“I need to talk to you, lass.” Matthew took hold of Sarah’s arm. “Alone,” he added, when Michael made as if to come along. “This is between father and daughter.” Two grey eyes met his, Michael’s mouth set into a stubborn line, and the young man squared his shoulders, looking at Sarah.
“It’ll be fine,” Sarah said, smiling at her husband as she followed Matthew towards the nearby stand of trees.
Matthew came to a halt and turned to face her. “How could you?”
“I…well, I love him.”
“Not that! I have eyes of my own. But to renounce your faith, lass, how could you do such?”
“Mama says—”
“Mama! You know well enough how important this is to me. And now – you’re foresworn.”
“Not according to Carlos – or Mama.” Defiant blue eyes burned into his, the long, generous mouth, so like his own, set in a displeased line as impressive as his.
“You’ve done wrong,” he sighed.
“Nay, that I have not. I have found my own way to God.”
“Your own…” Matthew stuttered, but after a couple of heartbeats of further glaring decided this was not going to help – besides, it was too late, dear Lord it was too late. He pulled her close and hugged her, telling her that no matter how angry he was – and he was – mostly he was relieved to find her hale. Sarah smiled, wept, smiled again, before launching herself into a panegyric over her new husband.
“He what?” Matthew looked in disbelief at his daughter and then back at his wife, who was talking to their new son-in-law some twenty-odd yards away.
“You heard me,” Sarah said. “He shot Philip Burley.”
Matthew’s brain scrambled with the effort of assimilating this. The name, the piebald horse! The man his daughter had wed was at best a brigand, at worst a murderer, a black-hearted rapist.
“Oh aye? And why was he there in the first place? To pillage and burn, to wreak havoc on our family, and you have gone and married him?” Matthew’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword.
“But he didn’t. Instead, he saw me and shot his uncle.”
“His uncle?” Matthew turned towards Connor. Sweetest Lord! Burley blood wed to his lass! No, this was too much, he had to…Matthew staggered, eyes on the lock of chestnut hair that fell across Connor’s brow, just like that accursed Philip Burley’s hair used to do, albeit that his hair was as pitch-black as his soul.
“He’s his own man, Da. He isn’t his uncle,” Sarah said, putting a hand on his sleeve.
He tore himself free, shoved her away from him. “He’s a Burley! He is kin to the men who—” He closed his eyes. “How could you? How can you stand his hands on you?” How could she do this to him, to the memory of her dead brother?
“Da,” Sarah was close to tears, “please, Da. He’s not like them, he’s kind and—”
“I don’t want to hear it! He has Burley blood – tainted, evil blood.” Matthew spat at her feet and walked off.
He stood leaning against a tree when he heard Alex come up behind him.
“Matthew? Are you alright?”
Alright? “She’s wed to a Burley,” he said in a lifeless voice.
“No, she isn’t, he’s a Connor. And you can’t blame him for his uncles, can you?” But he could hear it in her voice, that she was disconcerted too.
“So you don’t care?” he demanded. “It is no matter to you that she’s married to Burley kin?”
“I…” Alex hesitated. “Of course it matters. But—”
“He rode with Philip Burley! I slew his brother on my land!” He closed his eyes at the memory of his honed sword blade slicing through the younger man’s flesh.
“I’m sure he doesn’t hold that against you.”
“Hold it against me? The man should be hanged and instead I find him my son-in-law!” Matthew knotted his fist and stuffed it in his mouth to stop himself from screaming the invectives that thronged his throat. His daughter wed to scum. His daughter a papist.
When Alex placed a hand on his shoulder, he shrugged it off. He didn’t want her touch, he wanted to be alone with his rage. Besides, if Alex had not encouraged Carlos’ and Sarah’s friendship, none of this would have happened. He should have married her off the moment he found out she was pregnant, he thought angrily, but knew even as he thought it that he never would have done so – not when his lass was as fragile as a cracked egg. He sighed deeply.
“Matthew?” Alex sounded tentative, her fingers brushing at his cheek. He sighed again, and slid down to sit. She crouched before him. He scrubbed at his hair, at his unshaven cheeks.
“How can she bear him to touch her?” He gave her an anguished look.
“She knew him as Michael first. By the time he told her who he was, she was already in love with him. But apparently, she did have something of a shock.”
That caught Matthew’s interest, and he laughed when Alex described how Sarah had sent Michael flying.
Alex nestled up close and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “You see it too, don’t you?” she said. “That’s why you’re so angry.”
“See what?”
“How they dance around each other, like moths round a candle flame – like you and me,” she said, rubbing her face against his shirt.
Aye, he did, and it made him sick to the gut that his lass should find such magic with a man that should be her sworn enemy. Matthew made a small sound, conveying with fine precision just how disgusting he found the entire matter.
“Give him a chance. He can’t help his beginnings – none of us can.”
“Hmph,” Matthew said, but put his arms round her.
Chapter 42
It was fortunate, Matthew reflected, that neither Sarah nor Michael were with them when they met Minister Macpherson a day’s ride or so north of Providence. The minister was riding with several armed servants, looked Charlie up and down a couple of times, and expressed a warm welcome to the colony.
“We need men like you,” the minister said. “Young men who don’t hesitate to take up arms against the evil papists – king or not.” Charlie shifted in his saddle and muttered a thank you. The minister went on to offer Matthew the loan of a couple of his men, seeing as at present there was much unrest.
“Unrest?” Matthew asked.
“Oh yes, the Indians are out in force, and even worse, we have papists attacking good Protestant homes.” The minister shook his head. “All papists should be driven off, don’t you agree, Brother Matthew?” From the gleam in the minister’s eyes, it was apparent he knew about Sarah, was but taking the opportunity to twist the blade deeper.
“As long as they live peaceably with us, I think not,” Matthew replied in a calm voice. As he heard it, the aggressors were his own brethren, the papists acting mostly out of self-defence.
“Ah, but they don’t. And then what?” The minister rode his horse closer. “No, Brother Matthew, mark my words, it is time this colony is cleansed, once and for all. Throw them all into the sea, I say.”
“In keeping with your general character,” Alex muttered – fortunately too low for the minister to hear. Matthew sent her a warning look. He had no desire for further altercations with the ministers of his kirk, this whole matter with Sarah would be difficult to live down as it was. He near on squirmed inside as he collected the pitying looks of the other elders he’d met in Providence. To his relief, Alex took heed, angry blue eyes shielded by lowered lashes.
“Mmm?” Matthew had not caught the minister’s latest remark.
“I said,” the minister repeated, “that it is a calamity, this matter with your lass. However, she’s been raised in the kirk, and I dare say we will find it in us to forgive her and welcome her back – once she’s admitted to her grievous fault and done adequate penance for it, of course.”
“Ah,” Matthew said, thinking this mountain of a man had more subtlety in him than he’d imagined – a most graceful turning of the screw, this was.
“Yes,” the minister continued, n
odding so enthusiastically his chins, his jowls, wobbled. “What she needs is a husband of the right faith, a man who will take it upon himself to lead her back, to spare neither rod nor tongue in his efforts to make her see the light.” Minister Macpherson straightened up in his saddle, a motion accompanied by a creaking sound that had Matthew wondering whether the fat man wore some sort of corset. “Someone like me,” the minister clarified with a little smile. “A sacrifice, of course, but one I’d gladly undertake to bring this lost lamb back to the fold.”
“Sure you would,” Alex said – yet again in an undertone. “Pervert.”
Matthew had but the vaguest idea what this word might mean, but he suspected it was an adequate label to stick on the eager minister. Not much of a man of God at present, more of a man inflamed by twisted lust.
“That is most kind of you,” Matthew replied, “but I am sure you’re aware Sarah is recently wed.” From the surprised look on the minister’s face, it would seem Julian had chosen not to share this information with his fellow ministers.
“Oh.” The minister arranged his features into a grave mask. “I am sorry for your loss, Brother. It must grieve you to have lost your lass and know her bound for hell everlasting.”
“Aye,” Matthew said through gritted teeth. The minister wasn’t done.
“Ah well, lax mothers raise lax daughters.”
It was a miracle, in Matthew’s opinion, that Alex chose to do nothing but raise her face to look at the minister – for a very long time. With the softest of snorts, she set heels to her horse and rode off, with Charlie falling in behind.
“Bastard,” Alex said once Matthew had caught up with them.
“Aye, he enjoyed that. Still, he is but voicing the opinion of the majority of our fellow colonists.”
Alex looked quite drawn, the corners of her mouth drooping slightly. “Will they be alright?”
“Who? Sarah and Michael? Aye, of course they will.” At least for now, he amended silently, and St Mary’s City was mostly papist. “I am more concerned about how he will keep her.”
“You know how. He’s a printer, and that Mr Nuthead has offered him a partnership.”
“Aye.” Matthew looked away.
“What?” Alex rode close enough that their knees touched.
“I don’t like it. Yon Michael is the youngest son of a cooper, and yet he has the gold to set himself up as a partner. Blood money – Burley money.”
“You don’t know that,” she said.
He didn’t deign to answer. Instead, he urged his horse into a trot.
*
A few hours after dawn two days later, they turned into their lane. Alex stood in the stirrups, craning her neck for that first glimpse of her home, and there it was, the smoke rising straight from the chimneys of the big house. The lane dipped and turned on its way to their yard, the huge oak that stood at its centre was still in leaf, and just beyond the barn she could make out the river, glittering like silver in the early morning sun. Home: she sat back down with a thud, ridiculously glad to be back.
A gaggle of children rushed to surround them when they were sighted, and Alex stood for a very long time with Adam in her arms. Hugin cawed Alex in the ear, tenderly plucked at her hair before spreading his winds to fly over to perch on Lovell Our Dog. Adam took Alex by the hand, and led her down to the smoking shed where they together counted to seven pigs in bits and pieces.
“And a further three Ian sold at the Michaelmas market,” Adam said, “and it was me that helped him with the slaughtering.”
“You?” Alex asked – her youngest preferred healing animals to butchering them.
“Mark was off looking for Sarah, and Agnes was sick at the time, and Betty is great-bellied as is Naomi, and Mrs Parson is a wee bit too old, she says, to slaughter and salt all on her own.”
“Naomi is with child?” Alex asked, latching on to the single piece of truly important news. She had as yet to see either of her daughter-in-laws – or her elder sons – as Adam had effectively monopolised her from the moment he saw her.
“Aye, well into her fifth month by now.” Adam sighed theatrically. He lived surrounded by bairns and weans, he informed her. Soon, there would be nine small Grahams – excluding himself, of course.
Before she could properly greet her eldest sons, Matthew strode off to inspect his fields with Mark and Ian at his heels. After a quick hello to Naomi, a hug for Betty – who was the size of a beer cask – Alex went to find Mrs Parson, who was sitting on the small bench by the kitchen door, face raised to the October sun. They didn’t hug, they just held hands – for a long, long time. A gust of wind rattled through the long, thorny branches of the rambling rose just by the door, showering them with white petals from the tenacious roses still in bloom.
“So, you’re too old to help with the pigs, I hear.” Alex cleared her throat of a wad of emotion.
The old woman fixed her with a sharp eye and informed her she had been busy as it was. “Thomas Leslie was took poorly so I spent some time at Leslie’s Crossing nursing him, and then Agnes trod into a hornet’s nest and she was right ill for some days, and then we have wee Lettie, no?” She smiled fondly at the child in question who was leaping about on crutches as a consequence of trying to ride the bull.
“For our sins,” Alex muttered, just as fondly. “Was he that ill?”
“Hmm? Oh, Thomas, you mean. Aye, he was. Fortunate that I was there.” It came out very casual. Instead, Mrs Parson nodded in the direction of Charlie, standing quite alone by the stables. “A chip of the old block, that one. Bonny lad, if somewhat thin. So, was he worth the effort?”
“Well, I don’t think he deserved to die,” Alex prevaricated.
“But?” Mrs Parson asked, studying Charlie who was doing a slow turn, taking in the Graham homestead with an expression of awe on his face.
“Saving him could have cost us our lives.” Alex glanced at Mrs Parson. “And if I have to choose between him and Matthew, well…”
Mrs Parson snorted – loudly. “No one is worth as much to you as Matthew, so that isn’t saying much does it?” She threw Charlie yet another look. “If he starts behaving like his father, I’ll serve him hemlock for dinner. The world would not cope with another Luke Graham.”
Alex laughed. “Oh no, Charlie is nothing like Luke – he’s too naïve.”
*
“Strange, isn’t it,” Alex said to Matthew a few hours later, “no sooner do we set foot on our lane but we’re inundated by visitors.”
“Inundated? It’s just the one.” Matthew laughed, raising his hand in greeting to Thomas Leslie.
“Yeah, and we’ve just waved goodbye to John Ingram.” Alex rolled her eyes at Ian – still no opportunity for a nice long chat – and with a little sigh, went inside to advise Agnes there would be one more for their late dinner.
Thomas Leslie waved away their concern at his shrunken frame.
“I was sick to the gut for over a week,” he explained, “and I have as yet to fully recover.” He beamed at Mrs Parson, who beamed back, and Alex raised her brows in surprise. She studied them both with increased curiosity over dinner, biting back on laughter that threatened to choke her when she saw Mrs Parson fuss with her hair, Thomas’ eyes hanging off her hands as the starched cap was discarded, the hair smoothed into place and covered once again.
“She did that on purpose,” she said to Matthew in an aside. “There was absolutely nothing wrong with her hair.”
“He didn’t seem to mind.” Matthew winked, and went off in search of Charlie with Thomas in tow.
“You’re flirting with him,” Alex said to Mrs Parson. “He’s too young for you.” That was probably an exaggeration, given the mere decade in age difference between them.
“We’re old enough the two of us to choose for ourselves,” Mrs Parson retorted, “and you of all should approve, no? All that free love you blather on about.”
“Free love?” Mark stretched for another slice of pie, giving her an i
nterested look. Alex sighed. With the exception of Mrs Parson and Simon, only Ian and Mark knew of her unorthodox background, but while Ian, just like Matthew, preferred not to talk about it, Mark loved hearing titbits from her future life.
“I was a product of all that free love, more or less, but I didn’t practise it much.” She resigned herself to explaining what she meant, seeing Mark’s eyes widen at the titillating concept of sex without babies.
“It can be done now as well,” Alex said with some irritation. “Not one hundred per cent foolproof, but still…” She broke off at the amused look in Mark’s eyes.
“Oh aye?” He sounded just like Matthew when he said that. “Is that why you gave Da nine bairns?”
“Well, it doesn’t always work,” Alex mumbled, making her son break out in laughter.
It was almost dusk before Alex had the opportunity for her longed-for talk with Ian.
“Finally!” Alex smiled at her eldest son and patted the graveyard bench beside her.
Ian lowered himself to sit. “Are you alright? You look a wee bit thinner.”
“That’s because I throw up continuously when we’re at sea,” Alex said.
They settled back, and she told him most of their adventures, including the terrible night when she’d almost died at the hands of a pyromaniac.
“I have these pretty awful dreams,” she admitted, rather embarrassed.
Ian placed a reassuring arm around her. “You’re still here.”
“Yes, I am.” Alex rested against his solid frame. “So, what do you think of your brother?”
Ian’s face clouded. Charlie was just as he remembered him, he said: red-haired and green-eyed. He sighed, admitting that he could still recall how utterly miserable he had been at finding himself so totally replaced in Luke’s affections by newborn Charlie, his status in Luke’s household changing overnight from Beloved Only Son to Tolerated Cuckoo.
“But that wasn’t Charlie’s fault,” Alex pointed out.
“Nay, of course not. But seeing him, well, it brings it all back. And he’s uncomfortably like his father.”
“Very, but only on the outside. However contradictory it seems, Luke – viper that he is – has managed to raise a fine son.” Apart from when he’d clobbered Matthew over the head and thereby almost killed him. Alex gnawed her lip and decided this was an incident best not shared with Ian – and anyway, Charlie had done enough penance as it was.
Whither Thou Goest (The Graham Saga Book 7) Page 35
