Brianna closed her eyes and wondered if she’d ever forget what it felt like to live with this horrible, aching pain? To breathe, and breathe in loneliness and despair.
Yes—she would be going to a new land. She would no longer be an outlaw, a condemned criminal, for none would have heard of her crime. She had to keep believing in the new land.
Chapter 14
The Powell home was a small two-storied cottage that was cared for with great love. Begonias grew in profusion about the entrance; bright clean curtains hung at the windows. When Robert pushed open the door, wonderful cooking aromas filled their senses. Hook rugs adorned the simple floors, and precious candles burned brightly from a well-polished dining table.
“Robert?”
There was surprise in the dulcet tones of the plump woman’s voice as she came toward them. Brianna blinked, for Margaret Powell, her mother’s cousin, did not appear as if she had changed a wit in all the years gone past.
But evidently Brianna had changed somewhat herself. Margaret stopped walking, absently pushing back a still-black wing of hair, and stared at her with a curiosity that was not rude, but rather a bit stupefied—as if she should be able to place the girl on her son’s arm, but could not. Then, quite suddenly, she let out a little gasp and rushed forward with a smile as radiant as the sun.
“Brianna! Oh, Brianna! All grown up! Oh, child, child, come in, come in!”
At last she was being crushed by safe and loving arms. Explanations could come later; for now, there was only the bliss of being cherished. Tears had filled her eyes by the time Robert’s father came to hold her too. Tall, slim, and weathered, he said her name gently, and she knew that they would give her all the support she could find in this world.
By nightfall the Powells had been given a sketchy version of all that had happened. They did not judge her, nor did she even know what they really thought. Ethan said solemnly that they would stand by her—and that surely God would too.
To her amazement she slept soundly that night. Sleep was a respite from anguish. A blessed respite, for the morning brought all that she had feared. Margaret woke her with a calm warning. “Brianna, he is here.”
“Sloan?” she gasped out shakily.
Already? It was too soon, she was barely awake. She wasn’t strong at all.
“Aye, Lord Treveryan.”
She closed her eyes again. Had he thundered into the house? Demanded that she be returned? If he displayed the arrogance of his class, she might well find it easier to despise him; to find some shame that she desired him enough to forget that he was wedded to another in the eyes of man and—and God.
“Did he…did he…”
“He came as courteous as a man might, my dear. I thought to loathe him for the dishonor he has brought you to, but I cannot, for even if he stands like an oak and is as sound in mind and body as any ship, his eyes harbor such a tumult that he must not be despised. Deal gently with him—but firmly. You must not go with him.”
Brianna nodded miserably. She rose quickly and dressed, and with shaking fingers knotted her hair firmly at her nape. Her palms were damp, her throat was dry.
At last she opened the door and came to the parlor.
Sloan was there, by the fire, one hand upon the hearth, his head inclined toward it. Seeing him, she felt that she wanted to die, quite truly, rather than watch him walk out the door. When he turned to her, his features were strained, but his eyes were vividly, brilliantly green against the redness that marred them. She thought that he had not slept at all, and she desperately wanted to run to him, to hold him tight, and ease the deep-set furrows from his brow.
But Ethan and Robert stepped beside her to walk with her to the parlor.
“I would have you come back with me,” Sloan said, and his voice was harsh and hoarse, and ripped at her soul.
She opened her mouth, but no sound would come. She hated herself for being such a coward, and finally found the words to speak.
“These people are the family I have so craved to reach, Sloan. My place is here, with them. I beg you, leave me where I am loved—and respected.” Her emphasis on the last word was soft, and yet it was clear, so that he would truly understand.
Then he appeared angry, and in her heart she was a little glad; she did not want to forget his anger and his touch of arrogance, for they were a part of him that she loved; his determination that he could always best the world.
“Brianna—”
Robert set an arm about her and stepped forward slightly. “My Lord Treveryan, I will speak frankly here. You cannot give Brianna that which I can. Think, my lord! What would her life be? Access to port upon port? And what of your loyalty, sir, to the prince you serve? There is hardship ahead, war and battle. Would you see her brought to danger—or left behind to suffer scorn? My lord, we are her kindred, and we must protect her life and soul. We are grateful to you for saving her life, but, my lord, we are her male protectors; we must guide her life. Sir, I must tell you that Brianna and I are betrothed. I will marry her, my lord, and give her that station which you cannot.”
Sloan’s incredulous exclamation covered Brianna’s own gasp of shock.
“But you cannot!” he exclaimed in a fury. “You are cousins.”
“Nay, sir, our mothers were cousins. And I might remind you that the Prince and Princess of Orange are first cousins.”
