Beyond a Doubt

chapter Six




Bryce slept away from the fire, allowing Lucy to be close to the blaze and its warmth. He folded his arms for a pillow. A cool breeze blew, moving leaves and limbs. Stars overhead twinkled; the moon shone brightly. Bryce was at an impasse. Promises were meant to be kept. Indeed the young lass had asked for his help, and he had readily accepted, before he knew the extent of the agreement.

Home had been within his grasp. If he’d walked on and forgotten the bath, he might have been there by now. A roaring fire would have greeted him. Back slapping, well wishes, and fond words would have been spoken. The Cameron laird, his uncle Valan Cameron, would have welcomed him. A feast would have been thrown in his honor. News of Grant’s impending return would have soared within their breasts and brought smiles to their lips.

But instead he slept upon the cold, hard ground. A foreign woman berated him for his lack of food and funds. How long would it take him to travel to London and back home? How long could they go without supplies? How was he going to feed them and the horse?

With a sigh, Bryce rolled onto his side. Perhaps tomorrow would look more hopeful. At last sleep overcame him.

****

They traveled by foot the next day, allowing the horse to rest. An uncommon heat covered the land. Inside a small leather pouch which dangled from her wrist, Lucy carried everything she owned. Tucked neatly away was the Chinese dancing fan, called the Mai Ogi, made with slates of tortoise shell and covered in thick fabric.

Lucy fingered the fan and sighed. Charlie may have stolen her trunk and everything within, but in leaving behind the fan, he’d lost the most valuable object of all.

She waved the fan, generating a breeze against her flushed skin. How could she have been so stupid? Charlie had obviously been a nefarious character. Tall and gangly, his black hair combed to the right and greased into place, his pencil-thin mustache turned upwards at the corners. She had thought him debonair, dashing.

The man had talked continuously, like a braggart. The boasting should have been a dead giveaway to his character. Or at least his knowledge and adeptness at thievery should have caught her attention. But Lucy had turned a blind eye to these things. Charm and charisma had overridden her common sense.

“Miss, would ye like to ride now?”

Startled by the question, she answered, “What? Oh, aye. I would indeed.”

Bryce shifted the pack toward the horse’s hindquarters and smoothed a blanket over its back before helping her mount. Once she was in place, he surprised her by slinging himself up behind her. Then Bryce reached his arms around her sides and grabbed the reins. He clicked his tongue and the horse trotted forward.

Lucy held her spine erect and leaned away from Bryce’s frame. Within minutes her back trembled with pain. “Do you mind if I lean against you? This position is terribly uncomfortable.”

“Would ye like me to move?”

“Nay, of course not. I’m sure you are as tired as I. But would you mind if I relaxed my posture?”

Time passed and there was no reply. A look over her shoulder revealed the huge Scot gnawing upon his lip. His eyebrows knitted together.

“Bryce?”

“Aye?”

“May I have an answer? My back is in a rather awkward position.”

“Aye.”

“Does this mean you will give me an answer or is that my answer?”

“I don’t think Crissy will like it.”

“Pardon?”

“Crissy, my lass back home.”

“Oh.” So Bryce was taken. With a sigh, Lucy shifted, intending to get off the horse. The young man obviously didn’t wish to be touched by her and to stay upon the moving beast in so awkward a position would never do. Feet swollen with blisters would be preferable to a stiff back.

“Where are ye going?”

“Bryce, if I cannot lean back, my spine will break in two. Therefore I believe I will walk, if you don’t mind.”

Before she could move further, Bryce pulled her back. Within minutes the sway of the horse and the warmth of his chest lulled her into a deep sleep.

****

All the way to London, ran over and over through his mind. When Bryce had promised to help the lass, he had thought about dropping her at the next local town. Although that didn’t seem possible, it would have to be. Bryce would tell Lucy he would deliver her no further than Carlisle. From there she could secure a more suitable escort.

As Lucy fell against him, a soft snore emitted from her parted lips. Shifting upon the horse’s back, Bryce wondered, Who is this woman? Lucy Bard, she’d said. She claimed her escort ran away with all her possessions. The escort probably left because of her sharp mouth. The woman didn’t cater to silence.

A smile tugged the corner of his lips as he glanced at the charge in front of him. Short and thin, with cute brown eyes which took on a golden hue when rankled, the lass might be considered attractive.

Brown locks caressed her neck and face, loosed from an earlier coiffure. A sniff of the air revealed that her hair smelled like a summer rain. The clothing the lass wore needed repair. The former rose-colored gown was spotted with tinges of brown and green, from dirt and grass stains. The lacy edge looked trampled and dirty. Shoes of the finest brocade, with a soft sole and a cork heel of around one inch, peeled apart. Pain emanated in his feet at the thought of walking in such finery.

Crissy would be appalled that he’d concentrated so intently on another woman and her clothing.

Come to think of it, he wondered what his Scottish lass was doing. The two of them hadn’t exactly spoken of commitment before he’d left. In fact, Crissy had stayed away during those last few days.

In all the time they had known each other, neither of them had come right out and expressed words of love. When he’d willed himself to discuss the issue, Crissy had changed the subject. His personal opinion on the matter was that she’d avoided a relationship because she thought he was leaving for the Sinclair keep permanently.

Bryce didn’t blame the hesitation. Crissy just didn’t understand love. Although young and inexperienced in the ways of men, she would understand in time.

Bryce had sent letters to Crissy time and time again. Within the pages, he’d expressed his feelings. Hopes and dreams of a life, a family, and a farm flowed from his hand. And even though Crissy never replied, Bryce’s hope remained high. The winning of the lass could and would be accomplished by his gentlemanly ways, of that he held no doubts.

The rest of the day the couple traveled in silence. Bryce thought of home. Who knew what Lucy thought on? The lass only spoke when she needed relief. Once that desire was fulfilled, they climbed back on the horse and continued on.

By afternoon they reached a small settlement. A few buildings dotted the area beside the road.

Within the dwellings, Bryce hoped to find food. Dismounting and helping Lucy to the ground, he bid her stay behind.

“I’ll ask around. Ye stay with the horse.”

“I will not be treated like a child. I can take care of myself. Allow me to walk around and ask as well.”

“That may be, but ye will stay with the horse.”

Hopefully his voice brooked no argument. Her foot stomped the ground, and Bryce twitched his lips. The lass’s temper got the best of her, if the squeal of pain was an indicator. Who came to Scotland wearing such footwear? With a shake of his head, Bryce slipped toward the biggest building.

Posed to knock, he was interrupted as the door was slung open.

“Whatta ye want?” said a glassy-eyed, beefy man with a scruffy beard.

Bryce hesitated to answer.

“Well whatta want? I don’t have all day to stand about. Me woman has decided to nag me until I fall over dead. Do ye have a dagger?”

He shook his head in confusion.

“More's the pity. Would have been less painful that way. Well, state yer business.”

The inconsistent speech threw Bryce off balance. Uncertain what answer to give, he stuttered and stumbled, never giving a real reply. Confused, he didn’t notice Lucy coming up behind him.

“Kind sir, we are in need of lodging and sustenance. Could you provide these requirements?”

The strange man widened his eyes at the lass’s unexpected appearance. A leer covered his face. “Mayhap. If yer trade is worthy.”

Bryce caught the meaning. With a rough yank, he pulled Lucy to his side. “I will work for our keep.”

The man stroked his triple-jawed chin with his thumb and finger. He placed his forefinger to the sky, as if an idea occurred to him. “Big boy, come with me. The young lass can help the missus inside.”

“Uh-uh,” stuttered Lucy, as Bryce gave her a gentle shove toward the open door. Inside a woman lay upon a thin straw mattress. A hand rested against the lady’s pale forehead; a soft moan emitted from her mouth.

“Emmett, close the door! The draft hurts me head. Besides, do ye want me to catch me death of cold? Don’t answer that. Have ye milked the cow? Bessie isn’t goin’ to milk herself. And what about me laundry? If my clothes ruin ‘cause of yer laziness, I’ll never forgive ye. Do ye hear me, Emmett! Never!”

Bryce cringed at the shrill squeal, which sounded like nails scraping across a metal tub.

“Now, Doreen, I’ve brought ye a helper. This little lady is goin’ to do everythin’ ye say inside and her man here is goin’ to help me with the outside work. Isn’t that right?”

“And what do they want in return, Emmett?”

“I suspect they want something to eat and a place to bed down.”

“Well, she’ll have to fix it. My head hurts and I won’t be gettin’ up to cook for no man nor his strange, odd-lookin’ woman.”

Lucy’s face morphed into a bright red. Bryce hid a chuckle. He waved and followed Emmett out the door, winking as he left.