Beyond a Doubt - By Felicia Rogers Page 0,6
Ye stay with the horse.”
“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