Carnal Gift (14 page)
“You sold it?”
“Aye. I had no poppy, no turpentine. I—“ “You sold it to buy medicine for me?” Jamie felt strangely pleased. He knew what that brooch meant to her.
She nodded, looked away. “It was my duty to see you well cared for, and my brooch was the only thing at hand.”
Her duty.
Jamie’s ardor began to cool. His voice hardened. “If you had but told me, Brighid, I’d have given Rhuaidhri coin to buy it back.”
“That’s very kind, but—“
“But you’d rather lose it than ask for my help?”
“Your
help
might well get my brothers killed,
Sasanach.
If they are caught with your pistol, there will be no mercy!” She unbuttoned his coat, let it fall to the ground. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t need anyone’s help!” With one last withering look, she turned and disappeared inside the cabin.
help
might well get my brothers killed,
Sasanach.
If they are caught with your pistol, there will be no mercy!” She unbuttoned his coat, let it fall to the ground. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t need anyone’s help!” With one last withering look, she turned and disappeared inside the cabin.
His anger barely in check, Jamie turned back to Rhuaidhri, who bounced on his heels, eager for his turn at the trigger. Jamie repeated the same lesson he’d given to Fionn, barely aware of his own words.
Damn her!
How like a woman to twist the situation! How like her to blame their, predicament on him! He had tolerated their insults. For God’s sake, he had even excused her brother’s attempt to murder him. Now he was giving them the ability to protect themselves, and she blamed him for it? She had no idea what he risked by tarrying here, what was at stake for him. Hadn’t he almost lost his life trying to save her? Did she not realize that in teaching them to shoot, he, too, could be branded a traitor and executed?
Damn her!
How like a woman to twist the situation! How like her to blame their, predicament on him! He had tolerated their insults. For God’s sake, he had even excused her brother’s attempt to murder him. Now he was giving them the ability to protect themselves, and she blamed him for it? She had no idea what he risked by tarrying here, what was at stake for him. Hadn’t he almost lost his life trying to save her? Did she not realize that in teaching them to shoot, he, too, could be branded a traitor and executed?
“Like this?” Rhuaidhri turned toward him, his attention on the pistol, which he absentmindedly aimed at Jamie’s chest.
In one move, Jamie stepped out of the line of fire and wrenched the weapon from the boy’s hand. He looked Rhuaidhri gravely in the eyes. “Never point a loaded weapon at another man. Your carelessness could get someone killed.” His anger with Brighid gave his voice a harsh tone he hadn’t intended.
Rhuaidhri flushed to the roots of his blond hair, looked at the ground, mumbled something that sounded suspiciously profane.
Jamie pointed the barrel at the ground and held it out again. “A loaded pistol must never be handled lightly.” Rhuaidhri’s gaze met his, and Jamie realized the boy was embarrassed as much as angry. Rhuaidhri took the weapon carefully and listened to the remainder of Jamie’s instruction. By the time he was ready to fire the pistol, Rhuaidhri’s enthusiasm was restored. But enthusiasm quickly turned to frustration as he failed to hit a target, and Jamie found himself grateful for the reprieve that arrived with cups of steaming liquid.
“I’ve made broth.” Brighid handed them each a mug.
She did not meet Jamie’s gaze.
She was still angry. Fine. So was he.
“Ah, Brighid, my sweet, you’re an angel.” Fionn drank his in several hearty gulps. “It warms a man to his toes, so it does.”
Fionn was right. Jamie swallowed his broth, grateful for its warmth.
Rhuaidhri glowered into his mug.
“Oh, don’t take it so hard, Rhuaidhri, my lad.” Fionn laughed, clearly enjoying his revenge for all of Rhuaidhri’s unsolicited advice. “Not every man can shoot an apple at twenty paces.”
“Let’s see you do it,
Sasanach.”
Rhuaidhri stood before him, pointed the barrel at the ground, thrust the pistol at Jamie. An unmistakable look of challenge was on his young face.
Sasanach.”
Rhuaidhri stood before him, pointed the barrel at the ground, thrust the pistol at Jamie. An unmistakable look of challenge was on his young face.
“Very well.” Jamie handed Brighid his empty mug, reloaded the pistol. He motioned for the three of them to stand behind him. “I’m aiming for that apple.” “The one on the end?”
“No, Rhuaidhri, the one hanging on the tree.” “Hanging on the tree? Bloody hell! That must be at least—“ “I’d say it’s a good thirty paces.” Jamie turned, raised his right arm. “Let’s see if I can shoot it out of the tree without hitting it.”
“He’s daft! Hit it in the stem at thirty paces?”
“Shh, Rhuaidhri, let him concentrate.”
But Jamie didn’t need Fionn’s help. He quickly focused on the apple, lifted his arm so that the tip of the barrel pointed a hairbreadth above the fruit, squeezed. A crack. A puff of smoke. The tang of gunpowder.
Jamie lowered the pistol.
The apple had vanished.
Fionn and Rhuaidhri ran forward, leaped the fence. “I’ll be buggered.” Fionn held the apple up for all to see. It was whole.
“I can’t believe it! How did you do that?” Rhuaidhri began to talk in excited Gaelic with his brother. Brighid gaped in astonishment, didn’t even bother to hide her surprise as Jamie turned to face her. She gazed up at him, unsure what to say. “You’re quite the marksman.”
“My brother-in-law saw to it I was trained in the gentlemanly arts from a young age.”
“Is killin’ a gentlemanly art? Or breakin’ the law?” “Yes, Brighid—when the occasion calls for it. Fionn is only doing what he must as a man and the head of this household.”
Fear clutched at her belly. “What aren’t you telling’ me? Can you not see it’s worse to let me imagine a thousand horrible things than to tell me the truth?” Unshed tears pooled in her eyes. She hastily blinked them away, ashamed to reveal her turmoil to a man who already saw far too much of what was inside her.
Jamie looked down at her, his brow furrowed. Then his gaze softened. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “The earl is searching for you, Brighid. He’s scouring the countryside, and he aims to find you.” She felt the color drain from her face. Dread settled in her stomach like lead. “I thought so.”
His hands cupped her shoulders through her cloak, steadied her. “There’s more. He threatened Muirin this morning.”
Brighid gasped. “Muirin! What about Aidan?” “He’s fine. Fionn has moved in with the two of them to keep them both safe.”
“And you’ve given Fionn the pistol in case . . .”
“Aye, Brighid, just in case.”
“I see. Thank you for tellin’ me the truth.” She turned, walked with a calm she did not feel back to the cabin, opened the door, closed it behind her. Then she let the tears come.
Chapter Eleven
Jamie rolled over, pulled from sleep. Something warm and fuzzy was running up his leg beneath his blanket. He didn’t need to look to know it was a mouse. They were the original residents of this cottage. Still half asleep, he reached beneath the blanket, grabbed the little rodent, flung it aside. But the mouse wasn’t what had awoken him. There was something else.
Now fully alert, he listened.
A soft whimper came from across the room.
Brighid.
She was having another nightmare. It was the third night in a row.
He sat, looked across to the other corner. Rhuaidhri appeared to be fast asleep, his breathing slow and even, his eyes closed.
Brighid thrashed in her bed, small frantic whimpers coming from her throat.
Jamie glanced back at Rhuaidhri s sleeping form, threw off his blanket, and quickly crossed the room to the bed, the earthen floor cold against his bare feet. He sat beside her, stroked her cheek. “Brighid, wake up.”
Her head twisted from side to side, and she pushed his hand away. “Eirigh asin”
Jamie lifted her into his arms, held her tight, whispered in her ear. “Wake up, Brighid, my sweet.” She struggled against him, trapped in her nightmare. Her lids fluttered open, and for one moment she gazed at him through eyes dark with dreams. Then she blinked. “J-Jamie?”
“You’re safe, Brighid. It was a dream, nothing more.” She pressed her face into his chest, clung to him. Her entire body trembled, and Jamie felt renewed fury at the man who had caused this. He didn’t have to ask what she had dreamed to know Sheff was the source. Though she tried to hide it, he knew she was terrified that Sheff was looking for her.
Her fear and helplessness tore at him. His need to protect her, to make her feel safe, was so strong it startled him. In the light of day, he might have questioned it, fought it, dismissed it. But here in the dark with Brighid so afraid she trembled and wept, he surrendered. He held her and ignored the heat she kindled in his blood. He demanded nothing, questioned nothing, offered her only his strength, his reassurance.
Grateful for Jamie’s presence, Brighid held on to him as if to save herself from drowning. Tears flowed unheeded down her cheeks, wet the front of his shirt. She fought to quell the fear that made her heart pound, felt Jamie’s hand caress her hair.
“Shhh, love, it’s going to be all right. I won’t let him touch you. I won’t let him near you.” His voice was deep, soothing. He felt warm, strong.
The icy fingers that clutched her heart began to melt.
She lifted her gaze to meet his, feeling awkward, uncomfortable. He hadn’t touched her this way since . . . “I’m sorry. I woke you.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Shall I make you a cup of tea? It will help to banish your dreams.” His concern, his thoughtfulness surprised her. “There’s no need...”
But he had already released her and was walking toward the hearth, where the fire had burned down to glowing embers.
She hugged the blanket closer. The cottage seemed chilly and dark now that he had stepped away. She heard peat land with a muffled thud on the embers, and soon a blazing fire filled the cottage with warmth and golden light.
Brighid watched as Jamie hung the kettle over the fire. Dressed only in his shirt and drawers, he opened the tea canister, filled the linen tea sock with dried leaves, set it in the waiting pot.
No man besides her father had ever made her a cup of tea. It felt intimate in a way she couldn’t explain and left her feeling flustered. But then everything about Jamie confused her.
Curious, Rhuaidhri watched through half-closed eyes as the
Sasanach
comforted his sister, made her tea, sat on a chair beside her bed, spoke softly to her. The bastard
Sasanach
cared for Brighid. A blind man could see it.
Sasanach
comforted his sister, made her tea, sat on a chair beside her bed, spoke softly to her. The bastard
Sasanach
cared for Brighid. A blind man could see it.
Worse, Brighid cared for the bastard
Sasanach.
Rhuaidhri was certain, even if she herself refused to admit it. The hell of it was that the bastard
Sasanach
wasn’t such a bastard. Rhuaidhri had watched the man closely these past weeks, and the
Sasanach
was always surprising him. He was English and a Protestant, but he had broken English law to help a family of Catholics. He was deadly with a gentleman’s pistol, but knew how to wield a hammer and a hay fork, too. His clothes were as soft and pretty as a lady’s, but his tanned skin and muscles proved he’d done his share of manly work. Yesterday Rhuaidhri had returned from cutting peat to find Blakewell covered to his elbows in clay from patching the cracks in the cottage walls. Loathe as he was to admit it, Rhuaidhri was finding it harder and harder to hate the man. But something wasn’t right. Time and again Rhuaidhri had asked Blakewell when he was planning on leaving, but the man had yet to give him a clear answer. The
Sasanach
was clearly strong enough to make the journey. What was keeping him here?
Sasanach.
Rhuaidhri was certain, even if she herself refused to admit it. The hell of it was that the bastard
Sasanach
wasn’t such a bastard. Rhuaidhri had watched the man closely these past weeks, and the
Sasanach
was always surprising him. He was English and a Protestant, but he had broken English law to help a family of Catholics. He was deadly with a gentleman’s pistol, but knew how to wield a hammer and a hay fork, too. His clothes were as soft and pretty as a lady’s, but his tanned skin and muscles proved he’d done his share of manly work. Yesterday Rhuaidhri had returned from cutting peat to find Blakewell covered to his elbows in clay from patching the cracks in the cottage walls. Loathe as he was to admit it, Rhuaidhri was finding it harder and harder to hate the man. But something wasn’t right. Time and again Rhuaidhri had asked Blakewell when he was planning on leaving, but the man had yet to give him a clear answer. The
Sasanach
was clearly strong enough to make the journey. What was keeping him here?
Rhuaidhri didn’t like the only answer that came to him: Brighid. But his sister and the
Sasanach
had no business caring for one another. Their nations were dire enemies. Their churches condemned each other, forbade marriage. They came from different worlds, Blakewell having grown up in comfort, Brighid in poverty. They could no more build a life together than a sparrow and a salmon. Even if by some miracle they managed to find a way—to elude the British Crown, the law, the Church—Rhuaidhri would not allow a
Sasanach
into the family. It was unthinkable.
Sasanach
had no business caring for one another. Their nations were dire enemies. Their churches condemned each other, forbade marriage. They came from different worlds, Blakewell having grown up in comfort, Brighid in poverty. They could no more build a life together than a sparrow and a salmon. Even if by some miracle they managed to find a way—to elude the British Crown, the law, the Church—Rhuaidhri would not allow a
Sasanach
into the family. It was unthinkable.
Rhuaidhri pondered the situation, listened to his sister and the
Sasanach
whisper together.
Sasanach
whisper together.
“You’ve nothing to fear, Brighid. I will do everything I can to keep you and your brothers safe. Don’t let the earl steal your sleep.”
“It’s not him, it’s . . .”
For a moment there was silence.
“Maybe it would help to talk about it.”
“It’s one of his men, the one who took me away. He . . .”
Something in his sister’s voice made Rhuaidhri’s muscles tense.
“What about him, Brighid?” The
Sasanach’s
voice was still gentle but had taken on an edge. “What did he do?” “It doesn’t matter now.”
Sasanach’s
voice was still gentle but had taken on an edge. “What did he do?” “It doesn’t matter now.”
“If it gives you nightmares, it does matter.”
Rhuaidhri couldn’t agree more.
For what seemed an eternity, there was only the soft crackle of the fire.
Then Brighid spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “He touched me.”
Rhuaidhri felt anger kindle and burn within him. He knew which man Brighid feared. The bastard would die alongside his devil of a master.
The Sasanach took her into his arms again, held her.
“He won’t touch you again. Ever. I promise.” Why had Brighid shared this awful fact with the
Sasanach
and not her brothers? Rhuaidhri pondered this, didn’t like the answer.
Sasanach
and not her brothers? Rhuaidhri pondered this, didn’t like the answer.
The
Sasanach
stood, bade Brighid to sleep well, pushed his chair back to the table.
Sasanach
stood, bade Brighid to sleep well, pushed his chair back to the table.
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