Scattered Seeds (32 page)

Chapter 55

Edward stood next to Henry surveying their largest field.

A gust of wind blasted down from the ridge and rippled across the wheat that stretched as far as he could see.

“Father!”

Henry caught the girl leaping into his arms. She held a fistful of daisies.

Not a day passed without Edward giving thanks for Aileen’s health. She was as headstrong as her mother, and already skilled at using her charms to bend Henry to her will. At times, Edward saw Sorley flash across her features, and in those moments, the painful memory of his brother’s death filled him with sadness.

Mary approached, smiling and pregnant again.

“Sarah asked if ye could come talk to John,” she said to Edward. “He’s had another nightmare.”

“What is it this time?” he asked.

“Vikings. Says they were rowing a longboat across the field toward the cabin. He’s inconsolable.”

John had a vivid imagination and a curious obsession with Vikings—with all seafaring peoples, it seemed. He nearly drowned in the creek once, by trying to sail a boat carved out of birch.

“Tell her I’ll be right in.”

As Mary left, Edward smiled at Henry.

“Our seed’s got a good hold,” Henry said, kissing Aileen’s forehead as she slid daisy stems into his hair.

“In more ways than one, son.” Edward clamped a hand across Henry’s meaty neck, feeling the hardness of the torc’s clasp there. “In more ways than one.”

One hundred forty-five miles southeast, Pratt stood on tiptoe looking over the heads of the new immigrants teetering past him on sea legs.

On the gangplank, a sharp-nosed woman with a haughty countenance lifted her silk skirts and picked her way down to the docks.

Behind her, a lanky boy fumbled with an open parasol.

“Give me that, you incompetent . . .” She ripped the parasol from his hand and used it to whack him on the back. “Where’s Portia? Portia!” she shouted up the plank.

That has to be her,
Pratt thought. He pushed his way through the crowd toward the brig.

A maidservant shimmied onto the gangway. “I’m here, mistress. I was seeing to your trunks.”

“Here.” The woman shoved the parasol into the maid’s hand. “You’ll have to hold the parasol. Leonard can’t seem to cope with it.” She pointed a gloved finger at the girl’s nose. “Portia, if you only ever remember one thing I tell you, then let it be that you cannot trust a man to do a woman’s job.”

“Yes, mistress.” The girl opened the parasol.

“Now, where is that fellow who’s supposed to meet us?” The woman saw Pratt and smiled. “Ah, yes, that must be him there.”

He noticed, as she wobbled toward him, that her eyes were alluring, hypnotic.

“Are you Pratt?” she asked.

“Yes, and are you Mistress McConnell? Mistress
Sorley
McConnell?”

“Indeed.”

“Welcome to Pennsylvania.”

“My thanks.” She studied him over her nose. “Which way is Cumberland County?”

Also from
Soul Mate Publishing
and
Julie Doherty
:

SCENT OF THE SOUL

In twelfth century Scotland, it took a half-Gael with a Viking name to restore the clans to their rightful lands. Once an exile, Somerled the Mighty now dominates the west. He’s making alliances, expanding his territory, and proposing marriage to the Manx princess.

It’s a bad time to fall for Breagha, a torc-wearing slave with a supernatural sense of smell.

Somerled resists the intense attraction to a woman who offers no political gain, and he won’t have a mistress making demands on him while he’s negotiating a marriage his people need. Besides, Breagha belongs to a rival king, one whose fresh alliance Somerled can’t afford to lose.

It’s when Breagha vanishes that Somerled realizes just how much he needs her. He abandons his marriage plans to search for her, unprepared for the evil lurking in the shadowy recesses of Ireland—a lustful demon who will stop at nothing to keep Breagha for himself.

Available now on Amazon: 
http://tinyurl.com/jjs2zwf