were angry. The red tinge on their cheeks when they were embarrassed. He enjoyed watching their happiness when they received a cheap bauble, or when they tried on a new trinket. He liked the way they pranced around a room when they purchased a new gown. He liked the fresh mussed look they had after a night of−

  “What are ye smiling about?”

  Grant shook his head. “Smiling? Was I smiling?”

  “Aye, ye were smiling. Ye look way too keen for a man who just slept the night away on a hard wooden floor.”

  “Aye, ye forget I have a beautiful woman in my arms.”

  Her frown said it all. Sorcha pushed up on one arm and looked down at him. Hair flat on one side of her head, she looked vulnerable and kissable. What was he thinking? This wasn’t just any strange lass, this was Samuel’s girl. The position she took appeared as if she wished to lunge away but was unable to do so.

  “Now what are ye looking at?” she asked.

  “Do ye need help up?”

  “Aye, I do,” Sorcha looked away, a red hue dotting her cheeks.

  To his feet he jumped in one leap, grasped her tender hand, and pulled her up alongside him. She faced him. Short in stature the top of her head was at the bottom of his chin. Expecting her to move away, Sorcha surprised him. Tiny arms wrapped around his middle, her face resting against his chest. She squeezed. Mumbled words were caught between their two bodies.

  Awkwardness filled him. Heart racing, he found it difficult to respond. “What?”

  Sorcha leaned back and grinned. “Thank ye.”

  Before Grant could get his bearings, she released him and ran outside. He ran his rough hand through his disheveled hair. He should probably follow her for her own safety, but a woman needed private time in the mornings, right? And at this moment he needed time.