His face, that gentle, caring face from her childhood, touched now with lines of age about his eyes and mouth, was taut with worry.
“You are so very good,” she whispered.
“You must tell me what hurts you so,” he returned quietly. “Please.” He hesitated just a moment. “You would not have my mother see you so distressed, would you?”
“No, no,” Brianna said, lowering her head. She plucked a blade of grass from the ground and shredded it between her fingers. Laughter bubbled in her throat, although nothing at all was amusing. Then she stared at him and blurted out, “I am a witch, Robert. Did you know that?”
“Brianna!” His dark brows knit in a stern frown. “You must not say such a thing, even jokingly.”
“But I am.”
“If you have been practicing witchcraft, white or malefic, you must cease immediately! You will be hanged, and far worse, you will cast your immortal soul into the pits of hell!”
Staring at him, she began to shake her head. “Oh, Robert! I never practiced any form of witchcraft! But that is why Pegeen is dead, Robert. They—they—burned her. Oh, Robert! There was a horrible, evil man, I swear it, who claimed against her, and she was innocent. He brought me to trial also, and I was almost hanged. I—”
“Stop! Stop!” Robert interrupted her. “Slowly, Brianna, tell it all to me slowly.”
She did. She drew in a great shivering breath and began to tell him part of the story, leaving out most things about Sloan, except that he had twice saved her from the clutches of “the law.” And at long last she ended with “But I am innocent, Robert. I swear it to you.”
“I believe you.” He sighed, leaning against the tree beside her. He was silent for several minutes, and when he spoke, it was thoughtfully. “This all seems to be for the best,” he said. “In a matter of weeks we will be gone from England. No one will know what went before, and in the Colonies we will start over.”
“The Colonies?” she murmured.
“Aye.” He set his arm around her again. “Brianna, if you escaped, as you say, you are still guilty before the law. Only the king could give you a pardon, and he certainly would not. Brianna, I would not spread this story farther than it has gone, for people who do not know you would think you guilty of the crime.”
He paused again, then asked quite suddenly, “Why did you start to cry so?”
“I—I just told you.”
“Nay, you told me a tragic story, but not why you were so very anxious to leave the tavern. And why did you burst into tears as we left the sea behind us without taking proper leave of the man who saved your life?”
She couldn’t find words, or her voice. At length she shook her head and whispered, “I could not.”
“You are in love with him,” Robert said gravely.
She lifted her hands, not willing to dispute him, and not able to lie. She remembered that the greatest sin among Puritans was to tell a lie. Truth was precious to them.
“He is married,” she said flatly, and when he replied with a very soft “Oh,” and held her to his shoulder, she knew that he understood.
A leaf, deep green and summer verdant, fell from the tree and drifted down beside her. She felt the stir of the breeze, a ray of the sun streaking through the blanket cast against the sun by the tall branches of the tree.
The sky, the earth, the wind, and all beautiful things were hers now—because of Sloan. And yet leaving him was the only thing that she could do.
“Will he come for you?” Robert asked.
“I don’t know.”
“He will.”
“Oh, I pray that he does not. For I do love him with all my heart and I ran from him today because I am afraid that I haven’t the power to stand against him.”
“God will give thee that power, Brianna.”
He was sure, so positive in the simplicity of his faith. Robert stood and reached down a hand to her. “Come, cousin. I will take you home. Our love will be always with thee, strong against temptation.”
She accepted his hand and rose—even though she felt she knew much more about temptation than Robert. But now she must trust him and the love of her family, and cling to them for strength to hold fast to her resolutions.
They rode in silence for some time. “It is unlikely,” Robert mused at last, “that Lord Treveryan could find you tonight. But he will come. I’m convinced of it. When he does, you must meet him, and convince him that he imperils your immortal soul.”
