Carnal Gift (42 page)

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Authors: Pamela Clare

Tags: #Historical Romance

BOOK: Carnal Gift
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This was the moment, Jamie knew. The moment to ask her. One question. Five words. What was the worst she could do?
Laugh at him, as Sarah had done.
Turn away from him. Reject him.
“So that’s it? We’re off to America. Fionn’s off to Clare.” Brighid turned to face Jamie, met his gaze, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “And what is to become of Rhuaidhri and me? Will Rhuaidhri work in your fields? Will I peel potatoes in your kitchen, wash your floors, dam your stockings?”
Jamie was about to tell her he hoped she would, indeed, do some of those things, but as his wife, not as a servant. But the next thing she said stopped him. “I’ll sail to America, but only if we live in Maryland with other Catholics.”
Maryland. She didn’t want to be with him. She wanted to be with people of her own faith. But then he hadn’t told her. She didn’t know.
If she did know, would it make a difference?
There was only one way to find out.
“You won’t have to go to Maryland to find other Catholics, Brighid.” Jamie took her hands in his. “You’re looking at one.”
Jamie heard her brothers’ surprised gasps.
She looked up at him, clearly confused. “What?”
“I found a way.”
Then Jamie told her how, when she’d been fighting for her life, he’d made Father Owen a promise. If she lived, he would convert and become a Catholic. Jamie had kept that promise, had spent many an hour meeting with the good father in between sessions of Parliament. “The deed was done to the good father’s satisfaction two days before the earl took you from London.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes full of worry. “But, Jamie, is it not against
Sasanach
law? Is it not a kind of treason?” He smiled, lifted a strand of hair from her face. “Aye, love. I’ll never hold a seat in the House of Burgesses. I could be stripped of my lands, though I have taken measures to prevent that. I could be ostracized, find many doors closed to me that previously were open.” “You did this for me?” Brighid stared at him with wide eyes. “Such a price to pay!”
He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Nothing they can do to me could equal the price I would pay if I had to live my life without you,
a Bhrighid.”
Brighid could scarce believe what she was hearing. Jamie was a Catholic. He’d converted so they could be together. He wanted to live his life with her.
Then, bare, blistered chest and all, Jamie knelt on the frozen ground before her, pressed her palm to his heart. “Mo ghrd
thu, a Bhrighid.
I love you. I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you in that clearing, and I’ll never stop loving you. Marry me.”
Joy beat like a bird’s wings in her breast. Warm tears slid down her cheeks. She sank to her knees before him, her hand still pressed to his beating heart. “You are everything to me, and you have been since the night you chose not to take what you were given. Aye,
Sasanach,
I’ll marry you.”
By dawn, they had reached the port of Drogheda, where Jamie used his connections with Kenleigh Shipping to secure passage for three aboard a ship bound first for Dublin, then Virginia. As the ship had not yet been ready to sail, he’d used the extra two hours to order baths, new clothes, and a meal for them at a nearby inn—and to find a priest.
Ailis had taken advantage of the confusion to vanish. Though Rhuaidhri had scoured the streets in search of her, he’d hadn’t found her. Brighid could see the anger and sadness on his face and found herself wondering what had transpired between her brother and the servant girl. But she’d had little time to think on it, as she’d been about to become a bride.
It had been a quick ceremony, made so by the desperate need to stay ahead of news of the fire. There had been no ring, no wedding gown, no feast. But as the priest had spoken his words of blessing, with Fionn and Rhuaidhri standing as witnesses, Brighid could have hoped for nothing more. She was Jamie’s wife, he her husband. Now the ship was at last ready to make sail, and Brighid stood on deck, the ship rocking gently beneath her feet. The air was cold, smelled of the sea, of faraway places, of farewell.
She fought to sort through her tangled emotions. Such joy and such grief on the same day—it was almost beyond bearing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried so much or for so many reasons.
She looked up into her brother’s blue eyes. “Promise, Fionn, you’ll come as quickly as you can!” “I promise.” Fionn pulled her into a tight embrace, kissed her forehead. “Be strong, little sister. Know that I love you and I’ll see you again soon. All will be well. You’ve got a good man and a good life ahead of you.” Then he held her out before him, lifted her chin, looked into her eyes. His voice broke as he spoke. “Da’ would be right proud of you if he could see you today, Brighid—aye, and Ma’, too. I am proud of you. Never forget that.”
She fought to hold back the sobs that welled up inside her. “Thank you, Fionn, for everything. Give Muirin our love. And tell Aidan I miss and love him.” “I will.” He released her, took Rhuaidhri in a bear hug. “Stay out of trouble, Rhuaidhri. Watch your temper and your tongue.”
Rhuaidhri’s voice was tight. “Aye.”
Fionn turned to Jamie, shook his hand. “Take care of them, Blakewell.”
“I will.”
“I know.”
Then Fionn and Jamie embraced, and Brighid could see the affection and respect that had grown between them.
With that Fionn turned and was gone down the gangplank.
Brighid fought her grief, felt Jamie’s arms enfold her.
“Farewell, Fionn! May God keep you!”
“And you!” he shouted back, blew her a kiss.
The anchor was weighed. Sails snapped, filled by wind.
The ship lurched forward.
On the pier below, Fionn stood alone, waved to them. Brighid could hold back no longer. As the ship sailed out of port, she stared at the vanishing landscape of her homeland, at rolling green hill and sandy shore, and she wept. She wept for Fionn and Aidan and Muirin. She wept for the grave of her mother she would never see again, for the sacred wells she had visited that would know her prayers no more, for the holly and hawthorn she would not bedeck with ribbons come spring. Most of all she wept for the bittersweet dream that was Ireland. She felt Jamie’s reassuring touch on her shoulder, felt Rhuaidhri’s hand take hers.
Together, they stood in the wind, watched as first Fionn, then the shoreline, vanished from view. “You’ll see him again soon.” Jamie kissed her hair.
“And Ireland? Will I see it again?”
“Perhaps some day—when it is safe.” He turned her to face him. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a gift for you.” Rhuaidhri had wandered off and was talking about the ship with one of the crewmen.
Brighid sniffed, couldn’t help smiling. “Where did you find time to go shoppin’ for a gift?”
He shrugged, grinned. “It’s just a little something I picked up.”
“Show me.”
He reached into his pocket, placed something hard and metal in her hand.
The dragon brooch.
All trace of the
iarla’s
blood had been washed away. The gold and garnets had been polished until they sparkled. She looked up at him, astonished. “How . . . ?”
“There was a moment in the fire when I was all but certain I was going to die. I was suffocating, could scarce stand, when I saw the brooch on the floor. The fire had not claimed it. I grabbed it, thought of you, and knew I’d do anything I had to do to get out of the blaze so that I could be with you again. My brave Brighid.” He wiped the lingering tears from her cheeks with his thumb. Brighid gazed at the brooch in her hand, looked up at her husband. “I’ve got a little somethin’ for you, too.” The lusty look in his eyes told her just what he thought she meant.
She smiled, took his hand, placed it over her womb. For a moment, he looked puzzled. Then his eyes widened, and the air left his lungs in a rush. “A baby?” “Aye.”
“Already? Are you sure?”
Her flux was a good two weeks late. Her breasts felt sore and heavy, and she was ever sick to her stomach. “Aye, I’m sure.”
His gaze softened, and he looked at her with such tenderness it made her heart ache. “That’s twice today you’ve made me the happiest man in the world.” Then he took her gently in his arms, held her. She closed her eyes, nesded her head against Jamie’s shoulder, felt the sea air in her hair. Grief and fear began to melt away, like frost in the sunlight.
Epilogue
March 9, I756
Brighid rocked in the porch swing, hummed a lullaby to the baby at her breast, gazed out at the place that had become her world.
Aidan and the other children played with a ball in the cobblestone courtyard. The delicious smell of baking bread wafted through the air from the beehive ovens behind the whitewashed cookhouse. The smell of spring was in the air, and the plantation buzzed with life.
Brighid smiled to herself, recalled all the silly things she’d feared a year ago when she’d first arrived on these shores. She’d worried Jamie’s neighbors would reject him for marrying an Irish Catholic, for being Catholic. And though some of them had turned their noses up at him, most didn’t seem to care, not even when Jamie had a small
Catholic chapel built on his estate, his way of thanking Father Owen, who had survived the attack on his little chapel and made his way to Matthew seeking shelter. Matthew had put him on the next ship bound for Virginia. She’d feared, too, the redemptioners would reject her as their mistress, as she was only a peasant herself. Yet, they had embraced her, shown her great loyalty. Jamie insisted it was in part because they knew she had once been one of them.
Most of all she’d feared Jamie’s family would not approve of his decision to become Catholic and marry a poor Irish girl. But those fears had been groundless, too. Cassie and Alec, who lived on their own estate nearby, had accepted Brighid with open arms. She and Cassie had fast become true sisters, and Brighid had spent many hours with Cassie and Takotah improving her knowledge of herbs and her healing skills.
Brighid almost laughed aloud as she remembered the first time she’d met Takotah. Jamie had wanted the Indian woman to examine Brighid to make certain she and her unborn baby were well after the long journey. Brighid had tried not to feel jealous, but had been unable to forget Jamie’s words when first he’d mentioned Takotah’s name.
“She’s a beautiful Indian woman.”
Then an impossibly old woman had entered the room, her long hair gray with age, her face wrinkled as an old apple and covered in tattoos. She had a kindly manner about her, the air of one who had lived and loved and lost.
“Takotah, this is Brighid, my wife.”
Brighid had gaped at the old woman. “You’re Takotah?
But Jamie said . . .”
Takotah had raised one gray eyebrow, had given Jamie a look that demanded an answer.
Jamie had seemed confused for a moment, then grinned. “I spoke so affectionately of you that Brighid feared she had reason to be jealous. But in truth, Takotah, I would have married you if you weren’t so old.” Takotah had laughed, a warm cackle, and patted Jamie on the cheek. “You couldn’t handle me.” Since then, Brighid had developed a strong affection for Takotah, had glowed with pride the first time Takotah had complimented her knowledge of herbs. Brighid heard the squeak of the door on its hinges behind her.
“I think my little Roisin is finally asleep.” Muirin stepped out onto the porch, pulled her shawl over her shoulders. She looked tired but happy, as any new mother should.
Roisin had been born three weeks earlier, and the birth had been so quick Takotah had scarcely arrived before Muirin pushed her baby daughter into the world. “You should try to get some sleep, too.” Muirin smiled. “I miss Fionn. I hate sleepin’ without him.”
Brighid understood only too well. “Aye.” Jamie, Fionn, and Rhuaidhri had sailed away right after Roisin’s birth on some important business they refused to discuss. At first Brighid had feared the authorities were again after Jamie, but he had assured her that was not the case. The terrible nightmare with the
iarla
had come to an end when his widow, aware her husband was mad with the pox, had blamed him for the fire and refused to prosecute.
Still, Brighid had no idea when her men would return.
In this time of unrest, it was hard not to worry. Last July, the troops Parliament had sent at Jamie’s urging had been massacred along the Monongahela River. The British had been ambushed, hadn’t even seen the enemy who fired upon them. Almost one thousand men, and most of the officers, had been killed. Though Parliament had approved the building of a few ships on the Great Lakes, it had not yet declared war on France, and sea travel was becoming increasingly perilous.
Muirin yawned contentedly, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
“It’s such a lovely spring day.”
“Aye, that it is.” Brighid forced her mind away from darker matters, looked down at her son, expecting to find him drowsy.
Ciaran smiled up at her, her nipple still in his mouth, milk pearling at the comers of his little lips. His green eyes were alert and full of interest. His tiny fists pressed against her milk-swollen breast.

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