‘My name is Sorcha,’ she whispered.
‘I suspected that much,’ he said. ‘I have reminded Clara to have a care around the wee ones. They repeat all sorts of things that they shouldna when you least expect it.’ From the mischievous glint in his eyes, she had no doubt that they had repeated the worst things at the worst possible time. ‘So, shall we return home before Clara sends out Wee Jamie to find us?’
Her heart lighter, she nodded and walked beside him the rest of the way back to the cottage. This path brought them in from a different direction, to the smithy first and then around to their croft. She took the bucket from him when he stopped there.
‘Are you serious about seeking a life in the convent?’
Of all the things he could have said or asked, she’d never thought he would ask about that.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘If I must remain hidden, ’tis the perfect place.’
‘I go to the keep this morn,’ Jamie said. ‘If you wish to go to the chapel and speak to our priest, I can take you there.’
She’d heard about their priest, Father Diarmid, from Clara and Lady Arabella, but had not met him yet. Though he lived at Drumlui Keep, he travelled to other villages to minister to the spiritual needs of the Mackintoshes. He’d been away for several weeks when Sorcha had arrived. ‘He is returned?’
‘Aye. If you wish to seek his guidance, I have always found him a fair man, one who will listen and not judge too harshly.’
‘I would like that, Jamie. Tell me when you are ready and I will go with you.’
He walked away, glancing past her for a moment before he made his way to his work. Sorcha heard the footsteps and knew Clara had been watching and waiting for her. Facing her, Sorcha recognised the guilt in her cousin’s eyes and understood the reason for it. She walked to Clara, put the bucket down on the ground there and took Clara’s hand in hers.
‘With only my mother and father to judge marriages by, I had no idea of the faith and trust that could exist,’ she said softly.
‘Puir lass,’ Clara whispered back.
‘I am glad I have witnessed what marriage could be at its best.’ She patted Clara’s hand. ‘Jamie has offered to take me up to the chapel when he goes to the keep. To meet Father Diarmid.’
‘So, if you have courage to do that, do you have enough to learn to make bread this morn?’
‘Is it as hard as making porridge?’ she asked. Her heart felt lighter after seeing the love and trust between Clara and Jamie. Now, she would meet the priest and begin the journey forward. Surely she could conquer a bit of flour and water?
‘Nay, not harder. It just takes some strength and patience.’
Which was exactly how Clara described each and every chore and task she’d taught Sorcha since her arrival there.
‘I thought it might.’
Together, they went back inside and spent the next several hours trying to mix the perfect loaf of bread. Lucky for her, Clara had both the strength and the patience to dominate the unruly mixture of flour and water and yeast. By the time Jamie sought her out, she wore enough of all the ingredients to make another loaf. But Jamie, being the wonderful husband whom Clara praised, knew better than to point that out to either of them.
Soon they were riding up to the keep in a small wagon with Jamie’s tools that were too heavy to carry. The chilly morning fog had burned off and the sun looked as though it had gained control of the day. Sorcha loosened her cloak and pushed it back from her shoulders.
‘That cloak is quite heavy,’ Jamie said. She thought he commented on the changeable summer weather here in the Highlands, but when he continued, she understood it was not the weather of which he spoke. ‘I have a strongbox with a stout lock in my workroom where your valuables would be safe.’
The jewels and coins were still sewn into the hem and the pockets of her cloak. Jamie knew it. Sorcha did not say anything, but nodded.
‘You might want to keep one or two in place. If you have to leave quickly or have need of such a thing.’ She looked at him then. ‘I know you sought refuge, so you must be running from something or someone. If the time comes when you must flee, at least you will have something to help you on your way.’
‘Very practical,’ she said, glancing down at the cloak. ‘Something that my mother would have said.’
Sorcha smiled then, remembering several times her mother had offered such advice, even before she’d explained about the need to run. It would seem that her mother had been planning this for much longer than Sorcha had known and she’d had faith that Sorcha would be able to do this.
The rest of the way up the road to the keep and through its open gates was accomplished in silence, but for greetings called out to Jamie. By the time they reached the small stone chapel, the yard was busy with those going about their duties. Most attention seemed to be on the training yard where Robbie Mackintosh worked with his men. On previous visits here, she’d witnessed part of the tough regimen he put his warriors through, in sun or rain, to keep them well prepared.
From her place on the wagon, she could see the two men fighting within the larger circle. One was Robbie and the other one was Alan Cameron. Her gasp drew Jamie’s attention and then he looked over to see what had caught her eye.
‘I wondered when he would challenge Rob,’ Jamie said. ‘Do you want to watch?’ He climbed down and held his hands up to help her to the ground. ‘Though I suspect prayers might better serve him in this.’
‘Why?’ she asked, following him without thought towards the fence encircling a large clearing there.
