Beyond a Doubt(4)

“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.





Chapter Seven




The air inside the tiny cabin was stifling. Underneath the broom handle, blisters formed on Lucy’s palms. Sweat ran in rivulets down her cheeks, blending with the dust and the grime from her earlier travel and today’s housecleaning.

“Aren’t ye done with that sweepin’ yet? I still have a mass of chores needin’ finished. Can’t go eatin’ me food without earnin’ it.”

Biting back a retort, Lucy placed the broom in a corner. A metal tub sat full to the rim with dirty dishes. Earlier Bryce had carried bucketload after bucketload of water inside. Presuming this water was for her use, Lucy poured one tub full and set to washing the crusted items.

Food stuck to the utensils required extra effort to release the grime. Lucy gagged as the odors of rancid meat wafted toward her sensitive nose. This was unconscionable. Imagine one of her status slumming away in a filthy kitchen. Father, God rest his soul, would be furious if he ever found out.

Lucy studied the room. The small cabin consisted of one bed, a table with four chairs, and an open fire with a hole in the ceiling to release smoke. A cool breeze blew through the cracks in the wooden walls.

The weather reminded her of home. Although Caen, France, would be no warmer this time of year, the humidity in the air would make it feel so.

These musings kept her mind occupied while she worked. Dishes washed, the laundry awaited. Fortunately it only required hanging.

With the basket on her hip, Lucy carried the items out to a sagging line. Nearby the Scotsman wielded an ax. His tunic removed, it rested on a broken fencepost while he worked. Over his head he swung the tool. It landed against the wood, creating a loud popping sound as logs split in quick succession.

Emmett lay against a tree, his hat pulled low over his eyes and a piece of straw dangling from his mouth.

Lucy set the basket upon the ground. “Sir, your line needs to be restrung.”

“Huh?”

“Your clothesline is so far on the ground there is no way to hang the clothes up to dry.”

Emmett snapped his fingers. A worn-out Bryce trotted over. “Aye?”

“Lass says the clothesline needs repair.”

Bryce dropped the ax and walked to the line. Lucy followed.

Whispering, she said, “Bryce! This is ridiculous. There are easier ways to acquire room and board.”

Bryce lifted his brow. He pulled the rope taut around the tree, giving it a fresh knot.

“Stand up for yourself. Tell Emmett we’ve done enough and we are ready to eat!”

“There’s yer line, lass.”

“Bryce? Haven’t you heard a word I said?”

“Aye.”

“So what are you going to do? Use your fist to pummel him? Or just use your lips and rip him with your tongue? Or your dagger. That’s it. Use the dagger to tell him what for.”

“I think I’ll finish choppin’ the wood.”

“But Bryce—“

His wrapped his calloused hand around her upper arm. “The day is almost over. Finish the laundry, cook the supper, and then we can rest.”

With his back facing her, Bryce walked away. Anger welled inside her. Ripping the clothes one by one from their container, she practically threw them on the line. Crooked and wrinkled the clothes hung. She didn’t care about their appearance. Task finished, she kicked the basket across the yard and left it with the other garbage.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, she went into the house. Moans of pain rent the air.

Doreen was a woman of ample girth. The small bed creaked with distress at her every movement.

“Why does it hurt so bad?” she wailed.

Lucy moved closer, watching as the lady opened one eyelid.

“Oh, it’s ye. Haven’t ye started supper yet? I’m right near to starvin’!”

Taken aback by the swift change in attitude, Lucy remained silent. The powerful, strong voice that emerged from the woman brought clarity. The woman was faking. The audacity caused Lucy to burn with anger.

Stalking to a nearby shelf, Lucy pulled down pots and slammed them on the table, sending out sounds of rattling metal. Lucy pilfered through jarred items. Finding a few ingredients that appeared edible, she placed them in the pot, covered them with water, stoked the fire, hung the pot over the flames, and let the ingredients come to a boil.

The air permeated with a pleasing aroma. Doreen pushed up on her elbow. “Smells good.”

The door flung open and Doreen fell back with another fake groan upon her lips.

“Smells good, lass,” repeated Emmett.

Lucy didn’t comment as she brought the pot to the table. All four of them scooted their chairs closer. Lucy filled a bowl of the steaming brew for each person.

Bryce eyed the concoction warily. “What’s in it?”

“This and that,” she said, shrugging her shoulder.

Bryce nodded, still not eating.

Emmett took the first bite. Hot liquid sprayed across the room in a perfect circle as he spit the stew from his mouth. Lucy jumped back.

“What is heaven’s name is this?”

“Well, I’m sorry if my cooking is not to your liking. All I could find to cook was the herbs on the wall and–“

Emmett sprung from the table, one of his hands to his mouth, the other to his behind.

“What have ye done? Those were me herbs,” wailed Doreen.

“That’s what I said,” said Lucy.

“But them herbs weren’t for eatin’!” Before Doreen said more, she held her stomach and followed her husband out the door.

Bryce’s spoon remained poised in front of his mouth, not yet touching his lips. With a sigh, he dropped the spoon. His large hand engulfed hers as he pulled her to a standing position and dragged her toward the open door and their waiting horse.

“Why are we leaving? They owe us shelter!” yelled Lucy, trying to move away.

“Nay, lass. Yer attempt to kill them negates everything they owed.”