by Jo Jones
“But none will look as fine as ye,” he whispered, tracing the lace around to her back where he settled his hand, lightly caressing the bare skin above her waistband as he walked her to the driver’s side of the truck. She shivered and would have turned to him if Grif hadn’t just arrived.
“Ready?” Angus’ asked, gripping the truck’s door handle.
She looked up, meeting his intense blue gaze. “More than ready,” she whispered.
Angus’ slow smile held a hint of promise. “Then we sh—”
“Come on, Angus,” Grif called, opening the passenger door and sliding to the middle of the seat. “Let’s get this show on the road. I hear there’s a festival in town!”
~ ~ ~
While Lucy prepared for the contest and Grif talked with Floyd Hastings, Angus wandered through the rows of festival booths in search of anything, or anyone, needing what Soni might consider a deed worthy of his brief mortality. She’d sent him to this place for a reason. What if he couldna find it in time?
Finally, after a couple of hours and no results, Angus walked to the relative quiet of a group of trees a short distance beyond the booths, and let the sounds drift over him. The collective hum of the crowd. The unique laughter of children. The angry, guttural murmurs behind him…
He glanced over his shoulder where, beyond a thicket of shrubbery, two men argued. A short, stalky man shoved an envelope at a taller person who shook his head, apparently refusing to take it. Angus couldna make out their words, but the short one was clearly upset with the other. Finally, throwing his hands up in defeat, he dug in his pocket, pulled out what appeared to be a handful of money, and almost viciously counted out more bills before thrusting them and the envelope against the tall man’s chest. The tall one nodded, tucked them inside his coat, and walked away, while the short one stalked off in another direction.
Angus shook his head. ’Twould seem men had no’ changed much over the centuries, still paying for some secret or scheme.
When he turned his attention back to the festival, he thought he saw Blake disappear into the crowd. Curious, Angus started back toward the booths and spotted him again, easing through the crowd, head down, shoulders hunched. The lad dinna respond to anyone. No’ the couple of people who called to him, some who seemed to purposefully ignore him, or those who whispered, pointed, or cast suspicious looks his way. Suddenly, his head came up and he stood straight and tall, even returning a few stares.
Good for ye, lad. Show ‘em the man ye’re tryin’ so hard to become.
Despite his vexation with Blake over his treatment of both Lucy and Grif, Angus understood what drove the lad. He only hoped Blake would find his way before he completely alienated them. The lad couldna possibly ken the heartache of losing yer family forever.
Angus entered the crowd a short distance behind Blake, in time to see him pause and stare inside a tent-like enclosure before ducking inside.
“Angus! There you are.” Grif’s voice sounded behind him.
He waited for Grif to catch up, noting his careful pace amid the milling crowd and uneven ground.
“Was that Blake I saw?”
“Aye. He went into that tent, ahead. From what I observed, his welcome here was no’ especially a warm one.”
Grif frowned. “I’m not surprised. I just wondered what kind of mindset he’s in this morning, or if anything you said to him last night stuck. My guess is, he’s still feeling angry and abused.”
Angus recalled the initial difficulty he’d had heeding Alistair’s words. Thankfully, his friend had no’ given up on him. “I dinna ken the lad’s changed that much overnight.”
“I doubt it,” Grif replied. “But for Lucy’s sake, I wish he’d hurry.”
“Morning, Angus! Morning, Grif,” someone called from the opposite row of booths. Angus looked over to see Orville’s wave just as a group of jabbering children mobbed his booth.
“There’s a good man,” Angus commented waving back.
“Don’t come any better,” Grif replied.
Blake emerged from the tent, his face set in tight lines. Angus watched him stride away, but he’d only managed a small distance when he stopped short, staring ahead. The suddenly whispering crowd around him parted, forming a clear path between Blake and a lad in a wheelchair.
“That’s Matt,” Grif explained. “Used to be Blake’s best friend until the accident. And that’s his mother, there behind him.”
Most of the onlookers seemed to hold their collective breath as the two lads stared at each other. Matt looked small and broken in his wheelchair. Angus saw no indication of the strong lad Lucy had described. A thin blanket covered his legs, but dinna hide the way they twisted toward one another.
When Blake took a step toward the lad, Matt turned his head aside, in dismissal. His mother sent Blake a sympathetic look and pushed Matt away, leaving Blake standing alone in the midst of more murmurs and whispers.
Angus’ heart cracked a bit for Blake, understanding too well, the pain of standing alone in a world where ye dinna feel ye belonged, were wanted, or accepted.
When Blake stalked off, Angus’ instinct was to follow him and convince him things could change if he would. But he’d only be repeating what he’d already said, and he had to allow Blake to make his own way, just as Angus had suggested Lucy to do for him.
Grif shook his head. “That kid can’t catch a break. I wonder how long he’ll have to pay for that accident?”
“ ’Tis strange that Matt would turn his back on Blake if they were such good friends.” Angus puzzled, watching the crowd disperse. Some still whispered back and forth, but most seemed ready to move on to the next attraction “Does everyone feel Blake is tae blame for Matt’s condition?”
“No, not everyone.” Grif replied. “I think most people are more curious than anything. But I think those few that do blame him, base their opinion more on Blake’s past antics than anything to do with the accident. They just seem to voice their opinions louder than the others. Like Matt’s dad. Too bad Blake’s supporters aren’t as vocal. He could really use some public approval. I’m sure he feels everyone’s against him. He rarely leaves the house, and when he does, like today, this is the reception he gets.”
Angus knew well what alone felt like, misguided or no’.
“So, what’s in there,” Griff asked, watching people come and go from the tent Blake had come out of.
Angus shrugged. “I’ve no’ been in.”
He followed Grif inside, where a square table sat in the center with The Bell on a small dais as if ’twere the crown jewels. The guard standing by seemed to verify his thoughts.
“Och. That’s it then?” Angus asked Grif, indicating the bell.
“It is,” Grif sighed.
“ ’Tis no’ much to see.” Angus studied the bell for a moment wondering how such a simple object could set people, even whole towns, against one another.
Several tables were arranged in a semi-circle around the bell, displaying dozens of square frames. “These are all photographs of games, wins and players from years past,” Grif explained. “There’s probably a picture here of every Ashton win.” He handed a frame to Angus. “This is from last year when Matt was the star quarterback. See? He’s ringing in the victory. That bell can sure make a racket.”
“Och. ’Tis a marked difference from the lad I just saw.”
“Yeah.” Grif’s sigh was audible. “Matt’s dad’s been pretty rough on Blake, but even with all he’s lost, I never thought I’d see Matt turn on Blake, too. Not when they were so close.” He clapped Angus on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here, I need some fresh air.”
~ ~ ~
After an interesting lunch of something called a corn-dog, then helping Lucy clean up her booth, Angus sat crowded between Lucy and Grif on what they’d called bleachers, sharing blue cotton-candy. The strange, sticky sweetness dissolved on his tongue as he studied the boisterous crowd, then frowned at the late afternoon sun. His two days were
almost over and he’d still no’ found the reason he’d been sent here. Anxiety tightened his belly. Should he stay at the game, in case something showed itself, or go elsewhere to search?
The warmth of Lucy’s bare arm seeped through the sleeve of his long-shirt, and he yearned to trail his fingers across the tantalizing skin peeking below the pretty bit of lace she wore.
Spending time with Lucy, tasting her kisses, experiencing the flesh-and-blood hopes, dreams and desires she triggered in him, had been a boon with consequences he’d no’ been prepared for. Resentment speared through him at the cruelty of finding her, only to be snatched away. He cared for Lucy. More than he could have imagined. But mostly, he regretted that he would end up hurting her when all he wanted was to love her.
He tried to clear his thoughts by paying attention to the game, but he couldna follow it. The crowd of spectators, however, all seemed eagerly, or angrily, captivated. Pretending to be interested, he watched for anything that might resemble a dire need. However, nothing but the chaos on the field revealed itself. If he continued to wait, he could lose a final opportunity to locate the deed he’d been sent to accomplish.
He leaned close to Lucy’s ear. “I’ll return in a bit. I’m going tae have a look around.”
“Okay,” she turned toward him. “If you don’t make it back, I’ll find you after the game.”
Her warm breath brushed his cheek and he almost changed his mind. Soni could come for him at any time. What if he never saw Lucy again? He wasna sure how to face that. But he’d pledged his honor to go with Soncerae and accomplish the task she set before him. How could he no’ try, right to the last? If he dinna, he’d have no honor, and he couldna face Lucy wi’out any. He tried to memorize her face in that moment, just in case. Burn it so deep he’d be able to recall it through eternity. “I’ll watch for ye.”
Whatever or wherever my eternity is, I’ll always watch for ye, Lucy.
CHAPTER NINE
The roar of the game dimmed as Angus made his way back through the mostly abandoned rows of booths, now closed for the game. He scanned ahead, alert for anything that might fill the needs of his quest.
If his deed was no’ to be found at any of the places he’d been, the festival, or the game where most of the townspeople gathered, why had Soncerae brought him to Ashton and set him down in Lucy’s orchard? Surely ’twas no’ to pick a few apples and wash a few bowls!
Standing amid the relative silence of the booths, Angus felt tendrils of panic setting in. “Och! Soni. I dinna ken where tae go next.”
He’d no’ felt this defeated since Prince Charlie had chosen no’ to stand with those fighting for his cause at Culloden, leaving them to die, beaten and bewildered.
Would Lucy feel this way when he left and dinna stand by her after what they’d shared? Even though they’d no’ said such in words, he knew the connection between them to be as real as the breath in his borrowed lungs.
Movement caught his eye a few booths down when someone burst from the Bell-tent with a wrapped bundle tucked against his chest.
“Blake?”
Blake’s head came up and he ground to a halt when he recognized Angus. Their gazes locked for the space of a second before Blake took off, racing toward the trees.
Angus’ instinct was to go after him. But dragging him back would only force accountability, no’ teach it. Blake had pleaded for his freedom. He should face the consequences of how he’d used it.
But Angus knew as he watched Blake’s escape, that he wouldna face them alone. Lucy would suffer with him. ’Twas she who’d pledged her word Blake wouldna repeat last year’s deed. The town would blame her as much as Blake. Mayhap more.
The bell had to be returned before the end of the game, if Lucy was to be protected. Then he would worry about Blake’s consequence. Somehow, the lad must learn to think beyond himself!
He raced past the line of booths, just as Blake disappeared into the trees.
“Angus!”
He cringed. No’ now!
“Angus, stop!” Lucy called again from behind him. “Was that Blake?” He could tell by her breath, she was running to catch up. “What’s going on?”
He came to a halt and turned to face her, feeling his only chance of diverting a disaster drain away. “What are you doing here, Lucy?” Frustration hardened his tone.
She caught up with him, still breathing heavy. “I came to find you.”
“The game is no’ over.”
She shrugged. “No, but it’s almost over and I…got a little nervous. I guess I needed to be sure the b…” Her eyes widened, and a look of disbelief crossed her face as she glanced at the trees. “You were chasing him.” She shook her head, as the truth settled in. “No.” Tears pooled at the edges of her lashes.
“It’s gone!” They turned to see a man running from the bell-tent toward the football field. “It’s gone!”
Angus thought he recognized the man as the bell’s guard. Why had he no’ cried out earlier, or chased Blake from the tent?
A short, deafening horn-blast sounded, and the crowd roared, drowning out the man’s cries.
“The game’s over,” Lucy whispered, a look of horror on her face. “They’ll be expecting the bell. When it’s not there, they’ll automatically accuse Blake. I can’t believe he wou…” She raised her face to Angus. “They’ll crucify him.”
And ye, Angus agonized. “We have tae find him, before someone else does. ’Twill go much easier if he turns himself in.”
“What if he won’t?” She glanced nervously toward to the football field.
“Then ye must.” Angus knew ’twas the only way some of the townspeople would ever separate her from Blake’s actions.
Lucy’s horrified gaze shot to him. “No! I couldn’t—”
“Lucy!” Angus’ tone was sharp. “ ’Tis his only chance. By now everyone knows the bell is missing. They’ll no’ be reasonable when they find him. Would you rather ’twas us, or them?”
Lucy scrubbed a hand across her brow. “All right. But I won’t let them hurt him!”
“Nor I.” Together, they raced toward the trees, slowing as they entered an area dappled with shade and dotted with bushes and scattered boulders.
“Blake,” Angus called, hoping the lad had stayed in the trees rather than risk exposure beyond. “I dinna ken why ye’ve taken the bell, and right now I dinna care. But ye’ve put yer sister in danger. Surely ye ken they’ll take their anger with ye, out on her.”
“Please Blake,” Lucy called. “We’ll face them together. But we have to put the bell back.”
Angus waited, hearing nothing but a few birds and the distant hum of the townspeople as they left the game. He looked at Lucy and shook his head. Mayhap the lad wasna around here, a’tall.
“Are ye willing tae let yer sister pay for yer deeds?” Angus challenged, one last time. “I believe ye to be more of a man than that.”
Blake emerged from behind a large bush. “And like everyone else, you automatically assumed I took the bell.”
Frustration overrode Angus’ relief in finding the lad. “We’ve no time for games. Return the bell and we’ll face the outcome together.”
Distant sounds of an angry crowd filtered into the trees. Blake’s face hardened. “And if I say I didn’t take it?”
“Blake,” Angus challenged. “Ye know I saw ye wi’ it.”
“You saw him take it?” Lucy asked.
“No.” Blake shook his head in defiance. “He didn’t.”
Angus’ patience reached a breaking point. “Ye’re claimin’ ye dinna have the bell wrapped in that cloth ye had tucked against yer chest when I saw ye came out of that tent? That my own eyes deceived me?”
“Yes.” Blake held firm.
Lucy made a sound, but Angus couldna tell if ’twas from relief or disbelief.
Through his anger, Angus had to admire the way Blake stood tall, calmly challenging him with eyes full of conviction. No excuses or hysterics as there’d bee
n in the past. Had Angus no’ witnessed the lad leave the tent with the bundle, he’d believe him. Blake’s eyes and demeanor said he spoke the truth, and for the first time, as they faced one another, Angus thought he glimpsed the man inside the lad.
“I’ll ask ye once, and only once. Can ye give me yer word, as a man grown, that ye had nothing tae do with the disappearance o’ the bell on this day?”
Blake stepped forward and eagerly held out his good hand. “My word on it.”
Angus had lived and fought with many a man. Some honest, some as deceitful as The Bonny Prince, and everything in between. Picking a companion ye could trust your life to, and one ye couldna, depended on being able to read them. The lad standing before him now was no’ the same one Angus had encountered twice, in Lucy’s house. Something had switched within him. “Then I believe ye.” Angus said, shaking Blake’s hand.
“So do I,” Lucy said, hugging him.
Surprise and relief flickered across Blake’s face, then understanding. “But you’re wondering what I did take, and why I ran.”
“Aye,” Angus nodded.
The hum of mingled voices grew louder, and a few muffled shouts rang out. “They’ll assume he took the bell,” Lucy said to Angus. “Some of them will be more interested in retribution for what they’ll see as two years of intentional vandalism, than listening to reason. She glanced at Angus. “What are we going to do?”
“Blake and I will face them, together.” Angus stated. “Ye should—”
“Don’t you dare suggest I not be there, Angus MacLaughlan.” She threatened, fire in her eyes.
Stubborn lass! But ’twas no time to argue. “ ’Twill go better if we can get Blake inside the bell-tent, so there’s a bit of a buffer between him and the entire town, until we can convince them Blake didn’t take the bell.”
Blake didn’t try to hide his fear, but Angus also saw resignation and some of the determination he was beginning to admire.
“Just a minute.” Blake left and came back with the wrapped package Angus had seen earlier. “Here,” he handed it to Angus. “Maybe you’d better hang on to this for now.”
