She staggered her way up the short, stony path which led to the front door of the deacon’s modest home after hobbling Cecil by the low, stone wall which ran along the road, separating church grounds from the rest.

“Deacon!” she gasped, leaning against the door as she banged on it with the side of one fist. Poor Cecil would likely need a good, long rest after being ridden so hard. She could barely breathe, panic and fear sitting on her chest as they were.

Old Frances opened the door, squinting her faded, failing eyes. She had served as the Deacon’s housekeeper and cook all Beatrice’s life and likely for far longer than that.

“Beatrice?” she asked, surprised. “You look all a fright.”

“I’m certain I do.” I feel all a fright, too. “Is the Deacon in? I must speak with him.”

“He’s in the church, sweeping up before services in the morning. Are you quite well? Do you need to sit down? Perhaps a cup of tea?” The kindly old woman stepped aside, as though to leave room for Beatrice to enter the house.

“No, thank you.” She managed a smile. “I’ll meet him in the church. It’s quite urgent that I speak to him now.” She trotted off down the path which connected the two buildings without another word to Frances, for fear of having to answer more questions and waste even more time.

As it happened, Deacon Eddard was leaving the church as she approached. When he saw her, taking in the full sight of her flushed face and sweat-stained kirtle, his expression registered his surprise. “What is it, my child?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know!” She sank onto the stone steps which led up to the door, holding her head in her hands. She was so tired, not just from a sleepless night, but from the strain of carrying so much on her shoulders for so long.

How was one woman supposed to carry so much, all alone?

To her surprise, he sat beside her and didn’t force her to speak. She collected herself enough to stop shaking before apologizing for arriving in such a state. “I didn’t know where else to go. I suppose there is nowhere else. I have no other friends.”

“What happened?”

“Three men came to the house. I hurried here as soon as they left.”

“Three men?” He rose, and the surprise at the anger in his voice went a long way toward shocking her out of her panic.

“They didn’t cause harm,” she assured him, shaking her head. “But they… claimed to come from Scotland, bearing a letter from Margery.”

“Your sister is in Scotland?”

“I don’t know!” She looked up at him, the confusion in his face reflecting her own. “That isn’t where she was supposed to go. How can I believe them? I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know who they were or why they came. I’m afraid I… was rather rude.”

“How so, my child?”

“I… threatened them with Father’s sword.”

There was silence as the deacon’s face went blank. Then, to her eternal shock, he chuckled.

“You did?”

“I could hardly lift it, and my arms ache terribly, but yes. I had to at least make it appear as though I could defend myself.”

He threw his head back and laughed, warming her from the inside out. Even the brilliant sunshine streaming down on them hadn’t managed that. Before long, she was laughing, too.

“Three Scotsmen, and one young woman with a sword. I can only imagine what they must have thought.” He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “I haven’t laughed this way in many years.”

As for her, the laughter helped wipe away the panic she had suffered through all the way from the house. “They left without much fuss,” she explained, “but they did leave a letter.”

“Have you read it?”

“I didn’t take the time. The moment they were out of sight, I took Cecil and headed here as fast as I could. I didn’t feel safe there anymore, all alone. I thought they were there to take me away, to the manor.”

“My dear.” Deacon Eddard sat beside her again, patting her arm. “I do not believe Lord Randall would behave in such a brutish manner. He seemed quite intent on creating a happy home life for you both.”

“Yes, he would when speaking to you about our marriage, wouldn’t he?” She noted the stricken expression on his face and relented out of guilt. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult. I’m so unhappy.”

“Perhaps you should read the letter from your sister,” he suggested. “It may help you understand.”

“Oh, yes.” She had folded it in half and tucked it into her sleeve before fleeing, and slid it out at the deacon’s suggestion.

He was discreet, looking away in order to give her some privacy. Her hands trembled as she unrolled the piece of linen.

Tears blurred the words as she read them again and again. It didn’t reveal much, this letter. It told her nothing which others would not want her to believe in order to lure her elsewhere.

“My child?” Deacon Eddard expressed his interest. “What does it say? Is she well?”

“I simply do not know,” she admitted. “I do not know. There is nothing personal. Nothing to tell me that it was my sister who wrote it, or if she wrote it of her own will. Many people want adventure in their lives. That means nothing.”

“What is it you’re fearful of? That these men forced her to write to you?”

Hearing it spoken aloud made her feel quite foolish, but that did little to ease her fears. “I simply do not know,” she said again, shaking her head mournfully.

They both looked up at the sound of an approaching horse, and Beatrice sprang to her feet when she recognized the man on horseback as one of the men who’d come to the house.

“He’s one of them,” she whispered, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

The deacon tilted his head to one side. “I feel as though I’ve seen him before.”

“Impossible,” she hissed. “He’s Scottish. He did seem to be the kindest of all of them.”

The man didn’t make a move to descend from his horse, who seemed interested in Cecil. The two of them touched noses and sniffed at each other as the man gazed their way. He was quite tall, dark-haired with kind, dark eyes set deep in his face. He wore a plain, gray tunic over plain trousers. Nothing like Lord Randall’s fine clothing, another sign that he had nothing to do with the nobleman.

She might even have considered him handsome, had she not been so afraid of him, and had he been a bit neater. His thick hair was not too long, and his firm jaw bore dark stubble. He’d been away from home for a while, she surmised.

“What do you want?” she called out. “I thought I asked you to go away.”

“Aye, you did. And I did. We are no longer on your farm.”

This was true. She took a step toward him, ignoring the hand Deacon Eddard placed on her arm. “Why are you here? Why did you follow me?”

He cleared his throat, shifting in the saddle as though he were uncomfortable with his mount or with what he was about to say. Perhaps both. “I was concerned for ye, lass. You seemed quite upset, and not with us. I felt as though I should return and ask why it is you thought we were coming to remove ye from your home.”

“I don’t believe it’s any of your business.”

“My friends and I have traveled a fortnight to bring you back to lands protected by the clan Duncan, where your sister waits for ye. I believe that makes your business my business, lass.”

The two of them stared at each other, and Beatrice regretted the deacon’s presence. He prevented her from saying the things she wished to say to this impertinent foreigner. She would’ve liked nothing better than to tell him exactly what she thought of him in that moment.

The deacon spoke up, standing beside her again. “What proof have you that the person who wrote this letter is Beatrice’s sister?”

The Scotsman frowned. “Her name is Margery. She is a rather stubborn lass. We met her in Kirkcaldy, Derek and I. Her mother passed away over the winter and she and her sister here came up with a plan for Margery to go to London and send for Beatrice when she settled down.”

Beatrice blinked hard. “This only tells me you’ve met my sister and she might have written this.” She raised the letter in her hand. “But not that she didn’t write it under duress.”

The Scotsman nearly growled, his eyebrows knitted together over eyes which flashed with anger. “I knew this wouldn’t be as simple a task as the others thought it would be. She was going to come along with us, was all set to do it, until she…”

Was it her imagination, or did his cheeks darken in a blush? “Until she what?”

Again he shifted in discomfort. “She… eh… as her husband told ye, she’s with child. And she’s very ill, every day. Too ill to travel or even leave her bed most days.”

Beatrice’s heart clenched in response to this. Poor Margery. Discovering she was to have a child must have been a thrill, her illness would only mar that joy.

If it was true.

Why would he lie?

She wanted desperately to believe him. To leave forever, to not need worry about marrying a man she didn’t love or even like. To be with Margery again, who she had feared dead for so long already…

“I want to believe you,” she replied after some thought. “But it isn’t as simple as packing up and leaving with you. I do not know you. There would be no chaperone. There are arrangements which would have to be made…”

“And the young lady is to be married.”

Beatrice’s head whipped around, her eyes burning into the side of the deacon’s covered head. It wasn’t his place to announce such a thing, and the way he did it, too. As though her marriage were agreed upon and a date had been set.

“Is this true, lass?” The man sounded surprised, to say the least. “I was under the impression there were no men worth speaking of in the area. Margery made it sound as though the two of you were alone, and it looked as though you were alone, certainly.”

She ignored this. “It’s not as simple as that. But it is one of the arrangements I would need to put in place before I left for Scotland. I suppose.”

“We would need to leave soon. Immediately, if possible.”

“That’s impossible.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, but if you wish to take me back with you, I must arrange the sale of the farm, at least.”

“Couldn’t you take care of it for her?” He looked at Deacon Eddard. “She could trust a man of God, surely.”

She glanced at the deacon and shook her head ever so slightly to signal her feelings about this. “I feel it would be best for me to be here while the matter is settled. I want to go with you and be with my sister again, but I can’t simply leave with you because you tell me to. You can share that with your friends.”

“Including your brother-in-law,” the man reminded her in a dangerously quiet voice. “Don’t you think you should share this with your brother-in-law in person?”

“I don’t know him. You tell him yourself. My mind is made up.”

In reality, nothing could have been further from the truth. Her knees nearly knocked together as she faced him. He was so very big, with hands that could easily bruise or break her if she angered him.

And yet, he’d been the kindest of the three men. And he had come back to speak with her. That meant something.

He sighed as though he were the most put-upon man in the world. “I suppose I should meet up with them, then, and let them know. Do you need an escort back to your home?”

The thought of this Scotsman with his strange accent and rough ways escorting her was nearly laughable, but not so when she considered the possibility of finding Lord Randall on the road, as she had before. He had made his intentions known and was less likely keep his distance.

“Yes. Please. I should go back and tend to the animals.” She looked at the deacon, who she’d never seen so surprised and disconcerted.

“I will call on you soon,” he promised as she mounted Cecil and brought him around to face the direction of the farm. She nodded in response and gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile.

Who was she trying to convince? Him or herself?