By God's Grace

 

by Felicia Rogers

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

 

Greenbriar 1554

“Now, lad, I don't think ye want to be chasing this hen.” Duncan grabbed the youngster around the waist and slung him through the air, the child giggling in delight. Duncan pulled Thomas close and gave him a tight squeeze. He wiggled from Duncan's grasp.

Thomas took off once again after the squawking hen. Duncan chased after him, ensuring he came to no harm.

Sarra, the little youngster's mother and wife to Duncan's friend Cedric, waddled over, placing a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Duncan, but I think it might be time for Thomas's nap.”

Duncan breathed a sigh of relief. “Aye, I believe ye may be right. However, he does seem to be wound up tight as a coiled snake today. It might take ye awhile to get the lad calmed down.”

“I believe you're correct,” Sarra said.

As she leaned over to grasp Thomas, a loud noise came from the gates of Greenbriar. Horses thundered through the opening and stopped just in front of the keep doors. Cedric and several of the other men ran from the lists, stopping just before they reached the group. At the sight of so many kilted men on horseback, Cedric, Duncan, Boyd, Filib, and the other Scotsmen took a stand in front of the villagers. Sarra struggled to stand beside her husband, while Cedric shoved her behind. Sarra held little Thomas tightly to her side and peered around Cedric's arm, attempting to get a better look at the men on horseback.

The visitors stared at the crowd gathering before them. The leader of the group leaned a couple of inches in his saddle and let out a loud shout. “I am searching for Duncan Sinclair.”

No one made a move. No one had any intention of acknowledging Duncan was among them until they knew why he was needed.

Knowing they would never give him up, he called out, “I am Duncan Sinclair.”

Cedric mumbled a profanity. Not looking back, but walking toward the man sitting on the horse, Duncan stopped about five feet short and repeated himself. “I am Duncan Sinclair. Who wants to know?”

The man's eyes drifted everywhere but never settled on Duncan. “Yer brother has passed, and ye are hereby ordered by the council of elders to return home and take control of the clan.” Chin raised and one lip lifted in a snarl, the rider added, “Get yer stuff and let us leave these English dogs and go back where ye truly belong.”

Duncan walked to the horse, grabbed the man by the leg, and jerked him off the animal. His kinsman stood, his hands balled at his side. They glared at one another. “Ye will not insult my family.”

“We are yer family, or have ye forgotten?” he said with an angry tone.

Duncan moved as if to turn back to the Greenbriar inhabitants, but instead he formed a fist, his hand coming forward in an arc. The newcomer staggered but remained on shaky feet. Blood ran down the intruder's face.

“I believe ye may have broken my nose,” said the man in a voice lacking surprise but full of awe.

Duncan rubbed his knuckles. “Aye, I believe I have.”

The man threw his own punch, missing Duncan's nose but managing to clip his jaw. Shaking his head, Duncan grabbed the injured area and moved it back and forth. “Well ye didna break it, but it sure feels like ye knocked it out of joint.”

They began going around one another in a kind of dance, throwing punches. Left, right, left, right. Duncan and the rider fell rolling and wrestling. Finally one of them called a truce. Together they helped each other off the ground and shared a congratulatory slap on the back.

“It is nice to meet ye. I have heard much about the great Duncan Sinclair. I am glad to see most of it is true.”

“Ye'll have to explain what ye've heard.”

“I heard about yer fierceness in battle. I agree the rumors were correct. But they were wrong in yer looks. Ye are not near as ugly as I thought.”

Duncan laughed and slapped his kinsman so hard he fell back to the ground. Reaching a hand forward, Duncan asked, “What is yer name?”

Spine erect and chin held high, the man answered, “Grant Cameron. I was yer brother's second-in-command. And will be yer second as well.”

“Is that how it is to be? I don't even get to pick my own second-in-command?” Duncan's head shook with the semblance of agitation, all the while a smile rested on his face.

****

From the sidelines, Sarra witnessed the episode. The fight ended, and Duncan and Grant walked away as chums. “Cedric, I'm confused. What just happened? I thought Duncan and the new fellow were going to kill each other. Now they are slapping each other's backs like they are long lost friends.”

“Aye, lass, this is the way of it with men. We fight and then we make friends,” said Cedric.

Sarra rested her hand on her hip. “Humph, I think that is just stupid.”

“So ye believe it is preferable to hold a grudge, do ye?”

“Well, nay, I don't believe a grudge is preferable, but Duncan did break the man's nose!”

“Aye, he did. It can be reset. Look at it this way. Now Grant can boast that the new laird thought enough of him to break his nose.”

She shook her head. “I will never understand you or those like you.”

Cedric grabbed his squirming son, placed his free arm over Sarra's shoulders, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Ye don't have to understand me, just love me, aye?”

Sarra nodded, her lips twitching upward.

Later that day, an agreement was reached. Duncan would remain at the keep a few more days to say good-bye and get his affairs in order. The other Scots, who had come with him over two years ago to raid Sarra's sheep, would stay on at the keep. The village had become their home. Some of them had even made matches, which at some time or other were sure to end in marriage.

As the preparations for Duncan's departure neared, Sarra started thinking back to her pre-wedding festivities and all those wedding stories she'd had to endure as each Scot took a turn twirling her around the dance floor.

The night before Duncan was to leave, Sarra snuggled in bed. The cold air wafted through the room, and she pulled the covers to her neck. Warmth evaded her. Scooting closer to her husband, she was relieved when he placed his arm around her and drew her close. A sigh escaped her lips, and she asked, “Can I ask you something?”

Cedric buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. “Aye, my love, what would ye like to ask?”

Licking her dry lips, she said, “At the wedding, do you remember when Duncan, Boyd, and all the others were telling me their stories of how they got married, and they kept getting around to the wedding night?”

“Aye, I remember. I had to rescue ye from the curs every time.”

“Well my question is, how can this be? I mean, think about it. Duncan has been here for almost three years. Hasn't his wife been worried? And what about the others? They all have women in the village now. They never talk about wives or families.”

Cedric rubbed his forehead. “Well, lass, they were just makin' that stuff up.”

Rising on her elbow, she glared. “Why would they do such a thing?”

He shrugged. “They were trying to fit in. I'm sure they'll all get married and have children one day. But at yer wedding they were just trying to make ye feel more comfortable.”

Sarra plopped to the pillow, pouting. “Well it didn't work. I don't like being lied to.”

“Aye, lass, don't be upset. They didna realize ye would feel such a way. Just curl up next to me and go to sleep.”

Sarra did as Cedric requested, but she was determined to give Duncan a piece of her mind. However, when Duncan left the next day, Sarra said nothing. Instead she wept. Cedric and the others said it must be because of the babe she carried, but she knew the real reason. A family friend was leaving, and she might never see him again.

As Duncan readied to leave, he hugged little Thomas Duncan MacNeil and made him promise to never forget him. Duncan made a pledge to come back for a visit.

With her hand placed over her rounded belly and her eyes glistening with unshed tears, she watched Duncan pull away from them. Spine erect and head held high, he rode out of the castle gates with Grant and the men toward his ancestral home in the Highlands.

****

Arbella's eyes widened in horror. Before Jamus knew what transpired, he was grabbing her. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she toppled to the ground in a heap.

Exhaling, Jamus called, “Tavis, get down here and help me with this child.”

Tavis hoisted her with ease. “Where do ye want to put her?”

“Let's take her inside and lay her on the bed, shall we?”

Tavis carried Arbella into the quaint cottage and placed the unconscious lass on a bed. Jamus studied the main room. The fire was out. Supper wasn't prepared. No wood rested in the wood box. No wash hung on the line. The cottage appeared empty instead of containing three occupants.

As Arbella lay in an insensible state, Jamus searched the cottage and grounds. Worry beset him. Where were Jonas and Martha?

As the thought crossed his mind, two mounds of dirt in a cleared area beside the house came into his vision. The closer it became, the more he noticed. Two white objects stuck out of the mounds. Within minutes, his aged form was close enough to make out the objects. They were wood placed in the shape of a cross. He knew what they meant. Jonas and Martha were no longer on this earth. They were dead.

Jamus stared at the graves. No words indicated when they might have perished. New sprouts of green grass grew. Flowers had been planted in between the two mounds. Tiny buds showed. He guessed this meant their demise wasn't too recent.

A study of the land revealed the garden had been plowed, the plants set, and the animals cared for. If Jonas and Martha were gone, who was taking care of the property?

Jamus spun on his heel and headed back inside. His hand rose and fell over his open mouth. It couldn't be. No way Arbella had taken care of this place. But if so, then how long had she been alone and responsible for all this?