Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

“ O h, good. You’re awake,” Rory heard Mercy say down below. He was straddling a new beam on the cabin roof and hammering in another as Rabbie held it steady. “We’ll want to get an early start.”

“Yes, Mercy,” he heard Cailean say. His brother was more than ready to be taken to these healing springs the sisters went on and on about. Mercy had made it clear that once he’d taken the waters, his convalescence was over.

“We’ll leave soon for the springs,” Mercy called up, squinting in the sunlight. “We’ll put Cailean on Cameo and the rest of us will go on foot.”

“Aye, Mercy,” Rory managed to say through a mouthful of nails.

“There’s rabbit roasting, and as soon as we’ve eaten, we’ll go.”

Rory dropped down from the beams and went to the water barrel to slake his thirst, unaccountably pleased with himself for snaring that rabbit while the women were in town the day before. The claps of glee when they’d seen him cleaning it upon their return had him back out in the woods that very night, setting another trap.

“Angel?” Cailean asked from his bed of hay, “may I take off the bandages now?”

“No, Cailean,” Mercy said sternly. “We’ll leave them on until we get to the springs.”

“Ye’ll not take the bandages off until she tells ye to,” Rory said a little too sharply and was disappointed when Mercy frowned at him.

He’d gotten used to her smiles. He’d gotten used to smooth sailing there at the farm, and was unwilling to head back into rough seas. Rabbie, on the other hand, had made it clear he was eager to head out into uncharted waters. With every day that they stayed, his brother grew more uneasy. Rory caught many pointed looks and even a few harsh words. Both men knew that today, the day that Cailean was, by Mercy’s standards, officially well, Rory had a decision to make.

Just a few more weeks, Rory thought often. Until we can repair the barn. And then, perhaps, the cabin. Those thoughts led to more: The winter will be dangerous for them. Would it be so awful to stay until spring?

Rabbie seemed to hear each thought loud and clear.

Over breakfast, Rory caught Mercy surveying him and his brothers.

“It just won’t do for you three to go traipsing about in your shirtsleeves,” she said thoughtfully. Though she’d laundered their clothing a few times, they were still badly stained and tattered. “Your rough appearance could be a problem. Should we stumble upon anyone in the woods…”

Across the fire, Rory saw Cailean’s face redden with shame. Rabbie’s jaw tightened, and Rory felt his own cheeks flush.

“Ah,” Rory said, his voice dangerously low. “Quite right, Mercy. Our ‘rough appearance’ could be quite the problem for a lady such as yerself.” He narrowed his eyes and involuntarily clenched his fist around his fork. She’d humiliated his brothers. “And will we be stumbling upon anyone in the woods? Doesn’t seem to be a ladylike place to meet with friends.”

Mercy cocked her head and glared. “I do not expect to, no,” she said icily, but something passed behind her eyes when she saw his heated cheeks. She glanced over at Cailean, then Rabbie, and quickly dropped her chin. Wrapping her arms about her middle, she added, “It’s just that we’ve a few extra items of men’s clothing in the cabin. I thought you all might be more comfortable…” she trailed off, her voice small.

Everyone was silent for a long time until Rory cleared his throat. “We thank ye, then.”

After their meal, the sisters went into the cabin and the men headed into the barn. Rory did a quick job of Rabbie’s auburn beard with the stolen knife he’d recently sharpened, then set about doing his own.

When the sisters finally returned in the same nicer dresses and skirts they obviously saved for trips off the farm, Rory was washing the knife over a bowl of water. Despite major protestation, he’d left Cailean’s whiskers. He was afraid to touch his brother’s face with anything even remotely sharp. Cailean, having always been the most vain of the three, was very displeased—especially after Mercy’s words from earlier.

When the women didn’t say anything, Rory glanced over. First, he noticed that Amity was grinning, then that Mercy’s eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open. He watched her swallow hard, then press her lips together, hoping smugly that she was momentarily stunned by his gentlemanly appearance. Perhaps without his scraggly beard, he cut a fine figure.

Amity lifted the bundle of clothes in her arms and Rabbie drew forward, accepting a clean shirt and breeches. His own were torn beyond repair, though Mercy had made a go of trying to mend them. He nodded, then disappeared to the back of the barn. Rory scowled while they sorted through the shirts, trying to find one that would fit him.

“Where did ye find all these men’s clothes?” Rory asked with a growl. That these billowing shirts clearly did not belong to their skinny father fouled his mood even more.

“Our father entertains on occasion,” Amity replied, “and the men often lose their shirts.” Mercy glared at her murderously. “We’ve never been compromised,” Amity added when Mercy caught her eye. “Truly, Mercy and I are both quite adept at avoiding lascivious men.” Mercy let out a faint huff. “This waistcoat will suit you quite nicely, Rabbie,” she called out quickly, shoving the rest of the clothes into Mercy’s arms and scurrying to the back of the barn.

Rory was silent as he took a clean shirt roughly from Mercy’s hands. Her jaw was set, and it was apparent that their parley had been broken, at least for today. He was in no rush to mend things, so with delicious barbarity, he shed the shirt that he was wearing right in front of her. His satisfied grin dared her to look away and he was pleased when she didn’t. In fact, she seemed to eye his chest just a little too long. He thought he caught her looking at his pant line, too, but he couldn’t be sure. He finally drew up the shirt and slid it over his back. It was a bit too small for him, he realized, as he flexed his arms and shoulders and felt the cotton tug against him, but it would have to do. He shrugged and tucked the tails into his trousers.

“Happy?” he asked gruffly, and he was pleased when Mercy opened and closed her mouth twice without managing to say a thing.

“Not yet,” Amity said, approaching him with a beautiful silk blue waistcoat. Golden threads wove through the material in a gently waving pattern, and Rory had to admit the vest was very fine. “The man who wore it before you was quite corpulent,” she said, slipping it over Rory’s large arms. “Yes, it fits you much better.” It fit Rory like a glove.

“Stockings and breeches and spats,” Amity said, holding out more clothes. Rory nodded and retreated to the back of the barn with Rabbie, changed out of his worn farmer’s trousers, and pulled on the warm wool stockings, then breeches. He tucked his shirt in once again, then set about buttoning the spats around his calves.

“I don’t get any fine clothes, Amity?” he heard Cailean ask at the front of the barn. Rory rolled his eyes.

“No, Cailean,” he heard Mercy answer instead. “We’re going to get you as wet as we can with the healing waters, so there’s no sense in putting you in something clean. We only need to dress up your brothers so that anyone we may come across will believe you’re country gentlemen of the town.”

Rory’s jaw ticked. He wanted to berate her, to explain with satisfaction that they were the Laird’s own family. That they had been raised in relative finery, had enjoyed exotic fruits and good educations. But it would do no good to reveal anything about their true identities. Pride wounded, he stalked back to her, tying his cravat expertly and peering down at her as haughtily as he could.

Mercy was, for the second time that day, paralyzed by the sight of him. She hadn’t thought he could look more devastating after shaving off his beard, but she was very wrong. He looked nothing like a laborer now. As he brushed his curls back and tied them at the nape of his neck, he looked like some rural lord. He was striking. Had she met him in town, she would not have been able to meet his dark eyes.

Rabbie joined them in a green waistcoat that brought out his emerald eyes and the golden red in his hair.

“Ye look as polished as a lady,” Rory said, a laugh hidden somewhere in his throat. Rabbie held his chin up and wrinkled his nose the way one would with a sibling. The waistcoat that Amity had chosen fit him well, and the white breeches fit seamlessly. He’d buttoned black spats over his calves and boots and looked nearly as fine as Rory. But not quite.

“Aye,” Rabbie said in his quiet way, assessing his older brother. “Two fair lasses, we are.”

“Yes, yes,” Amity said impatiently, “you’d both tempt even the most chaste of gentlemen, but we’d better leave now if you want to get to the springs before the Shawnee do.”

The brothers helped Cailean up onto Cameo’s back even as he grumbled about doing it himself, and Mercy led them slowly down the carriage road. She and Amity walked arm in arm in front of the horse with the two brothers guarding her and her rider on either side. They left the well-worn path not a stone’s throw from the farm and weaved through trees, taking steep junctures carefully with Cameo, Amity leading her gently this way and that.

It didn’t take long for Mercy to notice that Rory was avoiding her gaze. Cailean and Rabbie, too, seemed to still be displeased with her. She’d erred earlier, saying just what she meant without tact. She sighed, feeling rotten. Of course they’d take offense to her unwelcome assessment. A lady would have twisted together sweet words, would never have sounded so vulgarly uncharitable.

Amity, unphased, hummed softly and skipped from rock to rock. Her head was lifted to catch the winks of blue sky in the sparse foliage.

Mercy always walked with her eyes on the ground, scanning the understory for herbs and plants. Whenever she spotted the periwinkle flowers of Indian Tobacco, or the yellow fingered flowers of a witch hazel tree, she’d add their locations to her mental map as to where she may find them again when the need arose.

She rarely took anything from nature preemptively. Granny used to keep the barn stocked with fresh herbs and flowers that often went to waste. Of course, Mercy religiously picked and dried the more common and useful plants like wild mints and bee balm, but as her customers were few and far between, she felt no need to steal more than only what was necessary for herself and the cooking. She was fascinated by nature’s ability to repair itself, like the regenerated patches of the willow trees. Granny had painstakingly taught her how never to take the entire foxglove plant, but rather only six of the top leaves, and only after the plant had flowered, and before it had gone to seed. She took great comfort in the reliability of it all, as humans were a constant disappointment to her.

“How far, Amity?” Cailean called from Cameo’s back. Mercy frowned. If he ever did address her again, he would probably never call her ‘Angel.’

“Not far at all,” Amity called back, “you can see the bath from here.” The group came behind Amity’s thin frame and looked down the mountain, where an unbelievably turquoise pool, about the length of a man and perhaps four feet across, lay steaming in a large slab of limestone. The men were quiet as they took in the sight, Mercy noticed with pleasure. She was strangely proud of her mineral spring, as that’s how she’d come to feel about it. Though the Shawnee used it, and she suspected that a few people in town knew about it, it felt like hers. And it was beautiful, and magical, and not a little impressive.

“I’ve never seen such a color,” Cailean said with awe as Rory helped him down from Cameo’s back.

“I have,” Rory said under his breath, and Mercy scowled. Leave it to Rory Macleod to be unmoved by her spring.

The five of them left Cameo at the small ridge to graze and made their way carefully down the rest of the hillside, using roots as steps and branches as rails.

Once at the spring, Mercy produced a cup from her skirts and bent down to scoop up the warm water. She handed the full cup to Amity, who offered it to Cailean. As Cailean drank ceremoniously, Rory was circling the spring like a cat, studying it from all angles, watching with astonishment as bubbles broke through the clear water from the bottom of the rock and floated upward to grace the surface.

“Where does the water come from?” he asked finally, his voice softer now.

“I don’t think anyone knows,” Mercy said, taking the empty cup back and scooping more water. She was trying to keep a straight face, but she was so very pleased at how affected they all were by the bath.

“So warm,” Rabbie marveled as he dragged his fingers through the gleaming pool. He sat down next to Cailean, who was pulling the boots and stockings from his feet.

“Cailean,” Rory said gruffly, “I don’t think ye’re supposed to,” he started to say.

“Oh yes,” Mercy cut him off. “He is supposed to. We should get as much of him wet as possible. Especially the wound.”

Cailean sank his feet into the waters and let out a soft moan.

“How deep is it?” Rory asked. Though you could see the bottom, Mercy had to admit that it was difficult to ascertain the depth. A trick of the light.

“Not very,” Mercy replied. “Here,” she said, sitting on the limestone beside Cailean as he lowered himself in—clothes and all. She leaned over the side of the pool to unwrap the bandage. Nearly clapping, she looked upon the wound with satisfaction.

“How does it look?” Cailean asked.

“It looks wonderful, Cailean. Really.” He smiled and eased back into the water as she soaked a cloth and drew it gently over the healing gash. Once she was convinced it was clean, she rolled up his shirtsleeves and dragged the cloth across his forearms.

Strength is lost and returned first in the arms, Mercy girl, Gran used to say. Whenever the sisters had been sick, Granny had massaged their arms with the healing waters.

“He can do that himself,” Rory snapped, pacing back and forth on the other side of the bath.

“Will you calm yourself long enough to drink from the waters, Mr. Macleod?” Mercy asked mildly. She knew she’d dampened his mood, and perhaps the Macleods would never forgive her, she thought with a sinking feeling, but she was used to that. The past two weeks of easy companionship was what she wasn’t used to. “And put your feet in, too,” she instructed, looking severely at both Rabbie and Rory. “Just because he’s more obviously unwell doesn’t mean that you two are anywhere near the picture of health just yet.” No, she would never be anything but a plain-spoken shrew, but at least these men would get the care they needed.

Rabbie, to his credit, quietly removed his boots, spats, and stockings. Rory paced the spring’s length three more times before dropping his giant frame down and doing the same, though he glowered all the while.

“I’m going to have a look at town over the cliff,” Amity said finally, having obviously tired of the rest of them.

“Ye can see it from here?” Rory asked, surprised. It was much closer than he thought, then. Too close.

“Over that bluff,” Mercy replied, handing the cloth to Cailean, who was luxuriating in the mineral water, wriggling his toes and swinging his legs back and forth to create turquoise ripples. “Don’t forget your chest and neck,” she said to Cailean. “I’m sure she just wants to see if the Clintock carriage is at home.”

“It’s not there,” Amity called back upon hearing her. She shook her head sadly. “They must be in Frederick Town today.”

“Who?” Cailean asked.

“Our friends,” Amity replied. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps next time.”

“Lend me that, will ye?” Rory held his hand out for the cloth, which Cailean tossed to him. Rory drew it through the water between his ankles, mesmerized by the colors, then lifted it up and surprised Mercy by touching it to her exposed arms, where the bees had stung her. Though her skin had long since healed, he made it obvious that he was only tending to where she’d been hurt when he gently placed the cloth under her left eye.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Mercy said weakly, trembling slightly under his touch.

“Aye,” Rory responded softly, staring at her wet skin and then into her eyes. Mercy swallowed audibly. “Yes, I knew I’d seen this color before,” he murmured, and she blushed violently.

Rabbie coughed and Cailean ignored them, still luxuriating in the warmth.

“We’d better get going before the Shawnee arrive,” Amity called, still gazing at the town below. “They’ll be awfully cross if they have to share their bath with us, and Mercy doesn’t approve of me being in the vicinity of nude savages.” Rory scowled and bullied his brothers back into their shoes.

“They are not savages,” Mercy explained, seemingly exasperated by her sister. “And are always fully dressed until they get in the spring.”

“Does your sister no’ like the Shawnee then?” Rabbie asked.

“She does very much,” Mercy said. “Some have been very kind to us during some of our harsher winters. She’s parroting some of the crueler townspeople,” she explained when the brothers looked confused. “Mocking them.”

“But they’re no’ here to mock,” Cailean said, looking around them in bewilderment as he accepted a heavy wool blanket to wrap around his thoroughly soaked body and clothes.

“If Amity had to wait to mock them to their faces, she’d never get to do it,” Mercy told him. At that, Rory grunted. These women truly were outcasts, and he found himself offended on their behalf. They were strange, absolutely, but also had very good souls.

After they climbed up the small escarpment to Cameo and loaded Cailean back on top of her, they set off once more.

“This isn’t the way we came,” Rory said, his eyes narrowing as he sped up to walk next to Mercy. Amity was in the front, leading Cameo.

“No,” Mercy said, “we’ll be safe now. I only wanted to avoid running into my father. If he hasn’t started yet, he won’t catch up to us, and we’d see him long before we could catch up to him.” Rory nodded gruffly, content with her reasoning.

“What will ye tell him when he sees us working on the barn?” he asked. Mercy looked at him with surprise, then chewed her lip as she thought about it.

“That you’re men traveling from the port city of Belhaven, and that I hired you,” Mercy said.

Rory was startled when she mentioned Belhaven, though he clamped his mouth shut. It was exactly from where they had escaped from. It was, he understood, the most prosperous port city nearby, so perhaps she’d already deduced that. “We’ll sneak you back into the barn at night, if he’s around. Or sober.” Mercy made a face that led Rory to believe that she highly doubted the latter.

“Will this be dangerous for ye, lass?” Rory asked quietly. Mercy seemed to consider the question.

“I don’t want my father finding out because he couldn’t keep a secret if he were six feet in the ground. He’d tell everyone in town that he has three men living in the barn, and everyone in town knows that he could never be considered our protector, or even a suitable chaperone. The things people would say would be…” she began to say.

“I understand,” Rory said, looking away. “Ye want to preserve yer reputation for yer future husband.”

“No,” Mercy exclaimed, surprised. “Not mine. Amity’s.” Rory looked back down at her curiously.

“Ye don’t mean to find a man who cares about reputation for yerself?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t mean to find a man at all,” Mercy sputtered, as if the idea was quite ridiculous to her.

Just as Rory was about to press Mercy further, the unmistakable rattle and hoofbeats of a horse drawn carriage silenced the birds overhead. Rory’s entire body wound tightly like a spring, and Mercy looked as though she was prepared to usher them all off the path when Amity’s joyful voice rang out.

“It’s the Clintocks!” she called back. “Oh, let’s not hide in the woods. They can keep a secret, and their driver is much too modest to gossip.”

“Amity,” Mercy said, seeming uncertain.

“Oh, please,” Amity said, her hands clasped together.

“Alright,” Mercy said with a sigh, but Rory was disquieted when she bit her lip. As if she could read his thoughts, she said, “It really is fine.” Rory wanted to grab his brothers and haul off right into the woods. “The Clintocks are friends, and can be trusted not to tell anyone of our new…guests.”

Rory’s eyes narrowed as the carriage, neither too finely appointed nor shabby, rolled to a stop next to Amity.

“Good day!” Amity called up to the window, her blue eyes bright. Rory watched the driver’s disinterested face carefully.

“Stay alert” he murmured softly to his brothers in Gaelic. Cailean dismounted and stood next to him, and Rabbie pressed in close.

Just then, the carriage door flung open and a well-figured girl in a fluttery yellow dress stepped out and into Amity’s outstretched arms. Her blonde hair was wrapped into intricate knots at the nape of her neck and the black satin ribbons that tied her brimmed hat down rippled in the breeze.

“Dear Amity, it’s been too long,” she exclaimed. “About yesterday…” she said quietly with a frown before Amity cut her off.

“Never you mind about yesterday,” she said. “Mercy and I understand.” Rory glanced quizzically at Mercy, but her face revealed nothing.

The blonde’s face cheered immediately. “Come, Theodosia,” she called into the carriage, “it’s the Barnetts, and…” she stopped short when she noticed the three of them huddled behind Mercy. “And their friends,” she managed finally, looking politely yet intently at Amity. A slender figure, slightly frail-looking, slipped out of the carriage behind her.

Rose and Theodosia Clintock looked at Mercy expectantly. Theo was blonde like her cousin Rose, but taller and had a much more fragile frame than curvy, more traditionally attractive Rose. Still, she was a beautiful woman with a graceful neck and round, chocolate eyes. Amity liked them both to distraction. Mercy was fond of them too, though she was completely unable to keep up with their easy way of polite conversation. Amity pulled Theo in to kiss her cheek, noticeably gentler with Theo than Rose. Once she released her, Amity helped to smooth their friend’s burgundy skirts.

It was strange, but Mercy, who was close enough to all three Scots to feel any shift in their demeanor, noticed the biggest giant had relaxed, and the other two had grown more stiff at the sudden appearance of the Clintocks.

“Miss Barnett,” Rose called. “Please introduce us to your friends.” Mercy led the men like children towards the carriage, her mind racing. She stole a look at Amity, who was looking annoyingly unbothered.

“Miss Rose Clintock,” Mercy said, taking her hand and squeezing it warmly. “Miss Theodosia Clintock. These are the men my father has hired to repair the barn.” Amity raised her eyebrows at this. Mercy thought it looked like the cousins highly doubted her story as well, but they were lovely and loyal women who wouldn’t dare contradict her.

“How wonderful,” Rose said as though she didn’t believe it really was that wonderful at all, her gaze raking over Cailean, who was still wet and bundled in a blanket. Cailean narrowed his eyes, stood up straighter, but said nothing.

“Was there an accident?” Theo asked quietly, concerned. She was looking at the healing wound that severed his eyebrow.

“Yes,” Mercy said quickly. “A rotted beam. Stupid me, I didn’t warn them. In penance we brought them to the medicinal spring.”

“How kind,” Theo said, smiling faintly. Mercy watched as Theo bestowed a friendly smile upon each giant.

“We have just taken a ride up to the peak,” Rose said when it was clear that none of the men were going to speak. She gestured behind them to the mountaintop. There was a clearing there that was popular with travelers for the astounding views of the valleys and river. “But I’m afraid the ride has worn poor Theo out.” Rose looked over at her cousin with tenderness.

“I’m fine,” Theo said, though for all her protesting, she looked as though she might drop on the spot.

“We’ll say our goodbyes, then.” Amity pressed her lips into a sad smile.

“Do come visit soon,” Rose said, taking Amity’s hands. “Ever since Uncle John took the scouts upriver, it’s been dreadfully dull in town.” Mercy, altogether too attuned to Rory’s body, felt him tense.

“Of course,” Mercy said, helping Theo back into the carriage. “Soon.”

As they waved goodbye to the carriage, Rabbie helped a grumbling Cailean back onto the horse, and Rory whispered angrily in Mercy’s ear.

“Scouts?” he bit off, his voice grating.

“The soldiers are here to protect these lands from the French and the native tribes, not to find a few escaped convicts,” she snapped, turning to face him. His face twisted into a stony grimace. The man could set her blood to boil with just one word. “It seems as though some of the tribes are still deciding whether they’ll continue to be loyal to the crown.” She turned away to watch the carriage disappear.

“Their uncle is an officer?” Cailean asked acidly, overhearing them. His foul mood seemed to have returned as well.

“Yes. In the Virginia Regiment. Major John Clintock raised Rose as his own after his brother and his brother’s wife died when Rose was just a baby. His oldest brother, who lives in Belhaven, has sent his daughter Theo here for the healing waters and fresh air.” Rory cursed quietly, then let out a loud sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. Mercy watched him out of the corner of her eye.

“Are they close to their uncle?” he asked through gritted teeth after he’d seemed to compose himself.

“They won’t tell him anything,” Mercy said, annoyed, “if that’s what you’re after. And even if they did, what could they say? That the mad Barnetts are mending their barn after years of disrepair?”

“The mad Barnetts,” Rory grumbled, though it sounded like he liked the moniker.

“We’re not mad,” Amity called back brightly. “We’re only odd.” Mercy pursed her lips as Rory nodded his head in agreement.