Labor of Love

by Felicia Rogers

  “Well, we could release you from your imprisonment,” Nigel answered as he left the cabin’s porch and walked closer to the prisoner.

  The man pondered the idea. “Ye know ol’ Tom might like to be released from this tree. What else have ye got for me?”

  Nigel asked, “Do you see this young man?”

  Tom glanced toward Festus. “Aye.”

  “He is capable of a great many atrocities. Perhaps if you lead us to the girl and her traveling companion, we will not only release you from your prison, but we will also allow you to live.”

  Tom’s eyes shifted around the small group. “I’m not rightly sure what ye just said, but I would like to be free.”

  Nigel shook his head in disgust. How long would he be forced to work in such a barren wasteland of imbeciles? He had worked his way up in her majesty’s kingdom for greater pursuits, to be certain. Sighing, there was nothing else to be done. He must continue on as he had been ordered. Besides he was tired of staring at the big naked beast. “Cut him free, and someone get him some clothes.”

  “Do I get to cut him, Pa?”

  “I don’t think so. Nigel must have another plan.”

  Nigel rounded on Lorcan. “Indeed I do have a use for this individual. I am hoping he will be a better tracker than you!”

  Several men stepped forward and untangled Tom’s bonds. He dropped and rolled from the tree coming to a stationary position in front of the fire. A pig roasted on a spit, and Tom grabbed him a piece of the hot, tender meat and shoved it in his mouth. Making loud smacking noises, he enjoyed the fruit of their labors.

  “Nobody can track them in this weather,” he said, with his mouth full.

  Nigel’s frustration mounted. “Shouldn’t their tracks show in the mud?”

  “Aye, they should. Only most of this area floods when the rains are heavy, and every sign just washes away.” Tom did a crazy laugh and leapt like a frog at one of the curious soldiers.

  Nigel shouted, “Someone get this man some clothing!”

  “No need.”

  “Aye, man. There is a very prominent need.”

  “I thank ye for saying so, but I have some clothing in me home there, and I will retrieve it on me own.”

  “Be my guest.”

  The entire group watched as the man skipped inside. The roasted swine was served, shelters were erected, and the men made themselves comfortable before Nigel realized Tom had yet to return. He sent men inside to look over the hut and found it empty.

  The back door was wide open.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The rain stopped. Grant dressed and left to scout the area to see if it was safe to move on. Sorcha took her own sweet time donning her dress. Wet and muddy, her boots barely held together as she placed them on her feet. The bath she enjoyed just a few days prior, had been completely undone by the rain and the dirt of the cave floor.

  Once dressed, she carefully knelt, and spent time in prayer and sweet reflection. Thankful and grateful that her life had been spared, she silently mourned the loss of her mother. There had been little time during their departure from town and Lorcan’s subsequent pursuit to even think about Louisa’s death.

  In the stillness of the cave everything came rushing over her. The sights, sounds, and smells. The fear of dying. Tears graced Sorcha’s cheeks, and she swiped them away. Her mother was in a better place. She was with Samuel.

  Sorcha finished praying as Grant returned. In her position, Sorcha worried she couldn’t rise. Seven months into her pregnancy her stomach protruded forward. Placing her hand upon the uneven stone floor, Sorcha pushed. Up from her humble position, she folded her bedroll, and handed it to Grant as he stared in awkward silence. Not waiting for him to speak, she moved outside and waited for him to follow.

  “Were ye praying?”

  “Aye, I was,” she answered breathlessly.

  “Praying for deliverance and revenge?”

  “Nay. I asked for nothing. I was thanking Him.”

  “Y-ye asked for nothing.” The words stumbled past his lips. Grant walked closer, grasped her by the shoulders, and shook. “Did my brother, father of yer child, mean so little to ye that ye canna pray to yer God for him to be avenged? Didn’t his love mean anything to ye at all?”

  The night before when she tried to slip past him and he pinned her to the wall, Sorcha thought he was going to kiss her. Disappointment was replaced by fear when he helped her shed her wet clothing, careful not to touch her.

  Today his touch, although not gentle, sent an unexpected thrill through her weak limbs. There was no doubt he was angry yet she couldn’t stop the feeling of sweet elation or the feeling of tiny butterflies that fluttered through her stomach.

  Now staring at his lips, the kiss she had missed before was all she could think about. Pushing upward she placed her lips lightly against his. He didn’t move.

  Pulling back, she said in a hoarse whisper, “Samuel meant everything.”

  The kiss was a mistake. Grant reared back and dropped his hands from her shoulders. Stalking toward the horses, he refused to look at her. “We can go.”

  Sorcha followed behind. Before she could mount the horse, Grant grabbed her around the middle and hoisted her in front of him. Settled comfortably against him, she desperately wanted to know how he felt about her. She would love to explain how she felt about Samuel. How much she had grown to love him as a brother in Christ, a parson, and as a man.

  ****

  Why had Sorcha kissed him? Grant felt terrible for asking her questions about her prayers. Samuel would have been extremely disappointed with his actions. But the girl was getting to him.

  The innocence she attempted to portray was all an act. Just look at her round abdomen. Samuel would never have taken advantage of a young lass. Nay, it must have been all Sorchas’s doing.

  These feelings couldn’t be allowed to grow and mature into something more. Grant knew exactly who he would fall in love with and marry.

  He would marry a Scottish girl, from a neighboring clan. She would be pure, untouched. She would have auburn hair, with flecks of gold that glittered in the morning sunlight. Her green eyes would sparkle like emeralds. Adequate with a bow, she would stand up for herself, her beliefs, and her people.

  Groaning under his breath, it dawned on him who he was describing.

  Sorcha’s kiss must have scrambled his brain. Used to deep, throaty, sloppy wet kisses her brief touch had seared his soul. Perhaps she was a witch who held a spell over Cameron men.

  Releasing one of the reins, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. What did Sorcha mean when she said Samuel meant everything? If he asked her would she kiss him again?

  Wrapping his arm around Sorcha, and grabbing the reins, he put the questions from his mind. His duty was to protect Sorcha and Samuel’s child. Nothing else mattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They rode for several hours crossing woods and obscure trails. Fear caused them to abandon the road and search for other routes.

  Sorcha interrupted the silence. “Do ye know where ye are going?”

  Grant didn’t want to admit it but he had no idea where they were, or where they were going. The current plan was to follow the river to reach the shore, but he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.

  Instead of admitting he was lost, he said, “Do ye know where we are?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why would I know where we are? Ye are the one controlling this beast. I assumed ye knew where ye were going.”

  “If ye want me to admit it, then I admit it. I am lost. Do ye feel better?”

  Sorcha threw her hands in the air, and would have toppled them both off the horse had he not steadied them. Bringing her hands down, he held them, stroking her long slender fingers. Dirt clustered under her choppy nails. With a jerk she tried to pull her hands free, but he wouldn’t release them.

  Over her shoulder he peered at the trail. “Ye shouldn’t bite yer nails.”

  “I don’t.�
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  “But they are ragged and chipped. I know a lass who bites her nails when I see it.”

  “Let it go.”

  “Nay, if ye didna bite them then how are they that way?”

  Roughly, Sorcha jerked her hands away from him and slid from the horse. She hesitated before speaking. “If ye must know I spent a month in a dirt cell and I clawed at the wall in my sleep.” The statement finished, she stalked away.

  Dismounting, Grant ran after her. She’d stopped moving, and he faced her back. Her shoulders sagged, and he reached forward to touch her. With his arm held aloft in the air he pulled back. The desire to comfort her was strong. But what about her past? What about Samuel?

  A deep breath rose in his chest. All the fears and doubts Grant held were shoved down, as he placed his hands on Sorcha’s shoulders and turned her around until he could stare at her face.

  “I am sorry for pushin’ ye, lass.” He paused. “Why don’t we camp here for the night? I will get us some wood, and we will have a nice warm fire. What do ye say?”

  She hesitated only a moment. “Do ye think a fire is the best idea? Won’t the smoke alert them to our location?”

  “It might if they were closer to us.”

  “All right then, I will take ye up on ye offer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Grant unloaded their meager belongings. Finished he left to locate firewood. Sorcha drew out a piece of dried meat and sucked on it. The sun blazed. Most of the ground around them was dry, but the wood remained moist.

  Leaning her head against a tall oak tree, Sorcha drifted into a light slumber. Upon awakening an odor wafted up her nose. One eyelid lifted off her cheek as she tried to locate the source of the foul aroma.

  “Well, lookie here. What do I see? I think it is a friend waiting for me.”

  Sorcha opened her mouth to squeal but a filthy hand clamped across her lips, cutting off all sound.

  “Hullo, my dear. It is me, Tom I wouldn’t yell if I were ye. If ye like yer man with his head attached to his neck then be quiet.”

  Sorcha nodded. What should she do? Although fairly certain Grant could best Tom, she didn’t know where he was.

  Tom leaned in and licked her cheek, causing her skin to crawl. “Don’t worry little lass, I came to save ye. A mob is after ye, and I am goin’ to hide ye and make ye my verra own.”

  He grabbed a hand full of her hair and pulled her along. Labored with the fast pace, she cried, “Ye must slow down.”

  Unhappy with the request, he stopped long enough to grasp her hair more firmly and fling her into a tree. Dazed and slightly confused, she struggled shakily to her feet, anger causing her voice to rise. “Tom, ye will stop this. Why do ye believe I would be yer woman when ye treat me so?”

  Tom scratched his beard. “Well, I−I, guess I didna think about it like that.”

  Unknown gumption filled her. “That’s right, ye never think, Tom. And just so ye know, if ye want to be my protector then the mob will be after ye as well.”

  Tom pondered on these words for some time. He would start to speak, stop, tap his head, close his mouth, and then tap his head some more.

  Sorcha needed a way out of this mess. Downed tree limbs, and loose foliage surrounded her. Was it possible she could heft a branch and use it to render Tom incapable of hurting her?

  ****

  Grant hid behind a tree trunk as a haughty Sorcha crossed her arms and explained to Tom his predicament. The woodsman seemed a little in awe of Sorcha and her stance. Imagine Sorcha claiming Tom as her protector−it was preposterous!

  They left the camp and Grant silently followed. If Tom would stop moving, then he would have an easier time of freeing Sorcha. Sorcha standing up for herself was unexpected and threw him off.

  There was no safe time to step in. Shifting from side-to-side, Grant waited. Abruptly they started to walk again, and he rushed to follow.

  ****

  Nudged in the back, Tom urged Sorcha to take the lead. Constantly he pushed her forward. His foul stench floated around her, causing the compulsion to gag. She traipsed on.

  Rock steps lay before them descending in a spiraling motion. Slick with rain and dead leaves, she worked to steady her footing. She walked as slowly as she dared, having faith Grant would catch up. Worry gnawed at her mind. With her awkward form, she might trip. This thought gave her an idea.

  They slipped and slid down the wet slope. Encrusted with rocks and mud, they arrived at a well-worn path.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “This be a back way to Dublin.”

  “Why are we going there?”

  “Well I aim to marry ye, and I need it to be legal and such.”

  “Oh,” was all she could say. She would have to enact her plan, and fast.

  Sorcha sat with a hard thump. “Owww!”

  “Now, what is it? Who knew a small lass such as yer self could be so much trouble.”

  She hid a smile behind her hand. Clearing her throat, she said, “Oh, Tom, canna ye see I have fallen? I might have broken my leg. Owww! Ye should just leave me here and go on alone. I am no good to ye now.”

  “What are ye babbling about? Ye want me to leave ye here? What about the boars and the wild animals roaming here about?”

  “Tom, ye deserve more than a lame wife. What good would I be to ye? Couldn’t do any washin’, or cookin’, couldn’t even tend to the young’uns. Ye would be better off going to Dublin and finding ye another lass that was fit for a man of yer kind.”

  Puzzled over her words, he lifted his leg and passed over her prostrate form. Only once did he turn around and look at her, arching his brow. Then just as suddenly as he had come upon her at their camp, he started off without her.

  For good measure she yelled, “Are ye leavin’ me?”

  Tom didn’t turn around, the words carrying behind him. “I sure is. I can’t have me a woman with that many infirmities. Good luck to ye.” He waved and kept walking.

  Shocked her plan worked, she covered her mouth with her hand and tried not to scream for joy. Imagine scaring the wits out of her, dragging her across the wood, and all she had to do was sit down!

  Knees pulled up, her elbow cradling her chin, she sat on the rock step and thought about what she should do now. She still had no idea where she was, or where she should go. She could follow Tom and arrive safely in Dublin, but without Grant it mattered very little. She could attempt to go back and find Grant, but she despaired of becoming more lost.

  Tom had taken her down many twist and turns through rock crevices covered in vines, down stone stairs that rocked when you touched them, underneath hanging branches and through secret openings. Sorcha feared she would never find her way back. Focused on freeing herself, she never thought about where she would go after she acquired such freedom.

  Tears streamed down her face. Swiping them away, she stiffened her spine. No more alternatives came to mind.

  Unexpected clapping started behind her.

  “What a performance! I canna believe the man believed ye!”

  Sorcha gasped. Grant stood above her. She rose to her full height and bent at the waist as much as the babe would allow, and extended her hand to accept his ovation. Done, she scurried over, and gave him a big hug. A smile spread across her face as she leaned back and slapped his arm. “What took ye so long?”

  Laughing, he answered, “Ye seemed to have the situation firmly in hand, and I saw no reason to interfere.”

  “Humph. Next time, interfere,” she said, turning her face away from him.

  She looked at Grant and blinked. “Did ye hear what Tom said?”

  He shook his head.

  “He said there is another way to Dublin! This trail we are on will lead us where we want to go. We can just follow his tracks to the coast. Right?”

  “Aye, that should work. Only I don’t know that the horses can come with us. Honestly Sorcha, I don’t know if ye should be doing all this climbin’ in yer condition.”
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br />   “Let us follow him for a short ways, shall we. If it becomes less treacherous, we can go back for the horses then continue on after him.”

  “And if the path worsens?”

  “Then we shall find another way.”

  “One problem with yer plan. It gives Nigel and his men time to catch us.”

  Sorcha worried her lip. Grant was correct. Taking time to explore the trail could give their pursuers the opportunity to catch up. Was the risk worth it?

  They should consider the benefits versus the risk before deciding their actions. Distracted, her mind wandered as she heard running water ahead. Maybe it was a spring where she could bathe? Perhaps Grant would allow her to venture on and see. This brought more worries to mind — what if Tom waited for her?

  “What is it, lass? I can tell something is on yer mind.”

  “Well ye see I can hear water, and I was hoping for a bath. Do ye think we could go a little further?”

  “Aye, a little further.”

  The trek downward was treacherous and on more than one occasion Sorcha had to grab Grant to stabilize her rotund body. They reached the bottom of the hill. Large boulders blocked their path.

  “Lass, we must go back.”

  “Nay, look there. It is an opening.” A small crevice was cut out between two of the boulders. Sorcha turned sideways and managed to squeeze through the hole, willing Grant to follow.

  What she saw on the other side took her breath away. A small pond set surrounded by rocks, collecting the water from a thirty-foot high waterfall.

  Battered shoes slid from her feet as she walked into the icy cold depths. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  A quick look at Grant told her he was looking at her instead of the waterfall. He was giving her the look men sometimes have in her presence.

  She stuttered, “I-I w-would like to take a dip. Would ye mind going back to the crevice and watching for intruders?”