A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,20

middle of the night, however, Gaira had come outside with a pillow and two blankets she’d stripped off her rented bed and found him. He’d slept upright against the side of the carriage with a pillow between him and the cab wall, while she’d slept on the bench beside him, her head in his lap.

It wasn’t exactly proper, but it had been warm and there had been a great comfort in the fact that they were in the same spot. James, in particular, felt comforted that she wasn’t out of his sight. It was odd how attached he’d become to her even in the short time he had known her. They’d left at dawn the next morning after breaking their fast, continuing on as far as they could until they were forced to seek shelter because the night had been so cold.

The second night had been spent on the floor of a farmhouse, in front of the hearth, surrounded by the family’s dogs. James had awoken with his arm wrapped around a snoring hound and Gaira had awoken surrounded by dogs who had slept up against her for warmth. It hadn’t been the most comfortable sleep, but it had made for a great story.

And now, they were in Inverness.

“James?” she said softly. “Did ye hear me?”

She’d began calling him James yesterday. No longer “m’laird” because, frankly, they were beyond that. He didn’t like to hear her address him so formally, so he had asked her to call him James.

She had complied.

As he heard her softly uttered words, he was lashed back to the painful world of reality, a world where his brother was dead and now possibly in a common grave. The impact of it cut through him like a knife.

“I-I heard you,” he said after a moment. “I-I suppose we shall discover the truth, but I pray that my brother did not end up in a grave with other dead. He did not deserve that.”

Gaira’s left arm was around his waist and he felt her squeeze. “Dunna give up hope.”

James paused, his thoughts turning from his brother to the tall, pale stranger who seemed so determined to help him.

“W-What I would like to know is why Rafe came,” he said. “I-I seem to remember him asking me if there was anything he could do to help me find Johnny, but I did not expect him to go out of his way to do it.”

Gaira held his hand tightly. “’Tis a rare man who would be so kind and helpful,” she said. “He’s a wanderer. I dunna want tae say that he has nothing better tae do, but he doesna seem tae. Perhaps he is looking for a purpose.”

James turned to look over his shoulder at her. “H-Helping a man he does not know?”

“Helping a man who needs it.”

She had a point. James squeezed her shoulders affectionately and returned his focus to the church, watching for Rafe’s return.

It wasn’t long in coming.

Rafe emerged from the darkness with a small man at his side. Clad in a rough woolen coat and breeches, his hair cut short against his skull, the man came into the light, his gaze fixed on James. Before James could say a word, the man spoke quietly.

“Ye have his look,” he said quietly. “Ye have his eyes.”

James eyed him curiously. “W-Who?”

“Yer brother,” the man said. Then, he shook himself. “Forgive me. I am Reverend Essich. I… I simply canna believe that ye came, m’laird.”

James stared at him a moment before taking a deep, steadying breath. “You knew my brother?”

Reverend Essich nodded. Then, he motioned to James. “Come,” he said. “Quickly.”

James followed, pulling Gaira with him. Rafe walked alongside as they followed Reverend Essich into a small alcove off the main sanctuary. It was private here, the stone-cold darkness pierced by banks of prayer candles.

Reverend Essich cleared his throat softly.

“Eight months ago, those loyal to Stuart were executed by the English out in the churchyard,” he said. “Though their cause has greatly died away, there still may be some who would like to see an Englishman dead because of it. Ye took a risk coming here, m’laird.”

James nodded. “I-I know,” he said. “B-But I have come looking for my brother. It seems to me that you know of him.”

Essich nodded. “I do,” he said, glancing at Rafe, who nodded encouragingly. “But when he came here, I dinna know his name. When yer friend told me that ye were looking for a man who had been bayonetted through the neck,