His smile didn’t waver. “We’re happy to have you here, no matter the hour.”
Though she felt relieved at that, he’d not yet consulted the others in this house. Gemma wasn’t worried about Móirín, but she hadn’t the first idea about Brogan’s wife.
“I know you’re married,” she said. “Give your missus my solemn word that I’ll not make a habit of being here at this hour. I know well enough how to not make myself a burden on a household.” Nothing had kept her safer over the years than proving herself both useful and unobtrusive.
“She’ll likely be joining us in another moment. She heard you knock at the door just as I did. She simply doesn’t move very quickly.”
Gemma nodded. “I’d like to meet her. Everyone at the charitable event spoke highly of her.”
“’Tis an easy thing to do,” Brogan said with unmistakable fondness in his voice. “She’s a wonderful person.” He lowered his voice. “So you’re not caught unawares—there was a fire at the shop where she worked, and while she wasn’t caught in it, she was hurt by it. She moves with a great deal of difficulty and is still healing in a lot of ways. You’ll not miss the stiffness of her movements or the way she winces now and then. I’ve found it helps to let people know ’tis nothing personal against them, simply the struggles of a person whose body is at war with itself.”
That he loved his wife deeply was crystal clear. What would that be like?
Mere moments later, the sound of shuffling steps reached the sitting room. A woman slipped into the doorway. Gemma looked up and gasped in surprise at the sight that met her: Vera Sorokina.
theBachelor
and theBride
by Mr. King
Installment II
in which our Hero learns much from our Heroine of Things both odd and dangerous!
Sorcha and Duncan had long since left their village behind. The bag Granny Winter had provided them hung over Duncan’s shoulder. Sorcha was not one to be left out of the difficult work of any undertaking and, therefore, carried another bag filled with food for their journey.
The two were not entirely unacquainted with each other, which made their arrangement more comfortable than it might have been otherwise. They’d spoken often at village gatherings when their paths crossed. Sorcha had burned her arm a few months earlier, and Duncan had tended to it. If she had to put a name to their connection, she would likely have attempted to think of a word somewhere betweenacquaintancesandfriends. What she would not have admitted, though, was that she deeply liked him.
He was a good man. Everyone who knew him felt that. But he was the respected and loved bachelor doctor in the area, and she was the odd, spinster woman who’d simply arrived one day and now lived deep in the woods in a cottage. The woman who was surrounded by whispers, who had passed the majority of her life without a home, without roots, and was now without family.
“How long will it take to reach Loch Dreva?” Duncan asked.
“We are likely to arrive on its shores this afternoon. The distance is not significant.”
“And one truly cannot find the lake unless one already knows where it is?”
She nodded. “Everyone who knows its location has been brought there by someone who had previously been brought there by someone who had themselves been brought there by someone ...” She motioned with her hand to indicate this was a pattern that repeated endlessly.
“Who, do you suppose, was the first to impart this knowledge?” He did not ask with mocking tones or dismissal but with genuine curiosity.
“No doubt a creature from the realm of fairies and monsters brought someone from the human realm there, and that person, in turn, brought someone else.”
“And who was it that showed you?” he asked.
She did not always grow emotional when speaking of her family, but she found herself reluctant to answer on account of the lump forming in her throat. “My father.”
Duncan must have sensed the emotion bubbling inside her. His expression filled with the same empathy and concern she had seen every time she’d watched him treat an injury or illness. “One never entirely recovers from the loss of one’s parents.” He spoke as one who knew.
She nodded, unable to add words to the sentiment. How sorrowful was her heart! How heavy were her reminiscences!
He managed to slip his sack from his back to his chest as they walked. He opened the bag, searching its contents.“I wonder what Granny Winter has provided us for this errand.”
Sorcha had long since come to value the endless wisdom of the woman who had taken her in, but she was no closer to comprehending the enormity of it.
“I see a pair of soft leather shoes and a small stone butter crock. Odd items to be sure.” He pulled from the bag a taxidermied vole. “This was certainly not expected.” He set it back in the bag.
“Is that all?” she asked.