Lady of Light (6 page)

Evan, buckets in hand, promptly departed. With a narrowed gaze, Claire once more surveyed the cottage. Thick cobwebs filled every corner, the silken strands festooning the roof beams before spanning downward to adorn a scrawny chest, a somewhat tilted cupboard, a rickety dining table, and two chairs. The empty void within the boxbed hadn’t been spared, either, and appeared draped in gossamer shrouds of white, as did the three meager windows of the single-room house.

“Well, best be getting to it,” Claire muttered as she grabbed up a broom and tied a large rag around the wheat straw bristles. “At this rate, aught I do this day will be a decided improvement.”

By the time Evan returned with the two buckets of water, she had cleaned the ceiling and its corners, and was now attacking the windows. After gracing the tall American with a sidling glance, Claire gestured toward the windows. “You can start washing them, if you will. Might as well work our way down to the floor as we go.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.” He brushed away the cobwebs clinging to one end of the table, and set a bucket on it. Then, after grabbing two rags, Evan flung one over his shoulder and dipped the other into the bucket he carried to the first window. He was soon scrubbing away at the thick grime coating the panes.

For a long while, both worked in silence. At last, though, as they joined forces to clean out the sooty, ashfilled hearth, Claire ventured a glance at the man kneeling beside her. “You’re a strange one, even for a man, I mean.”

Evan turned and arched a dark brow. “How so?”

“Most men would be grabbing their kilts and dashing for the hills by now, rather than shame themselves with woman’s work.”

He chuckled, the deep, rich sound reverberating most pleasantly around Claire. “Would you rather I pay you for this work and leave it all to you?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Nay, I wouldn’t. I’m already in your debt for the money you gave to help Ian yestreen. But if you’d consider that debt paid if I finished cleaning your croft for you …”

“That debt was paid long ago, in the hospitality you showed me last night, in your willingness to help me with this cottage, and in tracking down my kin. In fact”—Evan grinned—“if I’m not careful, it’ll soon be
me
deep in your debt once again.”

Claire eyed him skeptically, then gave an incredulous snort. “Indeed, you really are a strange one.”

“But a strange one you might eventually come to like?” He cocked his head and wagged his brows. “Maybe even call friend?”

She pulled the ash bucket, brimming over now with chunks of charred wood and cinders, closer to her. “You can’t stop while you’re ahead, can you?” Then, in spite of her best efforts to keep a straight face, she laughed. “Och, you
are
strange, but strangely likeable, too.”

“Then I’m definitely making progress. First with the brother, and now, the sister.”

His statement gave Claire pause. The cowboy was certainly correct in his assessment of Ian’s feelings for him. From the start, Claire had seen how quickly—and most surprisingly—her brother had warmed to him. Perhaps it was the fact that Evan was a stranger, or because he was an American cowboy. Or perhaps it was just Evan’s engaging, friendly manner.

Whatever it was, Evan MacKay was the first man, aside from Father MacLaren, whom her brother had shown any warmth toward or interest in. The realization both heartened and disturbed her. It was good Ian was, at long last, beginning to open himself to another in trust. But it was also unfortunate he did so with a man who would soon be gone from his life.

Still, Claire couldn’t deny the bond already beginning to form between her brother and Evan MacKay. “I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and interest in Ian,” she managed to choke out past the sudden tightness in her throat. “He hasn’t had … well, he doesn’t make friends verra easily these days. Yet I know the lad’s lonely and hurting.”

“And confused,” Evan offered softly. “It’s to be expected at his age.” As if recalling some poignant memory, he smiled sadly. “I had my share of problems with my pa when I was Ian’s age, and finally ran away from Culdee Creek at seventeen. Took a year of hard living and near starving to death, though, to make me swallow my pride and come home. Even so, we had a lot of fence mending to do, my pa and me, before we finally made our peace.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Still, if it hadn’t been for Abby, I don’t reckon we would’ve ever made up.”

“And who is Abby?” Claire couldn’t help it. She needed to know. “Your mother, sister, or wife?”

“My stepmother.” Evan grinned. “In case you’re ever interested, I’m not and never have been married.”

“Well, if the truth be told,” she muttered, her cheeks flaming, “I’m not. I just wished to understand the relationships in your family better, that’s all.”

“Abby wasn’t my stepmother at the time, only my pa’s housekeeper and tutor to my half-sister, Elizabeth. But even then she’d begun to have an effect on my pa, softening his heart.”

“She sounds like a fine woman.”

He nodded. “Oh, she is. She is.” Evan hesitated, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “Back to Ian, though, I reckon my point was he’s going through some difficult times just growing up. The best you can do is love him and stand by him.”

“I try.” Claire exhaled a long breath and looked away. “Surely I do. But there are times when it’s verra hard to stand by him.”

“Like yesterday, when that other boy accused him of stealing?”

Horrified that Evan seemed to have read her mind, Claire jerked her gaze up to his. “I didn’t mean—”

“I saw how you looked at him, heard the doubt in your voice,” he offered quietly. “And I don’t tell you that to reproach you, Claire. I can see how much you love your brother. You wouldn’t doubt him unless you’d good cause.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

She met his steady, searching gaze, inexplicably soothed—rather than incensed—by his sudden use of her given name. A barrier had been broached and, as surprising as that revelation was, Claire suddenly didn’t care. Though she was loath to betray Ian or speak ill of him to another, there was something in Evan’s eyes that made the words come—something warm, compassionate, strong, and compelling.

Evan would do more than understand and commiserate. Though she wasn’t sure from whence the certainty came, Claire sensed he would be there for her, stand by her, and help her as best as he could. Oh, how she needed someone strong to walk beside her, to bolster her when her strength failed! She hadn’t known that kind of comfort in a long, long time.

And it had been
such
a very, very hard year.

“It’s my fault, but all Ian knows is stealing,” she forced herself to say. “Our father died, drowning in a storm while fishing at sea, when I was just five and Ian two. Three years later, however, our vain, beautiful mother wed an Englishman while on holiday near our home in Sutherland. Most reluctantly, we were soon ensconced in England with my mother and new stepfather.”

Claire turned back to scraping ashes from the back of the hearth. “I hated it in England—my cold, distant stepfather, the ridicule and taunts of the local children, and the way my mother slowly pulled away from us, preferring to pretend she was far too young to have children as old as Ian and me. By the time I was thirteen, I’d had all I could bear. With the money I had hidden away over the years, I bought passage back to Scotland, to my aunt’s home. At the last minute Ian begged to come with me and I, arrogantly imagining I was returning him to a far better life, agreed.”

“So, he was only ten when he ran away with you back to Scotland.” Evan shook his head in wonderment. “What a plucky pair you two were.”

At the memory of the years to come, hot tears stung Claire’s eyes. “Foolish and foolhardy would be more to the point,” she countered bitterly. “Once back in Scotland, I begged my aunt, who had married in the ensuing years, to take us in. She was hesitant at first, but finally did so. That was when the trouble really began.

“My uncle was a cruel, physically abusive man who drank too much. Eventually, he was in his cups so much he couldn’t work. We lived in squalor.” She laid aside the little shovel. “It was then that Ian first began to steal, just so we’d have food to eat. And, when I thought it could get no worse, my aunt died, supposedly from a fall while out foraging the nearby sea cliffs with her husband.”

“Which placed you totally at the mercy of your uncle.”

Terror shot through her. Did he know? Claire wondered, her pulse accelerating. But how
could
he know?

She looked at him, searching Evan’s eyes for any sign he suspected what was next to come. All she saw, though, was that same warm compassion. The fear faded; the pounding of her heart subsided.

“Aye,” Claire agreed. “Ian and I were totally at our uncle’s mercy. I became so desperate I seriously considered taking Ian and returning to our mother in England.” She paused to drag in an unsteady breath. “Before I could carry out my plan, though, my uncle died. I felt there was naught left for Ian and I then but to move on, which we did. We finally found sanctuary and a home here in Culdee, where Father MacLaren offered me work cleaning the rectory and church.”

“Claire, how old were you when you came to Culdee? And how old are you now?”

“I was seventeen. I’m now eighteen.”

“Just a year ago then.” Evan reached out and covered her hand with his. “As I said before, you two were a plucky pair.”

For a moment suspended in time, Claire stared down at the hand covering hers. It was a beautiful hand, broad of span, long-fingered, and powerfully supported by thick, strong tendons. The nails were short, if rather grimy right now from the hours of cleaning. A sprinkling of dark hairs covered the back of it. A strong hand, she mused. A hand meant to protect, to hold, to caress …

Abruptly, Claire jerked away. She grabbed the ash can and climbed to her feet.

“What’s wrong?” Evan stared up at her in concern.

“W-we’ve squandered far too much time chatting away,” she mumbled as she turned to walk from the house. “Sweep out the hearth now with the broom, while I dump this bucket outside. Then it’ll be time to clean the floor and finish up by bringing you some bedding, or we’ll never get to Culdee this day.”

Not even pausing to await a reply, Claire spun about and bolted from the cottage. Only when she had reached the farm’s refuse pile did she finally halt. Her breath coming in great gulps, Claire stood there, gazing numbly down at the garbage, the ash bucket still clenched in her hand.

Stood there and stared as the sheer, unmitigated terror of that night engulfed her once again. This time, however, the old fears traveled with a new companion. If anyone ever guessed what had really happened to her uncle that night, it would all be over.

And she, simple, silly girl that she was, had almost betrayed everything in an unguarded moment with a charming stranger.

4

Show mercy and compassions every man to his brother.

Zechariah 7:9

Ever so carefully, Claire turned yet another yellowed page of St. Columba’s parish baptismal book, scanning the faded, feathery script for some mention of a Sean MacKay, born in the mid-1780s. Beside her, Evan sat deeply absorbed in the parish marriage records. However, even with Father MacLaren’s eager assistance for the first hour that afternoon, they were finally left to their own devices when he was called away by a young couple wishing to arrange their upcoming marriage.

“Any luck yet?” Evan asked, glancing up at her. “So far, I’ve found three Sean MacKays, and two of them were wed to a Rose.” He shook his head and sighed. “I didn’t realize how popular a name Sean and Rose were in those days. What I really need are the names of my great-grandfather’s parents or brothers and sisters. Surely at least one of them would have stood as witness to their marriage.”

“Well, if you’d been a wee bit more knowledgeable before you came to Culdee,” Claire muttered, gingerly turning yet another page, “we might have made quicker work of searching them out.”

Evan sighed and shook his head. “All I remember is my great-great-grandfather’s name started with an
L
.” He grinned. “Or, leastwise, I think it began with an
L
.”

“Och, and aren’t you a big help?” Claire made a sound of disgust and rolled her eyes. Then, as her gaze lowered once more to a fresh page, she gave a start. “Here’s something verra interesting.” As Evan rose and leaned over her shoulder, she pointed to the date of March 5, 1786.

“Sean MacKay … son of Lachlan and Sheena MacKay, nee Ross …” He paused, his brow wrinkling. “Hmmm … this is very interesting indeed. Lachlan MacKay …” He nodded slowly. “Now that I think about it, that
was
my great-great-grandfather’s name.”

Evan grinned. “I’ve found him, Claire! I’ve found him!”

“Aye, it seems you have,” Claire said as she flipped back a few pages and paused. “Especially considering the other Sean who wed a Rose didn’t have a Lachlan as his sire. It’ll be far easier to identify the sisters and brothers now, and then find any of their ancestors who stayed behind when he emmigrated.”