“Also the churches,” inserted Lorcan.
“Aye, keen thinking Lorcan. The houses of worship for sure. Such a devoted lass would wish to thank the Lord for safe passage,” said Nigel, a triumphant smile lighting his face.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Grant could stand it no longer and left the room. The deep gut wrenching sobs filled him with misery. Sorcha had loved his brother, and Samuel had loved her. He wasn’t pleased with the situation, but it did answer his questions.
Outside, he squatted covering his head with his hands. He didn’t know what to do. He ached to hold her, comfort her. Even after all that was said, he still loved her. How could he have ever thought to just throw her away and leave? Samuel had looked past what she’d gone through. Could he not do the same?
Grant stood and kicked at the ground. Lifting his face to the sky, he wondered how Samuel had accomplished such a feat of forgiveness. What would his brother say if he was there?
A bell caught his attention. Looking in the direction of the noise, he spotted a church. Perhaps the answers he sought would be found inside.
He entered the dark building. The benches were empty. A wooden cross hung crudely at the front of the room. Candles provided the only light. Shadows danced in the corners. The stillness and silence caused memories to intrude.
“Jude Cameron, what have ye done?”
“I was just borrowin’ it, Uncle Samuel.”
Samuel dipped his head in sorrow.
“Truly Uncle, I planned to return it.”
“Ye know what that ring means to yer grandfather.”
“Aye. But I only needed it so we could play. I didn’t see the harm in playing with it. Do ye think Grandfather Valan will forgive me?”
Unbidden, the thought arose. Samuel hadn’t hesitated to enlighten his nephew. The act of forgiveness wasn’t something that could be done alone. In order to forgive we had to have help. When Samuel explained the act of forgiveness he said, “We forgive others because He forgave us.”
Grant had never asked for absolution from anything. It was past time. Head bent in prayer, he cried out for forgiveness of sins and for help to live a worthy life.
When finished, Grant felt like a new person. He was ready to run to Sorcha, proclaim his love for her and her unborn child, and vow to protect them forever. Time would be spent begging her forgiveness. Sometime in the future he hoped she would allow herself to look past his mistakes.
He left the church quickly and headed to the pub and his room. Sighing he put his hand on the door right as Bryce skidded to a halt in front of him.
“Grant, I believe we have a bit of a problem.”
“Aye, what is it?”
“A man from clan Sinclair came into the pub and said someone was in Ayr looking for ye and the girl. They tortured the farmer that had yer horse until he confirmed we were headed south.”
Grant drew a ragged breath and ran his wayward hand through his hair. “I canna believe it. Why haven’t they given up yet?”
“I don’t know, but it’s true. The man is downstairs. He thinks ye would be better off if ye headed for home while some of the Scotsmen below attempt to waylay the group.”
“Aye, ye are right. Let me grab Sorcha and me things.”
“So the lass is coming?”
“Aye, the lass is coming.”
“Well good. Are ye sure she is Irish?”
“Aye, through and through.”
“The lass sure is pretty, even with her belly full and round.”
“Aye, that she is. But remember ye belong to Crissy, and Sorcha belongs to me.”
Bryce shifted from side-to-side, his vision downcast. Looking up, he said, “Don’t worry about Crissy and me. I’m just glad you’ve found someone. Don’t ye raise yer eyebrows. Ye know yer father thought he would be in his grave before ye married.”
“Married!” Grant slapped his hand to his head. “Of course! We need to get married before we return home.”
Bryce didn’t ask. “Be that as it may, we need to leave soon or ye may be in yer grave before ye are able to get married.”
Grant placed his hand against the door and pushed. The door opened, exposing the whole room to his view. Sorcha was nowhere to be seen.
Bryce arched a brow.
“She was just here. I have only been gone for a few moments.”
Bryce walked the empty room. “The bed is stripped bare, and look at this.”
The covers were connected and tied to one of the wooden bed posts.
“Did she climb out the window?” asked Bryce.
“Aye, it would appear so.”
“How did she do that in her condition?”
“Who knows? Trust me when I say she is full of surprises.”
Grant rushed to the window to look outside and was rewarded with a glimpse of a fleeing skirt. Past Bryce he ran, down the stairs two at a time, and landed on the ground in a run. The other Camerons weren’t far behind.
On the open road, Grant stood. Using his hand as shade he peered around the area. If he didn’t find her soon he was going to panic. Sorcha had no idea Nigel and the others were still after them. He had to find her before it was too late.
****
When Grant had walked out of the room, Sorcha was devastated. She didn’t know what she had expected to come from her little confession. Only hours before, he had told her he loved her, now that seemed as if a lifetime had passed. How fickle a heart could be.
Sorcha didn’t know what to do. She devised a temporary plan of action. The church, surely they would protect her. She tied the covers together, lowered them out the window, and shimmied down the rope to the waiting ground, before another thought entertained her mind. She was halfway to her destination when she realized Grant didn’t know of the danger awaiting him. She couldn’t leave things this way, no matter how he felt about her.
She turned on her heel and started running back to whence she had come. Before she made it back to the inn, she was grasped from behind and pulled roughly against an unwashed body.
“Fancy meeting ye here. I thought to come to Scotland and find me a little Scottish lass, and lookie who I see up and walking around.”
Sorcha pushed at the arm holding her hostage and tried to dislodge herself, but he didn’t seem inclined to let go. She pushed her hair away from her face. “Tom, what a pleasure to see ye again. I wish I had time to stay and have speech, but I really must be on my way. If ye could see fit to remove yer arm, I will be goin’.”
Tom picked up a strand of hair and sniffed it. “Ye smell good.”
Sorcha gulped. Grant had been standing in the road right before Tom grabbed her. She needed to reach him and warn him about Nigel before it was too late. The death of both Cameron brothers would not be on her head.
She grasped her hair and went to jerk it free. With a grunt of dissatisfaction, Tom pulled her body closer.
“Tom, please, ye are hurtin’ me.”
“Am I now? I don’t know if I can believe ye or not. Ye have tricked ol’ Tom too many times.”
There was no time for this. She turned and faced him. His hands were on the small of her back, mimicking a loving embrace. Staring directly at his mouth, the noxious odor made her woozy. Fight the urge to swoon; ye have to focus on finding a way to reach Grant.
Avoiding Tom’s putrid breath, she looked into his eyes. “What do ye want from me?”
“Well, well—”
“Ye don’t know, do ye? Well let me tell ye some things. I have too many worries at present, and I have no time to add ye to my list. If ye haven’t noticed I am close to birthing a babe, I have the queen’s emissary on my tail, and I am destitute. My only hope is that the church will support me. Now if ye have demands for me, ye better start speaking because my patience is at an end.”
Tom’s eyes widened. Sorcha was hopeful he would loosen his hold and she could escape. Instead, he did something most unexpected.
“Ye talk too much,” he muttere
d.
A dirty rag was plucked from his breeches and shoved roughly into her mouth. Pulling a rope out of nowhere he secured the rag in place. Flung around where he could see her back, he gathered her hands behind her and tied her wrists together. She tried to fight, but he punched her in the face and she fell.
As Sorcha struggled with consciousness, Tom pulled her to an empty building. A sudden fear of history repeating itself filled her. He threw her into a huge pile of hay, and leaned in close.
“Don’t worry about me, I done found another woman. I’m sorry I had to tie ye up, but I canna have ye meeting me lass and telling her about me past.” Walking to the door, Tom waved good-bye, and closed her up in the dark prison.
****
Grant rushed after Sorcha’s fleeing form. He stood in the road looking for her. Where could she have disappeared to?
If he was Sorcha and he was seeking refuge, where would he go? The church, of course! He walked in the direction of the town kirk in hopes of finding Sorcha. He needed to find her, and soon. Bryce was following behind him with a worried expression.
“Bryce, ye are making me nervous.”
“Sorry Grant, but forgive me if I’m not looking forward to a fight against the crown. Yer lass might have been set to burn, but if we are caught fightin’ our heads will roll.”
“I know this. That is why we need to find Sorcha and get out of here before we need to fight.”
“Where do ye think she went? Maybe if ye tell me what happened, we can figure it out.”
Grant had no intentions of sharing his personal problems with Bryce. “Please go wait with the horses.”
“But, Grant won’t two of us find her quicker than one?”
“Do as I say!” Grant said a little more forceful than intended. Bryce hung his head and walked away to do Grant’s bidding.
He would apologize later. Right now, he had to find Sorcha. As he drew closer to the church, he noticed a familiar figure. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Tom slinking away. What was he doing there? Was everyone following them?
Stalking over to where Tom stood, Grant grasped him roughly by the shoulders and pushed him into a wooden building. “Where is she?” he said between gritted teeth.
“I don’t know who ye are talking about.”
Grant glanced around them. When he saw no one looking, he pulled back his fist and punched Tom in the stomach. Tom grunted with pain.
“I ask ye again, where is she?”
“I can’t remember.”
Grant reared back and hit him again. “I can do this all day.”
Tom laughed hysterically. Grant released him, and he dropped to his knees. Tom looked up at him, his eyes glazed over from strong drink. “Ye don’t have to worry, I done found me another woman.”
Grant looked at him questionably. “Ye did?”
“Aye, I did. I told yer lass that, but she was all over me.”
“Indeed?”
“Aye, she was. She just canna get enough of ol’ Tom.”
“Well, where is she now?”
“Off lickin’ her wounds, I expect.”
“And where might she be doing such a thing?” Grant asked playing along. If Tom had harmed Sorcha in any way he wouldn’t see another sunrise.
“I believe she was headed over to that empty building.”
Grant rushed away noticing Tom scurry in the opposite direction. When Grant reached the proximity of the building he heard whimpering and moaning coming from within. He pushed open the door, and there she was.
Face buried in hay, she struggled to flip over like a turtle stuck on its back. Grant touched her arm, and she flailed wildly trying to scream through the gag. Bruises were forming on her cheek. Tom better have run away, far away.
First he untied her hands, then he flipped Sorcha over, and removed the gag. She jumped into his waiting arms. She blurted, “Nigel is coming, ye are in danger. Ye must leave.”
“Aye, I know. But how do ye know?”
“I heard it earlier, when I was at church. I meant to tell ye in the room. But after everything else, I forgot. The second time I left, I was headed there to beg for sanctuary, but I couldn’t leave without warning ye. I was on my way to tell ye the news when Tom jumped me.” She fidgeted. “Grant, listen to me, ye must go now. When Nigel arrives it won’t be safe.”
Tremors racked her body as she struggled to stand. A sigh rushed past her lips as she turned on her heel to leave. Grant grabbed her. “Sorcha, I won’t leave without ye.”
Tears poured from her eyes. “What?”
“I mean, I love ye. I can’t imagine my life without ye. I need ye to forgive me for wanting to give up after one minor problem, for which ye had no control. And, I, well, I want to marry ye.”
“Ye do?”
“Aye, I do. If ye will have me.”
****
What a question! Of course she would marry him! When Tom accosted her, she had despaired of ever being found. Now she had not only been found, but proposed to by a man she wanted more than life itself.
Sorcha sat back into the hay on the rough floor. Their time was limited, and they needed to leave, but she had to ask. “What about the babe? I won’t give it up.”
Grant sat beside her, turning his head to face her. “Of course, ye won’t. It is our child, our first of many.”
Sorcha’s heart soared. She couldn’t have been happier. He was accepting her and the babe. He had forgiven her, he still loved her, and he wanted to marry. Another thought hit her, as she clung to him and hugged him tightly. “One more thing.”
“Now Sorcha, we are short on time, canna it wait?” asked Grant, leaning back and looking at her.
Sorcha narrowed her eyes. “Nay, it canna wait. This is important. I canna marry ye until I know this answer. I, need, I mean, I must know, how ye feel about God.”
Grant looked away. He looked everywhere but at her. The sound of gritting teeth preceded his statement. “Canna we talk later.”
Sorcha stood up, widening her legs and making a stand. She wasn’t going to move from this spot until he told her what she wanted to know. “Nay,” she spoke aloud. “If ye canna tell me, then I will just return to the church.”
“Verra well.” Grant leaned forward, toward her ear and whispered in a secretive manner, “I accepted the Lord into my heart.”
Excitement couldn’t be contained. She lunged at him, her hands snaking round his neck, and pulling him into an embrace. On her tip toes, she propelled herself upward until she could kiss him across his wide grinning mouth. Then just as suddenly she pushed back. One hand on her hip, she wagged her finger in his direction like a scolding mother. “Now, Grant we have done enough of this foolin’ around, we got to get out of here.”
“Aye, I couldn’t agree more,” Grant said, pulling her along toward the group of waiting horses.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Nigel and his men arrived in the town just south of Ayr. The men were ordered to fan out, search, and question the townspeople. No one in the town was willing to admit they might know those they sought. Each and every building they walked into the people scurried to hide. Even the men of the cloth, that occupied the town’s kirk, stayed hidden away. Only in the pub, did the people stay and chat.
Festus, Lorcan, and Nigel headed to the long wooden bar that filled the whole left side of the room. The other men were left outside to watch the horses and talk to the townspeople that happened to stagger their way. They knew this was the town Grant and Sorcha had been in last. They just needed to find someone to tell them which way they went.
Nigel stepped up to the bar. “Sir, I would like a drink, please. Wine, if you don’t mind.”
The man raised an eyebrow and plopped a huge pint down in front of Nigel. In a loud booming voice, he said, “Ale.”
Nigel frowned. “No, thank you. I prefer wine.”
The man appeared unimpressed. He leaned on his elbow and beckoned Nigel forward with the crook of a big beefy finger. Nigel
leaned in hoping the man was going to reveal that the good stuff was in the back.
“Ale,” the man repeated once more.
Nigel was becoming discontent. This was impossible! “Now, sir, I have asked you twice for a wine. I do not wish to drink your ale. Now if you please, you will serve me wine, or I will speak with the owner of this establishment.”
Lorcan appeared next to his side. “Nigel this might not be the best place to make yer stand. I think I would just take the ale and be done with it.”
“I will not. I asked for refreshment, and I wish to receive it. If he doesn’t have what I asked for, then he shouldn’t be advertising himself as a house of drink.”
Lorcan shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t really care. “Come on, Festus, we might want to move away from this one.” They headed to a table as far from the bar as possible.
During the exchange with Lorcan, the man behind the counter continued to stare at Nigel. He still had yet to produce what he’d requested. Perhaps the man was off in the head? He obviously didn’t know with whom he dealt.
“Now I will repeat myself for the last time. I am an emissary of the Queen, here in Scotland on a mission of greatest importance, and I wish to be refreshed in your establishment. Now if you please, I would like a wine.”
The man filled another pint with ale and plopped it in front of Nigel. “No wine, only ale.”
“That was much better. Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now then, perhaps another liquor, if ye please.”
The man behind the bar appeared to be tiring. His shoulders sagged as he moved closer. Unexpectedly he leaned across and grabbed Nigel by the scruff of the neck, pulling him forward. The man’s breath reeked from poor hygiene. “Ye listen hear ye English fop, because I won’t be tellin’ ye again. We serve ale here and nothin’ else. If ye don’t like it, then get out! And them words is comin’ from the owner of this establishment!”
Nigel flopped into his seat, and straightened his attire. He pulled his rapier from its scabbard with a swishing motion. The tip was pointed at the man’s triple chin before he was able to bat an eye. “Very well, you do not serve fine liquor in your establishment. That I understand. What I do not understand is how you think you will get away with threatening me?”
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